In a short time the master of the schooner made his appearance on the deck of the frigate. Captain Grant got up to receive him. He was an intelligent, dashing-looking young man.
“I am glad that I have fallen in with you, sir,” he began. “Last night, just before sunset, I heard some firing, and standing in the direction from which the sound came, I observed a brig-of-war apparently almost surrounded by junks not far from the land, to the southward of this—out there. I made sail, hoping to render her assistance; but so large a force of sailing and row junks sallied out from behind a point of land and made towards me, that, as I have lost half my crew with sickness and a former battle with a squadron of the villains, I was compelled to up stick and run for it. I shall be glad, however, to return with you, and assist in piloting you to the spot.”
“Thank you, captain—thank you,” answered Captain Grant, extending his hand. He wisely never denied nominal rank to masters of vessels, however employed. “I most gladly accept your offer.”
“Hudson is my name—my craft is the Flying Fish; and when you see her in a good breeze, you’ll acknowledge that she does fly along,” answered the master, looking with pride at his trim and beautiful craft.
She and the frigate instantly made sail to the southward. In a few hours the sound of an occasional shot saluted their ears and gave them hopes that the Blenny was still afloat and able to defend herself. As they got nearer, they could make her out from the mast-head, amid a wide circle of junks which were keeping up a distant fire at her. It at this critical juncture fell perfectly calm. Captain Hudson, who had come on board the frigate and gone aloft, now returned on deck.
“I know the trick of those fellows, sir. They hope to make her exhaust her ammunition and then to board her. They seem pretty well to have done that already. You must go to her relief in the boats, or the villains may have cut the throats of all on board before you can get up to them.”
This seemed too probable. All the frigate’s boats were now lowered, armed with guns in the bows, manned, and sent away under the command of Mr Cherry, without a moment’s delay.
“Poor Jack!” exclaimed Adair to young Harry Bevan. “It was only the other day that he and I were pulling along just as we are now doing. And now—who can say where he is? Still, do you know, Harry, I have an idea that he’ll turn up somehow or other. He always has done so, and I can’t help hoping that he and Murray may yet be found.”
“I hope and pray so, I’m sure I do,” said Harry, almost crying, “but I’m afraid there’s very little chance of it. Even if the Chinese picked them up, they would be sure to murder them.”