“That will be one way of seeing the world,” I answered; “and provided they do not cut off our heads, I dare say, some day or other, we shall be getting back to our friends.”
Day after day we sailed on; in vain we looked out for an English man-of-war.
“Very little chance of falling in with one,” observed Ned Rawlings. “After that typhoon they will all be in harbour, repairing damages.”
Ned was right. It was probably owing to that circumstance that we escaped recapture. At length we entered the mouth of a large river, and Joss made us understand that we were being carried to the city of Nankin; we were, in reality, in the great river Yang-tse-Kiang. From the time we had been coming we knew that it must be a long way from Hong Kong, and our hopes of being retaken now vanished altogether: the wind coming down the river, the junk came to an anchor. I should have said that all this time our only food was salt fish and rice. When we anchored, several boats brought off some vegetables, which we had given to us in addition; it was hard fare, however, but after all it did not much signify, as it kept body and soul together, and our health did not suffer. The mandarin, being anxious, apparently, to deliver the despatches which he carried, as well as to exhibit us, took us on shore, and we were now all three placed in a cart, and driven off into the interior; as there were no springs, we went bumping and thumping over the road in a way sufficient to dislocate all our limbs. Just as we were starting, little Joss, who had managed to get on shore, jumped into the cart, and we were not sorry to see his merry, good-natured face. To make a long story short, at last we arrived at a walled city; it was not Nankin, however, but a place supposed to be very strong—Chin Kiang-foo; it was full of Tartar soldiers, who scowled at us as we passed. We had not gone far when we stopped before a sort of public office, I suppose, when a man came out and put some large labels round our necks. What they were of course we could not tell, but we made out from what Joss said, that they were to inform the world, that we were prisoners taken in a bloody fight from an English war ship, which had been sent, by the bravery of the Chinese, to the bottom. Having been carried round the city, we were taken to a place which we soon found was the public prison; here we were all four (for Joss was with us) thrown into a small cell not much larger than our cabin on board the junk.
“No chance of cutting our way out, Mr Plumb,” observed Ned Rawlings.
“I wish there was,” said Mr Plumb.
Little Joss we found looking very sad. He seemed, from what we made out, to think we were all going to be killed.
“It cannot be helped,” said Dicky. “Jack, are you prepared to die?”
“I hope so,” I said; “but I would rather live, I confess; and, do you know, I think we shall, in spite of appearances. The Chinamen would gain nothing by killing us, and our keep cannot cost them much.”
By such remarks I soon restored Dicky’s hopes. We were kept for some days in our wretched little prison, having our food brought to us, but being otherwise left alone; at length, one day, the door opened, and four soldiers appeared: without saying a word, they seized hold of Ned; he shook himself free of them, however, having an idea, that they were going to take him out and kill him. Four finding they could not manage him, six more appeared, who, rushing on him, at length pinioned his arms, and carried him away out of the cell.