Next day we crawled across to Prince Rupert's Island, the Hercules close by, in case we wanted assistance, and people came swarming off to see us and the wreck we were. Navarro was sent ashore to the Colonial Hospital, the mids. were still kept aboard the Hercules, and the local ship-repairing yard commenced to patch us up and make it safe to find our way to Bermuda for a more thorough repair.
The black 'washer' ladies came crowding aboard, as before, and were struck all of a heap when they saw the mess we were in.
Arabella Montmorency had brought back some of the 'Angel's' washing—it had been left behind—and when I told her that he'd been killed, she burst out crying, sobbing out, 'De Good Lo'd take de pretty little boy; why He no spare him for Arabella to vash his clo's. Oh, de pretty boy, de pretty boy!' She was terribly upset about Perkins's washing too. A shell had entirely destroyed his cabin and everything in it, so that he had absolutely nothing to wear except what he stood up in.
She burst out into fresh sobs. 'Poor Massa Perkins! poor Massa Perkins!—no clo's—no vash clo's—Arabella more sooner vash for him for noddings than Massa Perkins have no clo's for Arabella to vash.'
For five weeks we remained anchored off Princes' Town, and everybody began gradually to brighten 'up' as the memory of that awful fifteen minutes and the next week of woe became less vivid, though we still had not the heart to arrange any matches with the Hercules or with Princes' Town. At first the shore people were always saying, 'Couldn't you arrange a cricket-match for this day or that?' and we'd answer, 'Ask our doctor, ask Clegg. He runs the cricket,' and then remember that he had disappeared, and that Bigge, our best bat and bowler, and Montague and Pearson, two others of our team, had also been killed. It was very difficult to forget about them.
We had plenty of news, all this time, from San Fernando, because those local steamers, which had been lying idle for the last few months, resumed their work and ran regularly up to La Laguna. Gerald even found time to write a letter and let me know that preparations were being made for the final attack on Los Angelos and Santa Cruz, but he wrote that there would be some delay as the insurgents in the northern province were not yet ready. They were exhausted, temporarily, by the effort of driving Canilla's army into the mountains and wanted rest. I knew that if Gerald was there they wouldn't get much rest, but he couldn't be in two places at once. He didn't mention the ex-policeman, so I hoped that the little brute had disappeared for good.
From Santa Cruz we heard very contradictory reports, but there was no doubt that President Canilla was making desperate efforts to defend the city, and that the batteries above Los Angelos were practising almost daily. He was issuing fiery proclamations to encourage his troops, but, in spite of them, and in spite of General Zorilla's popularity, his men were deserting in great numbers.
It was known that directly the insurgents commenced to make their final attack on the city, the Hercules was to go across to Los Angelos, to be there in case any trouble arose and she might be wanted to back up the authority of the British Minister. As the Hector was to go to Bermuda you can imagine that every one on board her was rather sorry not to be able to see the end of the revolution. Of course I was especially sorry because of Gerald. You can therefore guess how jolly pleased I was when the Skipper sent for me one morning and told me that he was transferring me to the Hercules. One of her lieutenants had been invalided home and I was to take his place.
'Tut, tut, boy!' he said; 'I chose you because I knew you'd like to keep an eye on that haughty brother of yours.'
It was jolly good of him, and when the local repairs had been completed, and the Hector was fit to steam to Bermuda, I packed my gear, was taken across to the Hercules, and, with Ginger and Cousin Bob, watched her slowly crawl past us, out through the northern entrance. The band struck up 'Rolling Home' and 'Auld Lang Syne,' and I felt rather mournful to see my old ship steaming away without me, looking, even now, very desolate and dreary with her jerry foretopmast, patched bridge and upperworks, and only her two after funnels.