I had been thinking that it looked very beautiful, but I did not say so. Certainly, though, the wind had risen a little, and I noticed that Tom Jecks kept on glowering about him in a very keen way.
Just then Mr Brooke shook out the little Union Jack which we had brought from our sinking boat, and held it ready to signal the coming junk, which was now only about a mile away, and came swiftly along, till our leader stood right forward, holding on by a stay, and waved the little flag.
“Three cheers for the red, white, and blue!” muttered Tom Jecks. “Look at that now. We in this here little cock-boat just shows our colours, and that theer great bamboo mountain of a thing goes down on her marrow-bones to us, metty-phizickly. See that, Mr Herrick, sir?”
“Yes, Tom,” I said excitedly; “and it’s something to be proud of too.”
For, in obedience to our signals, I saw one of the many Chinamen on board wave his hands as he seemed to be shouting, and the great vessel slowly and cumbrously rounded to, so that in a few minutes we were able to run close alongside.
“Tell them to heave us a rope, Ching,” said Mr Brooke, and the interpreter shouted through his hands, with the result that a heavy coil came crashing down, and was caught by Tom Jecks, who was nearly knocked overboard.
“We said a rope, not a hawser,” growled the man, hauling in the rope. “Better shy a few anchors down too, you bladder-headed lubbers!”
“Now, say I want to speak to the captain,” said Mr Brooke.
A showily-dressed Chinaman leaned over the side of the huge tower of a poop, and smiled down on us.
“Are you the captain?” cried Mr Brooke, and Ching interpreted.