Old Joe Rudderford, our boatswain, who was certain, he said, 'that every man Jack of them was drunk as a lord,' now resolved to take measures that would rid us of them effectually ere day dawned; and, acting under his orders, we put them in practice thus:
The port-quarter boat was softly lowered, on the side that was not next the lorcha, and he, with two men and myself, with oars muffled, pulled swiftly, yet noiselessly, off to her. All our revolvers were loaded, and Joe, the boatswain, had with him the largest and sharpest auger he could find in the carpenter's tool-chest, and a fierce, triumphant expression shone on his grave, grim Scotch face, which had a chin and eyebrows that expressed resolution and firmness of purpose.
Never shall I forget the keen and aching anxiety and excitement of that time, as we crept towards the hateful lorcha, and at every stroke of our oars, at every respiration, expected to see some of her merciless crew start up and fire on us; but all remained still—still as death—on board, as we got close under her starboard counter.
Our first mission was to cut away and scuttle her only boat, and while the boatswain, with strong hands and brawny arms wrenching round the cross-handle of the augur, bored a succession of large round holes between wind and water—with a few below the latter—two of our men with knives cut away all the starboard shrouds or stays; and as we left her, and pulled away to our own ship, the sea was pouring into her, and we knew that unless the artificial leaks were discovered and plugged she must surely go down.
'Thank heaven, the breeze is freshening!' exclaimed Joe, as we regained our unfortunate ship, and hoisted in the quarter boat; and, weak and faint as we all were from wounds, soon Joe himself made sail on her. During all the hours of that eventful morning we struggled to trim the ship, to coil up and clear away the loose ropes and running rigging; to throw overboard the dead men of the lorcha, which was now settling down fast by the stern in the light of the waning moon, and every moment her bow and bowsprit seemed to tilt up higher in the air.
At last, just as day began to break, a great commotion seemed suddenly to take place on board. Cries and shouts floated towards us on the freshening breeze, and we could see Macaomen, Chinamen, and Caffres rushing wildly to and fro, looking evidently for their vanished boat; and then their united yells rent the sky, as the lorcha gave a great lurch to port and anon went down with every man on board of her. Many swam about for a time, but all sank in succession, for the land was far distant, and we were standing off north and by east before a pleasant breeze.
Next morning we fell in with a native fishing-boat with a crew of three men, who agreed, for the sum of five British sovereigns, to pilot us into Hong Kong, where we duly arrived, and came safely to anchor in the famous 'Red Harbour,' after a voyage that none of us are likely to forget.
We had some strange adventures on the way home, and with these I shall close my story.
Of our crew, after the encounter with Long Kiang, only seven, with the boatswain, Joe Rudderford, and myself, remained with the ship. We got a new captain, and made up our number again to thirty-eight hands, all told, from the company of a bark that had been cast away in the East Lamma Channel, and after they were shipped an interesting event occurred.
Among them was a miserable-looking young fellow who had been wrecked years before on the coast of China, and been kept as a kind of slave in a village near Tonquin. Joe Rudderford, observing the assiduity with which this young seaman—in gratitude for finding himself once more under the Union Jack—did his work, asked him what was his native place.