“That night, about three hours after dark as far as I could guess, for the clock had run down and I hadn’t bothered to wind it, and they’d taken the chronometer with the charts on deck, a smash came and I knew the fools had piled her. I heard them shouting and pow-wowing. The sea was smooth and I knew they could easy get away if they didn’t foul the boat in lowering her. They got her over all right and I heard them putting their dunnage in, grub and water, too, if they weren’t crazy. Then I heard nothing more. They’d gone.
“The lamp was still alight. I’d put it out in the day time and lit up before dark; all the same, there wasn’t much oil in her. So I set to on the cabin hatch working with my knife. I left off to get one of the automatics to see if I couldn’t smash up the wood by firing, when, just taking it, I felt a draught of air blowing towards the skylight. I’d thought of getting out by the skylight, but the Chinks had thought of it too, and they’d overlaid it with ropes, but that draught blowing towards it gave me a jog and I made down along to the galley. The galley hatch was open.
“The Chinks must have opened it before running away, reckoning that if anything turned up and they were caught it would be lighter for them if they hadn’t killed me.
“I got out on deck, couldn’t see the boat. Then I opened the cabin hatch and let the air in.
“Then I had some grub and laid down and went asleep. I dreamt I heard a boat coming alongside. I tumbled out and came on deck and found my pals.
“You know the rest.”
“Bob Candon.”