By this time the naked eye could easily identify her white side and yellow funnels and cowls glistening in the setting sun, and the white ensign flying at her gaff, as fair a sight as any British naval man ever wants to see.
"No. 2" was following her towards the squadron, looking like some disreputable little terrier keeping a respectful distance from a stately St. Bernard. More signals flew backward and forward, presently the semaphores began to jerk their arms up and down, and the Undaunted slowed as she came abreast the Laird, and stopped her engines.
"Away first cutter! Away galley!" yelled the bos'n's mate, and rapidly these boats were lowered, and in a couple of minutes Captain Helston was being pulled across to the Undaunted by six strong pairs of arms, whilst the cutter, with that signal flying from the Undaunted, "Send boat for mails", was not much behind-hand. In half an hour both boats were back again, and the bulky mail-bags hauled aboard by willing hands. Then letters for home, already written and only waiting for closing up, were sent across, and the Undaunted slowly began to move away.
As she steadied on her course her crew "manned and cheered ship", three ringing cheers coming across the water, and one cheer more for luck.
The Laird's were not slow to answer, and the crew ran aloft, crowded along the port side, and, taking time from little Cummins, who, with his cap in his hand, yelled as best he could with a toothpick in his mouth, sent back cheer for cheer.
The Strong Arm sent her cheers, too, and the Sylvia, "No. 2", and "No. 3" joined in with their more feeble shouts.
Down they poured out of the rigging, eager to get their mail, which the Master-at-Arms was already distributing, the Undaunted slipped away on her errand to the north (a mission-house had been burnt down somewhere or other, somebody or other had to suffer for the deed, and she was away to see that somebody or other did suffer for it), and the little squadron was left alone again with its pirate island—a lonely-looking island and a rather lonely little squadron after its fleeting glimpse of its own white ensign, reading its letters from home in the failing daylight, with a job to do which seemed too big for it.
As Dr. Fox rather vulgarly expressed it to Helston, "You've bitten off a bigger piece than you can chew, old chap."
"Well, perhaps so, Fox; we'll see."
Captain Helston's letters—his official ones, at any rate—were certainly a worry to him. He had hardly finished reading them when sunset was reported, and up he had to go to superintend the scattering of the squadron for the night, and to make the rendezvous for the early morning.