“We can’t drink that peasoup,” I said, as I looked over the side in disgust at the yellow solution of mud.
“Velly good water. Allee salt gone now. Plenty clear by and by.”
“We must make the best of it, Herrick,” said my companion; and then turning to Ching, he said rather sternly—
“Here are eight dollars: buy as much bread and cooked meat as you can, and get back as quickly as possible, when we set you ashore.”
Ching nodded and smiled.
“Be velly quick,” he said; “and you take boat lit’ way out, and stop till come back.”
“Of course; trust us for that, my man.”
Ten minutes later we ran alongside some rough bamboo piles, to which about half-a-dozen Chinamen hurried, to stand staring at us. But Ching paid no attention to them. He only made a leap from the boat when we were a couple of yards from the platform, landed safely but with tail flying, and his blue cotton garment inflating balloon-like with the wind. Then he walked away among the houses, and one of our men pushed the boat off again, evidently to the intense wonder of the people, who stared hard to see a British sailor managing a native vessel; while two others, in a costume perfectly new to them, sat looking on.
Then our men were packed out of sight, some in the little cabin, others hidden at the bottom of the boat, beneath a matting-sail.
When we were about a hundred yards from the shore, a clumsy wooden grapnel, to which a heavy stone was bound with a twisted rope of bamboo, was dropped overboard, and then we lay in the swift tide, with the boat tugging at the line as if eager to be off on the chase the stern necessity concerning food kept us from carrying on at once.