“Look here,” I said; “if you weren’t so weak, I’d kick you, old a man as you are. Likely thing for a British officer to sneak off and leave one of his men like this!”
“But the beggars are coming, I’m sure, sir.”
“Very well,” I said gloomily, “let them come. It’s all very well for a full-moon-faced Chinaman to go off and take care of himself, but it isn’t English, Tom Jecks, and that you know.”
The poor fellow hoisted himself a little round, so that he could hide his face on his uninjured arm, and as I saw his shoulders heave I felt weaker than ever; but I mastered it this time, and knelt there with a whole flood of recollections of home, school, and my ambitions running through my brain. I thought of my training, of my delight at the news of my being appointed to the Teaser, of my excitement over my uniform; and that now it was all over, and that in all probability only the sea-birds would know of what became of me after the Chinamen had done.
Then I thought of Ching’s cowardice in leaving me alone with the poor wounded fellow like this.
“I knew he wasn’t a fighting man,” I said sadly; “but I couldn’t have believed that he was such a cur.”
At that moment there was a quick scrambling sound, which made me start to my feet, and Tom Jecks started up on his elbow.
“Here they come, sir,” he gasped. “Now, sir,” he whispered wildly, “do, pray, cut and run.”
“With you,” I said resolutely.
He made an effort to rise, but fell back with a groan.