A boat of the _Calcutta_ being nearest, I jumped into her, pulling our wounded men with us, my dog Mike refusing to leave the dead body of the man who was his favourite. We were obliged to leave him. I then gave the order to retire on the _Hong-Kong_ and reform abreast of her. While we were going down a shot cut away all the oars on one side. I called to Lieutenant Graham to get his boat ready, as I would hoist my broad pennant and lead the next attack in his boat. I had no sooner spoken to him than a shot disabled his boat, wounding him and killing and wounding four others. I saw Graham one mass of blood, but it was from a marine who stood next to him, and part of whose skull was forced three inches into another man’s shoulder. When I reached the _Hong-Kong_ the whole of the enemy’s fire seemed centred on her. She was hulled twelve times in a few minutes, her deck was covered with the wounded who had been brought on board from the boats. I was looking at him when a round shot cut down a marine and he fell on them. From the paddle box I saw that our heavy firing was bringing up strong reinforcements. The account of having been obliged to retire had reached them, and they were pulling like mad. The _Hong-Kong_ had floated and grounded again. I ordered a bit of blue bunting to be got ready to represent my broad pennant. I called out, “Let us try the row boats once more, boys,”[1] and went over the side into the _Raleigh_ cutter, in which was Turnour and the faithful Spurier[2] bringing the bit of blue bunting. At this moment there arose from the boats, as if every man took it up at the same instant, one of those British cheers so full of meaning, that I knew at once it was all up with John Chinaman. They might sink thirty boats, but there were thirty others who would go ahead all the faster. On we went. It was indeed a lovely and exciting sight. I saw the move among the junks; they were breaking ground and moving off, the outermost first. This manœuvre they performed in beautiful order. They never ceased to fire. Three more cheers and then commenced an exciting chase for seven miles. As our shot told on them they ran ashore and their crews forsook them. Seventeen were come up with this way, and only three escaped. It was in this last chase that my poor Spurier was shot down by my side. I saw his bowels protruding as he lay in the bottom of the boat, holding my hand. He asked me if I thought there was any hope. I could only say--Where there is life there is hope. But I had none. Strange to say, the good Crawford sewed him up, and the Admiral’s last letter from Hong-Kong states Spurier hoped to return to his duties in a few days. [1] What he did say was, “The rascals are making off.” He shook his fist at them, and further said, “I will pay you off for this. Man the boats, boys.” [2] His coxswain.