Mr. Travers came up on deck soon afterwards, shaved and clean, with some of the Sub's plain clothes on. He shook my hand. "Long time since you shoved me in the back in that crowd outside the Mission House, Ford. Thought they would have plugged some of you in that boat. They were firing pretty fast." That was tremendously demonstrative for him.
It was jolly good to have got him back safely, but we were all awfully disappointed that we hadn't found where Sally and her father were. We had thought we had done so, but he told us they weren't there, and he hadn't the faintest idea where they were. The Chinaman who'd helped him to escape, and had come along for his reward, didn't know anything about them either. Ah Chee found this out.
Dicky was a jolly lot better, and could talk, but hadn't the faintest remembrance of anything after we'd sighted those four junks beating up to wind'ard after us. He remembered the junk running away from us and the masts coming down, but nothing after that.
Dr. Hibbert wouldn't let him talk to us much. Poor Cooke died before we had got out of sight of land, and we stopped our engines and buried him at sea.
That brought the killed ones in the two junks up to six—two of Jim's and four of mine—and there were six wounded besides Dicky.
I managed to hide away the ensign before the signalman could claim it, and felt rather a beast; but I meant to keep it and get it home—some day. Jim lent me another monkey jacket. It was quite "sopping" wet, but it was clean, and we soon dried it, so that I looked more respectable, and didn't feel so horrid as I had felt in my bloodstained one.
CHAPTER VIII
The Vigilant Sails Again
The Padré Complains—Mr. Hoffman Returns—Under Way Again—Good News—"Good Old Dicky!"—Mr. Rashleigh's Report—A Unfair Report
Written by Commander Truscott