Read Online Guns to the Far East by V. A. Stuart - Free Book Online

The Chinese, sensing victory, sent salvo after salvo into the scattered boat flotilla but they were not having it all their own way—several of the junks were sinking, others on fire, and two, at least, had their sweeps out, preparatory to taking flight. Obstinately determined to reply to their fire, Phillip scrambled forward to assist the two surviving members of his gun’s crew to right their weapon, but the task was beyond their strength and their frantic efforts came near to swamping the launch.
    â€œSir … sir!” Lightfoot was at his side, mouthing something at him which he could not hear. But the boy was pointing and he saw that the Calcutta ’s barge, with Keppel in the sternsheets, was coming towards them, her Commander waving to them to retire, and he gave the order thankfully. Rowing back against the tide, with the men gasping and close to collapse at the oars and a disabled gig in tow, they had to run the gauntlet of the junks’ fire but, miraculously, the launch was not hit. The Hong Kong and Starling, floated by the rising tide, had come up two miles from Hyacinth Island and the boats of Keppel’s division reformed abreast of the Hong Kong. The gunboats were under very heavy fire, which was now concentrated on them and, although they replied with spirit, the Hong Kong, her decks crowded with wounded men from the boats, was hulled a dozen times in as many minutes and Keppel, standing on her sponson, his glass to his eye, gave the signal to retire out of range.
    The deeper-draught steamers, led by the Haughty, with the third and fourth divisions of boats, could be seen coming up, and, clear of the worst of the enemy fire, the Hong Kong dropped anchor to await the arrival of much-needed reinforcements. Phillip transferred his wounded, numbering four, to her surgeon’s care, replaced them with volunteers from the gig they had rescued and, with their aid, managed to remount his battered brass gun. The order came to serve out quinine and biscuit to the exhausted boats’ crews and this was being obeyed when Commodore Keppel, still keeping the junk fleet under observation from his vantage point on the Hong Kong ’s paddle-box, suddenly gave vent to a stentorian bellow.
    â€œThe rascals are making off!” A small, unmistakable figure in his white pith hat, he shook his fist in the air. “You rascals— I’ll pay you off for this! Man the boats, my boys! Man the boats!”
    Not everyone had heard his order but his meaning was clear as he was seen to go over the side into the Raleigh ’s cutter, commanded by Edward Turnour, the faithful Spurrier at his heels with his length of blue bunting, the dog, Mike, clutched under his left arm. A cheer went up from the Hong Kong ’s deck, which was taken up and echoed resoundingly by the boats’ crews. The newly arrived third and fourth divisions cast off their tow-ropes and raced after those of the nowdepleted first division, all of them somehow finding the heart and energy to join in the cheering. For all the world like boats at a peacetime regatta, the whole flotilla made straight for the junks which, evidently taken by surprise at this sudden turn of events, slackened their fire. Oars out, they broke their hitherto compact line and started to retreat up river, several hoisting their sails.
    The manoeuvre, Phillip saw, was performed in beautiful order, the outermost moving off first and the rest continuing to fire at their on-coming attackers. But now, lacking their earlier cohesion and fire power, they were vulnerable and the British shot began to tell, particularly that of the Hong Kong. She steamed after the boats for a considerable distance, her bottom scraping mud, until once again the water shoaled and her progress was halted. She kept up her fire, however, scoring hit after hit with roundshot and rockets.
    One of the junks, bearing a baleful red and yellow eye painted on her bow, received a hit which