He did so. But in the calm and mist he unwittingly, and without evil intent (being, as their Highnesses could see, only a poor trader) came too near, when to his amazement showers of bullets and great cannon balls tore his sails to pieces; and, but for the coops being piled high on deck, assuredly every soul must have perished. In spite of explanations and shouts for mercy he was repeatedly fired into, all his cargo killed, sixty new coops of the best bamboo knocked to atoms; one of his crew desperately wounded, his vessel irretrievably damaged. His claim was for five hundred dollars; and he retired, secure in the knowledge that the Heaven-Born Son of the great foreign nation who, that day, with the Twin Lights of Justice, occupied the judgment-seat, would mete out compensation with an unsparing hand. The dealer gave evidence much to the same effect. Then the wounded sailor, whose scalp had been furrowed by a ball, ghastly with bandages and the gore which he had liberally smeared over his features, told his tale. To wind up with, the unlucky jumping cannon, which had pitched on to the deck of the junk, was produced as evidence of identity. Outside, in piles, lay other witnesses—hundreds of fine fat ducks, stiff and ‘high.’ Around the building the fickle crowd could be heard raging for the blood of the unfortunate M‘Cracken, so lately their hero. The Consul, who spoke English well, was obviously ill at ease. The two mandarins glared sourly at the poor skipper. ‘I think, captain, you’d better pay at once,’ said the Consul. ‘Evidently a most unfortunate mistake has been made; and that is the only way out of it that I can see.’ ‘I’ll see him dom’d afore I do!’ exclaimed the skipper. ‘Five hundred dollars! Why, it’s a hundred pun sterlin’ o’ oor money! An’ a’ for a wheen dukes an’ a crackit heid! Na, na! Tell the skirlin’ fule I’ll gie him fifty dollars, and that’s mair than a’ his gear’s worth. I’ll gang to preesin suner than pay as muckle siller as he’s askin’!’ Outside the ‘Children of far Cathay’ could be heard yelling louder than ever for the heart, liver, and entrails of the white devil. The Consul’s face grew graver as he listened to the wounded sailor, just below the open window haranguing the crowd. ‘What’s a’ that claver aboot?’ asked the skipper. ‘They are demanding,’ replied the Consul, ‘that these gentlemen’—indicating the mandarins—‘should have you crucified at once. And, upon my word, captain, if you don’t soon make up your mind, they’ll do it. I am powerless to assist you in any way beyond finding you the money.’