They were all up there to show it to Helston. Every man in the squadron had done a little, so they told me. Helston made a speech, and everybody was vastly pleased with himself—with justice, too, for the railings and the monument were stout enough to stand unattended for years. The _Sylvia_ returned a day or two afterwards with the news that the Chinese Government was sending a transport with blue-jackets and officers to take over our ships, and that when this was done we should be immediately taken down to Hong-Kong and sent home. She brought a mail which she had found waiting for us at Shanghai. There was nothing for me, as usual, except a couple of bills. Telegrams came for Helston from the Admiralty congratulating him and the expedition on its success, and also the Queen had done us the honour of telegraphing her congratulations, condolence at our losses, and expressions of sympathy with the wounded. These two telegrams were immediately signalled round the fleet, and it was rather pleasant to know that they had been sent off from England only three days since. Helston made a big ceremony of the reading of the Queen’s telegram, "dressed ship", and "fell in" the crew of the _Laird_ on the quarter-deck, making them a speech after they had heard the telegram, and calling for three cheers for "The Queen". The feeling of personal loyalty to the Queen was always so intense that one invariably felt that the cheers were completely genuine. Every man Jack yelled his cheers till he was hoarse. Helston went from the _Laird_ to each of the ships in turn and repeated the ceremony, returning so extremely pleased with himself that I conjectured rightly that he had repeated the speech as well. We had nothing now to do but wait for the transport, and it appeared at last, a great lumbering steamer, the _Moi Wa_, crowded with Chinese blue-jackets. "Ping Sang must have hustled them at Peking," said Helston to me, evidently surprised at the promptness of the Chinese Admiralty. "He knows we are anxious to get home, and did his best for us, I expect." "Did his best for us? For himself, you mean!" I answered. "He doesn’t care a twopenny rap for our feelings, but wants to get rid of us and the cost of our pay and food. Why, I actually heard the old miser ask the Paymaster whether he would have to pay the men left behind at Hong-Kong wounded; and the Paymaster told me that Ping Sang also asked him to let him know what was the total daily pay of the officers and men killed on One Gun Hill, and when he learnt it he rubbed his hands with delight—the fat, oily brute—and said, ’Five pounds a day, fifty dollars a day, nearly four hundred dollars a week’, and went off chuckling." "You don’t make allowance for him, Doc." "No, I don’t," I replied shortly, "and I cannot either."