Mr. Hopkins told his adventures too. "Just hustled ashore to have a squint at those cunning weasels alongside the coal wharf, guessed they’d played us a mighty smart trick way back at Malta, and was mighty inquisitive to see ’the cut of their jibs’. Ain’t been looking at ’em time enough to see a cat jump, when round came two hands in front of my face, fingers on ’em, too, like steel claws, and laid hold of my windpipe as loving as a mother-in-law. "Then someone caught me a whack behind the knees which brought me down, and before I could say ’Johnny Jones’ I was lifted up, bundled on board, and plumped on deck like a bag of spuds." Mighty pleased they both were to be rescued, and Mr. Hopkins kept on smacking his thigh and roaring with laughter. "My snakes, how those black-livered, herring-gutted, fried-up tar-brushes of Patagonians did get to wind’ard of you at Malta! Just about won this round though, Parker?" "I should just think we had," answered Mr. Parker, smiling. Well, in the middle of all this off came a Cingalee telegraph boy with what turned out to be a telegram from Captain Helston. Mr. Parker came on deck after he had deciphered it, with a very grave face, and said: "Mr. Hopkins, I am ordered by Captain Helston to inform you that you must consider yourself under arrest for going ashore without leave at Port Said. I must request you to go below." This was a facer for everybody; but Mr. Hopkins, with a look of amazement, obeyed immediately, leaving us on deck wondering why Captain Helston had been so severe. "His worries must have made him confoundedly strict," said Mr. Parker. For the next days we lay at this buoy, keeping our eyes on the Patagonian, and with steam "up" in case she tried to leave. We had a jolly good time ashore, and the dinners at the Grand Oriental Hotel in the cool of the evening, with the punkahs swinging to and fro, were simply ripping. Then along came the rest of the squadron safe and sound, much to our delight, and Mr. Staunton and Mr. Hopkins were sent over to the _Laird_. The latter was certain to get a terrible wigging from Captain Helston, and we all felt very sorry for him. Mellins and a lot of other midshipmen came over from the _Laird_, and Tommy Toddles from "No. 1", bringing a big cake his mater had sent out by the mail. We had a tremendous chin wag, and it was jolly to meet them all again, and spin them the yarn of our chase and capture of the Patagonian. How they did envy me! Whenever I see a big cake now, I always think of that afternoon, sitting round the after 6-pounder gun platform, with the awning over our heads, and the big scavenger-birds (Bromley kites we call them) swooping round us as we ate our way through Tommy’s cake.