Most of the Chinese had been instantaneously affected by the gas. A few, however, had attempted either to run below or to dive overboard.
“Why didn’t we use the gas shells to recapture the Supreme?” asked Cartwright.
“Because, although it’s supposed to be safe as regards the after effects, we aren’t sure about it,” replied the lieutenant. “It would be a fine thing if we had used it and then knocked out or permanently disabled her officers. It’s given us the opportunity to observe the effects upon these blighters. If they’d fallen into the hands of their own government they’d soon lose their heads. As it is, I suppose they’ll be tried in the Consular Court, if they do recover. . . . Raxworthy!”
“Sir?”
“Take some hands with you and have a look round the hold. See it’s all clear. We’ll have to lower these blighters and keep them under hatches, but I don’t want any of them to break their necks down there.”
Followed by his coxswain and an A.B., the midshipman descended a ladder to the main deck, whence another ladder gave access to the main hold.
He proceeded cautiously, revolver in hand, and sniffed suspiciously in case any gas was lurking below.
“Something burning, coxswain?” he asked.
“Smells like it, sir.”
Raxworthy went a few steps farther for’ard. In the half light he nearly stumbled across the body of a Chinaman. The pirate’s cotton clothing had been smouldering, but as he fell he had stifled the fire.
Curious to know what had caused the man’s clothes to catch fire, Raxworthy turned him over. Tightly grasped in the pirate’s right hand was a tinder-box.
“He’d gone below to have three draws and a spit on the quiet, the skulking lubber, when the gas got him, sir,” opined the coxswain.
The midshipman was not satisfied with the explanation. The pirate didn’t appear to have an opium pipe in his possession. Besides, the smoke was increasing.
Raxworthy continued his investigations. On the other side of a bulkhead he saw something that made his heart miss a beat.
He was in the junk’s ammunition room. There were several barrels, one with its head knocked off. Along the floor was a fuse—a primitive affair of teased rope soaked in saltpetre and then dried. It was spluttering. The feeble sparks were within six inches of a suspicious-looking heap of black dust that had been piled up against the opened barrel.
The Chinaman he had just examined must have had time to light the fuse before being overcome by the gas. This could be explained by the fact that the fumes took several seconds to sink through the open hatchways to the space ‘tween decks.
Deliberately the midshipman knelt down and gripped the burning fuse between his finger and thumb. The spluttering sparks burnt his hands, yet he dare not relax his grasp. Nor could he risk jerking the fuse clear, since the heap of powder would be scattered and some of the grains come in contact with the burning end.
Not until he had backed for a distance of two or three yards did he drop the fuse and stamp upon it.
“Well done, sir, if I may say so,” exclaimed the petty officer. “You’ve saved us from being blown sky-high.”
“We shouldn’t have known much about it,” rejoined the midshipman grimly. “Carry on.”
They carried on, making a thorough examination of the hold, which contained a fair amount of stuff that had obviously been looted from merchant ships.
Then Raxworthy returned on deck and reported the attempt on the part of the pirate to blow up the junk rather than surrender.
“Nice-mannered gentlemen, aren’t they?” commented Lieutenant Cotterdell. “I’ve been told that they generally keep one or two barrels of black gunpowder against such emergencies. All right, Raxworthy; we’ll have the stuff ditched in case of accidents.”
Not until the barrels of powder were carefully whipped on deck and thrown overboard did the work of lowering the unconscious pirates into the hold begin. Each Chinaman was searched and deprived of his arms before being placed in his temporary prison below the water-line.
Meanwhile others of the boarding party had lowered the cumbersome mat sails and were making preparations for being taken in tow.
The destroyer then ran alongside, since the sea was calm.
Cotterdell made his report, laying stress upon Raxworthy’s gallantry and resource in preventing the destruction of the junk and the loss of a large proportion of Buster’s ship’s company.
“Did he, by Jove?” exclaimed Maynebrace. “It’s lucky for some of us that we hiked him out of the ditch. Where is he?”
“Securing hatches, sir.”
“Ask him to come on deck, please.”
When Raxworthy, blinking in the strong sunlight, came up from below his temporary commanding officer shook him by the hand.
“Well done!” declared Maynebrace heartily. “Look here; have you any experience in sail other than in Service boats?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the midshipman.
“Of course,” continued the lieutenant-commander. “Didn’t you navigate a felucca across the Levant with only a long-haired chum to assist you?”
Raxworthy assented. He would have liked to point out that the lower-deck term hardly applied, since his companion on that occasion had bobbed hair.
“Very well, then,” continued Maynebrace. “I’m putting you in command of the prize, with six ratings to assist you. We’ll tow you within fifty miles or so of Hong Kong, and then you can take her into harbour. How will that suit?”
The midshipman’s eyes glistened.
“It’s awfully decent of you, sir,” was all that he could say. But it meant a lot more.
The destroyer sheered off, rehoisted her boats, and proceeded to take the captured junk in tow.
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!”
A police inspector, taking his life in his hands, descended into the hold.
“Dead as mutton!” he announced.
The midshipman was aghast. It seemed as if the gas was far more effective than had been claimed, or the hold had proved another Black Hole of Calcutta! If so, he was “for it”. There would be a tremendous outcry in certain sections of the press, especially the native journals, concerning the inhumanity of the British to Chinese prisoners—even though the prisoners were pirates of the deepest dye!