Ching smiled—he had a habit of smiling at everything nearly, and we paid our reckoning and followed him down to the landing-place, to arrive there just in time to see the barge with the captain and his escort gliding rapidly away toward the ship.
“Too soon findee boat,” said Ching. “Tellee man come when sun go out of sight.”
“Yes, and that means two hours good,” said Barkins. “Look here, Ching, hire a boat cheap. Get a fellow with a sailing-boat, if you can.”
“Yes,” said the Chinaman, nodding his head in a satisfied way, “Good boat—velly nice boat—boat with velly big sail fly over water, eh?”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Barkins. “And look sharp, for there are a lot of low blackguardly-looking fellows coming up, and we don’t want another row.”
Barkins was quite right, for, as in our own seaports, there were plenty of roughs about, and whether in blue frocks and pith boots or British rags, the loafer is much the same. Ching saw at a glance that the sooner we were off the better, and hurried us a little way along the wharf till he saw a boat that seemed suitable.
“You all get in velly quick,” he said.
“But we must make a bargain with the man.”
“Plesently,” he replied, as we hurried in, and he ordered the man in charge to put off.
The man began to protest volubly, but Ching rose up, and with a fierce look rustled his new coat and sat down again, with the result that the man loosened the rope which held his boat to the side, and the swift tide began to bear us away directly, the man hoisting up a small matting-sail and then meekly thrusting an oar over, with which to steer.