That old Chinese gun was there too, with some of the Ringdove's people to drag it, and a few yards farther along half a company of Trevelyan's men were sitting on the ground resting till they had to move on again.
They gave us a cheer as we passed them, jumping to their feet and waving their caps, and off we went at the double for a low ridge about a quarter of a mile farther to the rear. We expected to be able to see the gunboats from there, and were ordered to try and attract their attention. They had been told to keep a lookout for us.
This bit was only a case of speed, and we were all blowing like grampuses when we stopped, and the men flung themselves down and faced round, my little lot about a hundred yards from "B.-T.'s", with Langham and his Maxim between us.
Some of his people had tied their silk handkerchiefs to their bayonets and were waving them to attract the gunboats. I heard "B.-T." yell something, and saw him pointing away towards the sea.
It was there all right, but, buttered crumpets! a beastly fog-bank, like a solid wall of cotton wool, was creeping down from wind'ard. When I first looked I could see the Omaha's one mast and tall funnel, but three minutes afterwards the fog had blotted her out of sight, and I could watch it creeping towards the shore. Great bluebottles! I didn't like it; another night like last night would about send me off my "crumpet".
I was just thinking that it would have been better for me to have gone into the Church, as my old dad always had wished, when Withers came running across to ask if I could lend "B.-T." a cigarette.
"You might get your pater to give me one of his livings," I told him. "I'm going to be a parson if we ever get out of this."
"He's very particular, sir," the cheeky young rascal grinned, and ran back with my last cigarette. Old "B.-T." would have borrowed my matchbox, but I sent Withers to tell him to rub two sticks together and light it that way; it would be good exercise, and the cigarette would last longer.
I saw him shake his fist at me when he got the message, and then walk down his line of men to try and borrow a match from one of them.
The main body was coming past now; Whitmore and Rawlings, at the head of the little column, were just passing Langham's Maxim; then Trevelyan's right half company, a dozen Chinese bluejackets in a circle round Sally and Hobbs, with Ching and the old Scotchman walking behind them. Then there was a gap, a long string of Chinese bluejackets carrying their wounded, the rest of Trevelyan's chaps carrying ours, the Ringdove's people dragging the little Chinese field gun, and Trevelyan with a few men bringing up the rear.