'It's taken a good deal to make 'em friends, hasn't it?' Ginger said sadly.
A fortnight later Gerald sent me a telegram, as he had promised, to say that he was allowed out of bed, and I knew that he had sent the same message home to the mater, and felt awfully glad.
Nothing more happened at Bermuda worth telling about; we had to work very hard indeed; in six weeks' time the ship was seaworthy enough to steam home, and one beautiful Sunday morning in May, the Hercules and ourselves anchored behind Plymouth breakwater.
As you can imagine, the poor old Hector was a great object of curiosity, and paddle-boats were bringing people off from shore, and steaming round her, all day long.
Next morning two dockyard tugs made fast alongside us, we slipped our moorings, and as their paddles began churning the water and we commenced to move up harbour, Captain Roger Hill unbent, for the first time in his life, and 'cheered ship.'
'Three cheers for the Hector,' we heard his Commander shout, and the whole crew swarmed on the upperworks and sent us three great cheers.
'Tut, tut, lad!' our Skipper stuttered, dropping his eyeglass, '"Old Spats" has forgotten himself. Look at him! He's actually waving his cap.'
He nodded to the Commander, whose great roaring voice bellowed out, 'Three cheers for Captain Roger Hill and the Hercules,' and we all shouted.
We were taken up harbour and put into dry dock immediately, and we heard that we should probably stay there for several months.
As soon as it could be arranged, we got up a subscription for a tablet to the memory of all our people who'd been killed in that fight with La Buena Presidente, and got permission to place it in Portsmouth Dockyard Chapel, where you can see it now.