A Chinese Command

A Chinese Command, by Harry
Collingwood

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Title: A Chinese Command A Story of Adventure in Eastern Seas
Author: Harry Collingwood
Illustrator: Arch. Webb
Release Date: October 20, 2007 [EBook #23118]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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CHINESE COMMAND ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

A Chinese Command, A Story of Adventure in Eastern Seas, by Harry
Collingwood.

CHAPTER ONE.
THE OUTCAST.
A furious gust of wind tore down the chimney, blowing the smoke out
into the small but cosily-furnished sitting-room of the little cottage at
Kingston-on-Thames, and sending a shower of sparks hissing and
spluttering on to the hearth-rug, where they were promptly trodden out
by a tall, fair-haired young giant, who lazily removed his feet from a
chair on which they reposed, for the purpose.
This operation concluded, he replaced his feet on the chair with
deliberation, re-arranged a cushion behind his head, leaned back
luxuriously, and started hunting in his pocket for matches wherewith to
light his pipe, which had gone out.
"Beastly night for a dog to be out, much more a human being," he
soliloquised. "Poor old Murray's sure to be drenched when he gets back,
as well as frozen to the bone. Let's see--is everything ready for him?
Yes, there are his slippers warming before the fire--hope none of those
sparks burnt a hole in 'em--likewise dry coat, shirt, and trousers; that
ought to do him all right. I hope to goodness the poor old chap's got
some encouragement to-day, if nothing else, for he's fearfully down on
his luck, and no mistake. And, between me and those fire-irons there,
I'm getting almost afraid to let him out of my sight, for fear he'll go and
do something foolish--though, to be sure, he's hardly that kind of fellow,
when one comes to think of it. However, he should be in very soon now,
and then I, shall learn the news."
Having delivered himself of this monologue, Dick Penryn lit his pipe,
took up the book he had been reading, and was soon deep in the pages
of Theophile Gautier's Voyage en l'Orient.
Dick Penryn and Murray Frobisher, the friend to whom he had been
alluding, were chums of many years' standing. They had been born
within a few months of one another--Frobisher being slightly the
elder--in the same Devon village; had attended the same school in
Plymouth--Mannamead House, to be exact; had gone to the same

college together, and had passed into the British Navy within a year of
one another--Frobisher being again first in the race.
Then, for some years, fortune smiled upon both. Each won golden
opinions from his superiors; and by the time that the lads were
twenty-three years of age they had attained the rank of lieutenant, and
showed signs of rising rapidly in the service.
Everything was going splendidly, and both Dick and Murray were
enjoying temporary rank as commanders of torpedo-boats during the
winter manoeuvres of 1891-92, when suddenly, without any warning,
Fate turned her face away from one of the chums and plunged him from
the pinnacle of light-hearted happiness to the depths of misery and
despair.
One evening, while a portion of the defending fleet was lying in
Portland Roads waiting to be joined by the other division, news was
brought in by one of the scouting destroyers that the attacking fleet had
been seen at the entrance to the Channel, steering a course which
undoubtedly had Portland as its objective. If that naval base was to be
"saved", it was urgently necessary to send eastward in haste to
Portsmouth, to bring up the other half of the defending squadron;
otherwise the attackers would have things all their own way, and the
south-west coast of England would lie at the mercy of the "enemy."
The destroyer Spitfire, which had just brought the news, would
naturally have been selected to carry the message under ordinary
circumstances--one of the rules of the game being that the telegraph
might not be used by either side; but unfortunately, while still a
considerable distance from Portland, she had commenced to run short
of coal, being obliged to steam at half-speed for a number of hours, and
finally arrived in the harbour on the sweepings of her bunkers. Hence
there was greater need for haste than ever; and, as it would have taken
longer to re-bunker the Spitfire than for T.B. 42, Murray's ship, to raise
steam,