Raxworthy was in his element—in charge of the prize. It was a responsible task. Under hatches were between eighty and a hundred lawless ruffians who would soon be recovering from the effects of the gas. Although they had been deprived of their arms they were desperate men and likely to cause trouble.
The midshipman decided to take no unnecessary risks. He stationed a couple of armed bluejackets at the battened-down hatchway and placed a gas cylinder handy, ready to release another charge into the hold in case of trouble. The two sentries were equipped with gas-masks, as were the rest of the crew—just in case the vapour spread in the wrong direction.
Maynebrace was as good as his word—and better. He towed the junk to within thirty miles of Hong Kong, wirelessed the admiral that the prize was on her way and requested that a tug—or a destroyer—should be detailed to assist her into port, and then cast off the towing hawser and proceeded northward “in execution of previous orders”.
On board the junk sail was made, and before a steady northerly breeze she slipped along at a good five knots.
Hourly the sentries were relieved. They had nothing to report concerning the prisoners.
“Long time coming round, aren’t they?” remarked Raxworthy to the coxswain.
“Seems like it, sir,” replied the petty officer. “So much the better; saves us a lot of trouble.”
At length the prize reached Hong Kong. A strong guard composed of police and marines arrived to remove the pirates and take them to prison.
The hatches were removed, revealing the captives lying motionless.
“Take care!” cautioned Raxworthy. “They’re lying doggo!”