I hailed Hemster, who was below, at the top of my voice, and he replied when I shouted: “Come up immediately and get into the small boat.”
By the time he was on deck I had Hilda in one of the boats, and Mr. Hemster was beside her a moment later. Two sailors seized the oars and pushed off. The next instant there was a crash, and the huge black bulk of the Chinese steamer loomed over us, passing quickly away into the night. I thought I heard a woman scream somewhere, but could not be quite sure.
“Did you hear anything?” I asked Hemster.
“I heard an almighty crashing of timber. I wonder if they’ve sunk the yacht.”
The captain’s gruff voice hailed us.
“They’ve carried away the rudder,” he said, “and shattered the stern, but not seriously. She will remain afloat, but will have to go into dry-dock to-morrow.”
CHAPTER XXIII
The Chinese steamer, if indeed it were she, although we could not be sure in the darkness, had sent us to the hotel when we had made up our minds not to go. We in the boat hovered near the yacht long enough for the captain to make a hurried examination of the damage. The wreck certainly looked serious, for the overhang of the stern had been smashed into matchwood, while the derelict rudder hung in chains like an executed pirate of a couple of centuries agone. It was impossible at the moment to estimate with any degree of accuracy the extent of the disaster. The captain reported that she was not leaking, and therefore her owner need have no fear that she would sink during the night. The rudder had certainly been carried away, and probably one of the propellers was damaged. In any case the yacht would have to go into dry-dock; so, being satisfied on the score of immediate safety, Mr. Hemster gave orders to pull ashore, and thus we became guests of the Nagasaki Hotel.