"Why, it means that I have been trying you, that's all. Forgive the deception, but the importance of our mission must be my excuse. Now we must be going. Here is the boat."
As he spoke, a large sampan shot out from among its companions and came swiftly towards the wharf.
"Two cautions before we embark. The first—remember that I am a Chinaman, and speak only pigeon English. The second—if you are armed, be careful of your rev olver. The men who work the junk we are going down to meet are not to be trusted; hence my disguise."
He left me and descended the steps. The sampan by this time had come alongside; a woman was rowing and a vigorous conversation in Chinese ensued. When it was finished my companion beckoned to me, and picking up my bag I went down to him. Next moment I was aboard and stuffed away in the little pokey rat-hole of a cabin amidships. My friend took his place beside me a small boy took the helm, and we pushed off. Not a word was spoken, and in this fashion for nearly an hour we pursued our way down the harbour, passed a flotilla of junks, threaded a course between the blue and red funnel boats, and finally swept out into the clear space that stretches away from Port Victoria as far as Green Island.
For hours we seemed to be imprisoned in that stuffy little cabin. Like most sampans, the boat smelt abominably, and as we could only see the mechanical rowing of the women in the well forrard, and hear the occasional commands of the tiny boy steering aft, our enjoyment may be placed on the debit side of the account without any fear of miscalculation.
