“There,” said Ching, pointing to the shore about a mile up from where we lay.
“But it’s going back, and we shall lose sight of the junks, Ching,” I said.
“Plenty blead there. Ching know the way.”
“But one moment, Mr Brooke,” I said; “are we sure that those are the right junks?”
“I feel sure,” he said. “What do you say, my lads?”
“Ay, ay, sir, them’s right,” chorussed the men.
“Yes, Ching velly sure those pilate junk.”
“I know one on ’em, sir,” said Jecks, “by her great yard. I never see a junk with such a big un afore. Talk about the cut of a jib—I says, look at the cut of her mainsail.”
“Well, we must have food and water, if we are going out of the mouth of the river,” said Mr Brooke, and he turned the boat’s head shoreward.
“No makee haste,” said Ching deprecatingly. “Too soon, evelybody fas’ asleep.”