Mr Brooke frowned, and the Chinaman shrank away. I noticed too that when the food was served round, the men took each a good lump of salt pork and a couple of biscuits, Ching contented himself with one biscuit, which he took right forward, and there sat, munching slowly, till it was dark and the shore was lit up with thousands of lanterns swinging in shop, house, and on the river boats moored close along by the shore. "Bad for us," said Mr Brooke, as we sat together astern steering, and keeping a sharp look ahead for the expected enemy. "Why?" I asked. "Getting so dark, my lad. We shall be having the junks pass us." "Oh no, sir. Ching is keen-sighted, and all the men are looking out very eagerly." "Ah, well, I hope they will not slip by. They must not, Herrick. There is one advantage in this darkness, though: they will not find us out." The darkness favouring the movement, and so as to save time, ready for any sudden emergency, he ordered the men to buckle on their cutlass-belts and pouches, while the rifles were hid handy. "In case we want to board, Herrick." "Then you mean to board if there is a chance?" I said. "I mean to stop one of those junks from putting to sea, if I can," he replied quietly. "The _Teaser_ having left us, alters our position completely. She has gone off on a false scent, I'm afraid, and we must not lose the substance while they are hunting the shadow." Very little more was said, and as I sat in the darkness I had plenty to think about and picture out, as in imagination I saw our queer-looking boat hooked on to the side of a great high-pooped junk, and Mr Brooke leading the men up the side to the attack upon the fierce desperadoes who would be several times our number. "I don't know what we should do," I remember thinking to myself, "if these people hadn't a wholesome fear of our lads." Then I watched the shore, with its lights looking soft and mellow against the black velvety darkness. Now and then the booming of gongs floated off to us, and the squeaking of a curious kind of pipe; while from the boats close in shore the twangling, twingling sound of the native guitars was very plain--from one in particular, where there was evidently some kind of entertainment, it being lit up with a number of lanterns of grotesque shapes. In addition to the noise--I can't call it music--of the stringed instruments, there came floating to us quite a chorus of singing. Well, I suppose it was meant for singing; but our lads evidently differed, for I heard one man say in a gruff whisper-- "See that there boat, messmate?" "Ay," said another. "I hear it and see it too." "Know what's going on?" "Yes; it's a floating poulterer's shop." "A what?" "A floating poulterer's shop. Can't you hear 'em killing the cats?" This interested me, and I listened intently. "Killing the cats?" said another.