The junk lay in Hong Kong harbour, close to the Fawn. Soon after we brought up in the harbour, finding that a boat was to be sent from the Fawn to the Roarer, I got leave to go in her. I had some misgivings about Sergeant Turbot, and was anxious to see him. I found that he was in the sick bay, where there were several wounded men. He shook me warmly by the hand when he saw me.

“Jack, my boy,” he said, “you saved my life t’other day, and, what is more, my honour. If it had not been for you, my fellows would have got into that Chinese fort while I was at the bottom of the hill; but Jack, I confess it, I feel I am not cut out for campaigning in a hilly country; indeed, to advance, at double-quick, across a plain, tries me considerably.”

I was afraid, from the sergeant’s way of talking, that he was very ill. I made some remark to that effect.

“In honest truth, Jack,” he answered, “I was pretty well knocked up altogether with that work on shore; what with the hot sun, the rapid marching, and climbing those heights; but still, Jack, I don’t think I am going to give in just yet. If I do, remember me to your father, and tell him that I consider you are worthy of him. However, I hope to be fit for duty in the course of a few days, and to have another pull at the Chinamen’s pigtails before we have done with them.”

From what I could hear on board I found that our business in the boat and capture of the junk was highly approved of. Our captain, with several of the boats of the Roarer, had been engaged, and he had behaved with great bravery and activity. I was glad to find, that in the course of a few days Sergeant Turbot was much better. His gallantry was well known, and Dicky Plumb told me that he had heard the captain of marines on board say that in future he would take care that he was not sent on an expedition where any great bodily exertion was required. We had been some time off Hong Kong, and began to grow weary of not having more to do. The weather had now become excessively hot and sultry. Dark black clouds collected in the sky, and there was an oppression in the atmosphere which made all hands feel uncomfortable. The weather-wise predicted a typhoon. I asked Sergeant Turbot, the last visit I paid him, the meaning of a typhoon.

“Why, Jack, you must know that a typhoon is just like ten everyday gales of wind pressed into one,” he replied. “If a fellow is aloft he has need to hold on with his eyelids, teeth, and nails; and if he’s on shore, to look out for falling chimneys and roofs. If we get one—and from what I hear there’s every chance of it—you’ll know what it is fast enough, and not forget either, as long as you live.”

The barometer, too, supporting the opinion of the weather-wise, was falling, indicating a change of weather. Meantime, the Chinese on shore seemed to be greatly excited. We saw, stuck out from many of their houses, long poles, twenty or thirty feet high, with huge lanterns at the end of them, ornamented with grotesque-looking figures of various sorts. Then began the beating of gongs, the firing of crackers, and the explosion of little bamboo petards, from one end of the town to the other, and from all the boats along the shore. The Chinese might possibly have thought that their fireworks had produced some effect, for the day passed by and no typhoon broke over us. At night, however, dark clouds again collected overhead, out of which the most vivid lightning shot incessantly. For an instant the whole sky was lighted up, and the numerous vessels in the harbour, and the distant shores, could be seen clearly. Then all again was pitchy darkness. The night passed away, however, without any incident worthy of note. In the morning, Mr Ormsby, who had been on board the Roarer, came back, and said that he had received orders to convey the junk to Macao.

“Then I am afraid our independent cruise will be up,” I heard Mr Plumb observe to Mr Hanson.

We accordingly got under weigh, and stood out of the harbour. We had not, however, proceeded far, when the threatening appearances of the weather returned. Again the clouds collected, the lightning flashed vividly, and sudden gusts came furiously off the land. Mr Ormsby hailed, and ordered us to bring up under the high shore, a couple of miles to windward, he setting us the example. A few tacks brought the Fawn to an anchorage, when her topmasts were struck, and every preparation was made for the typhoon, which, it was now evident, was about to commence. We were some way astern of the schooner, when down came a fierce blast with tremendous force upon us. The sails were lowered, and the huge anchor let go.

“The craft will ride it out after all, I believe,” said Mr Hanson, watching to ascertain whether the junk was driving.

“That’s more than any other ship will do,” observed Ned Rawlings, pointing to the vessels in the distance, many of which were now driving away furiously before the wind; and already the sea was covered with the wrecks of native vessels, to which numerous persons—both men and women and children—were clinging desperately, as they drove onward before the wind.

Fearful must have been the destruction of life and property in that crowded harbour. However, we had to think about ourselves. The typhoon was increasing in fury; it seemed to be working itself up like a man getting into a rage. A blast ten times stronger than the first now struck us.

“She has parted, sir,” cried Ned Rawlings.

Away we drove before the wind. At first we went sideways, and it seemed as if every instant we should be blown over. The helm however, was put up, and away we drifted right before the gale; the farther we got from the shore the higher the seas became, and the stronger the wind. Mr Hanson looked grave; there was good reason for his so doing, for the junk began to pitch and roll in the most furious manner, while the seas danced up round her, seeming determined to come on board. At times, it seemed scarcely possible that we could hold on to her deck; we felt somewhat like peas on a drum—jumping up and down, with the prospect of being jerked overboard every instant. As to setting sail, that was impossible; for even had a foot of the bamboo-matting been presented to the wind it would have been blown away. The junk, flimsy as she looked outside, was strongly built, so that there was less risk of her going to pieces than might have been supposed. I asked Rawlings what he thought about the matter.

“Well, Jack,” he said, “if we can keep the open sea the old tea-chest may float; but if we get the coast under our lee we shall drive ashore and go to pieces.”

More than once Mr Hanson looked astern.

“Perhaps he hopes that the Fawn will come after us,” I observed to Rawlings.

“That’s not likely,” was the answer. “It would not do to risk the loss of the schooner on the chance of helping us; and, to my mind, there’s little help any vessel can give us.”

Had, indeed, the schooner been following, we might not have seen her; for, so thick was the spray which drove over us, that we could scarcely see many yards beyond the junk, all the time the wind howling and shrieking, and the water hissing and foaming around us. We could do nothing to help ourselves; indeed, it took all our strength just to hold on to the side. Every now and then a huge sea would come rolling up, and seem about to break on board, but the buoyant junk rose to the top of it, and then again down we plunged into the deep trough below.

Mr Hanson and two of the men stood at the helm, trying to steer the lumbering craft, and not without difficulty could they prevent her from broaching-to. Dicky Plumb had done his best to keep his legs, but, finding that impossible, at length sat down on the deck, holding on, and endeavouring to look as unconcerned and cool as possible. As we looked out we could see fragments of wreck floating by, showing us what would, too probably, be our fate. We passed one large junk almost under water, to which several people were clinging; they held out their hands to us, asking for assistance, but we could give them none, and soon we drove by, when they were hid from our sight by the driving spray. On we went.

“Breakers ahead!” shouted Ned Rawlings, who had been looking out.

There appeared, right before us, a line of coast—to weather it, seemed impossible; and yet, if we could not do so, our destruction was inevitable. At length we made out a point of land on the port bow—we were driving towards it—Mr Hanson put the helm as much as he could to starboard.

“If we can get to the other side of that,” he observed to Mr Plumb, “we may escape with our lives; if not, there’s not a chance for us.”

“It cannot be helped,” answered Mr Dicky, quite composedly. “We have done our best, and can do no more.”

Closer and closer we drew to the wild rocks at the end of the point; the surf was breaking furiously over them. I know I held my breath, and I cannot exactly say how I felt; only I kept wishing something was over. There were the rocks, and there was the fearful surf roaring over them. In another instant we were in the midst of the surf; I expected to hear a crash, and to find the vessel going to pieces. The water came rushing over our decks; the masses of spray blinded us. On we flew, and in another moment the point was passed; and though the sea broke heavily on the shore, still there was a possibility of our landing on it. We had no anchors remaining, so we could not bring up, even could any anchor have held; shipwreck was certain. The only doubt was where we should strike—that was settled in another minute—lifted high on a roller we were hurled towards the shore; then suddenly down we came with a tremendous crash; the masts instantly fell; the upper works were washed away; with difficulty could we hold on to the wreck.

“Now, Jack, let’s see what you can do,” exclaimed Ned Rawlings. “There’s not a better swimmer on board!”

I understood what was wanted. Ned got hold of a rope, which I fastened round my waist.

“I’ll carry it ashore,” I cried out.

“Let me go, too,” cried Dicky Plumb, forgetting that he could not swim.

There was no time for thought. I dashed overboard, and struck out for the shore; I ran a great risk of being knocked on the head by pieces of the wreck; I knew that several passed close to me. Now the sea came roaring up, and, passing over the vessel, sent me some way towards the shore; as it receded, however, it carried me back again almost to the junk; still I struggled on; the next sea which came up took me still nearer, and, though I went back again, still I had gained some distance; at last, I felt my feet touch the ground, then I seemed about to be swept back again, but I struggled on, and with a wild spring, clutching the sand with my hands, I resisted the receding water, which came hissing and foaming around me; then with a few more desperate struggles I found myself out of the reach of the sea. Near me was a pointed rock; round it I securely fastened the rope. In the meantime, three or four men had thrown themselves into the water; one poor fellow was swept out, his dying shriek reaching my ear just as I landed; another was holding on desperately to a piece of the wreck; two more came on shore, but greatly exhausted. I saw Rawlings making signals to me to haul in the rope; I began to haul away, but the rope he had secured to the light one I took on shore was so heavy that I could not accomplish the task; just then I was joined by my two shipmates, and all three of us pulling away at the rope, we got it on shore; the end was secured, as the lighter one had been, round the rock; and the first person who tried it was Rawlings. I found that he had secured a couple of travellers to the rope.

“I will go back,” he said, “and bring Mr Plumb. Mr Hanson will not leave the vessel till all are on shore, I know.”

Master Dicky, however, was for coming entirely by himself; still, I think he would have been washed off had not Rawlings gone to his assistance. Little Joss, the Chinese boy, clambered along as actively as a monkey. There was more difficulty in getting Mr Hanson on shore, as he had scarcely quite recovered from his wounds. Not a moment after he left the junk a sea came roaring up, and in an instant she split into a thousand fragments; not a particle of her remained holding together on the rock on which she struck; the same sea tore the poor fellow who had been clinging to a piece of the wreck from his hold, and he was washed away, no more to be seen. The remainder of us clambered up away from the beach, where we sat down to consult what was best to be done. It was now growing dark; not a house or shelter of any sort could we see.

“We shall all perish if we spend the night exposed to this bitter blast,” said Mr Hanson. “Lads, we must look out for some place or other for shelter,” and saying this, he led the way further inland, where a lofty cliff appeared before us.

Searching about, we found an opening in the rock, down the centre of which a stream flowed, running on towards the sea. Here we were somewhat sheltered from the wind, but it was open at the top, so that the air even here felt very cold.