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An hour later Hugh Maclean, the engineer, and the lesser officers and thirty-two men of the Saigon's company and some two score of Russian sailors were working like slaves transferring, under the supervision of a strong guard, the Saigon's coal and cargo into the Nevski's boats. Captain Brandon was not among the toilers.
After that the business in hand proceeded at such a pace that by dawn the Saigon was completely gutted, and she rode the water like a swan, the greater part of her bulk in air. The weary Englishmen were thereupon driven like sheep upon the Nevski's deck, and forced to descend the small after-hold, which was almost empty.
Sunrise brought them to a rock-bound coast, and so nicely had the Nevski's navigator steered, that the first headland circumvented made room for the revelation of a little bay. It was enclosed on three sides with gray hills, and across the mouth was stretched a broken line of hungry-looking surf-crowned reefs.
As if in answer, another flag fluttered up the Nevski's halliards. "He will send a boat," interpreted Maclean. A short period of fret and fume ensued, then a small steam launch rounded the Nevski's bows, and sped like a gray-hound across the intervening space. The Nevski now presented her broadside to the Saigon, and all of her six guns were trained upon the English steamer's decks.
Of the whole ship's company on deck, Captain Brandon, Hugh Maclean, and the chief engineer had alone remained standing. There was a new flag at the Nevski's truck. "Follow at full speed!" it commanded. The Saigon instantly obeyed. Before night fell, the moon rose, three-quarters full. It lighted the procession into dawn.
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