I had not time just then to think much about the strange incident, for the fight had been a bloody one and there were many men who needed attention. We had six men killed and there were fully twenty-five more with injuries of some sort. When I came to look myself over I found that one bullet had grazed the top of my head and another my chest, while the right shoulder of my jacket had been sliced off by a cut that, had it been properly placed, would have taken my arm with it. My only injury was a trifling flesh wound on my leg. Had I been less of a fatalist narrow escapes of that kind, to which I grew accustomed, might have affected my nerves, but instead they were only entertaining. It interested me, in every fight, to see just how close I had come to being killed, knowing full well that death could not add my name to the list until my time came, and that then there would be no way of avoiding it. When we got to clearing up the decks nearly sixty dead Malays were thrown overboard. The merchantman, which was an English bark, had twelve of her crew killed and so many of the survivors were badly cut up that only six men were fit for duty. We left enough of our men on board to work the ship and convoyed her to within two hundred miles of Singapore, where, with a fair wind and a smooth sea, she was able to proceed without danger. That episode netted us not only a glorious fight but a great reputation as the friend and protector of honest shipping. In fact, it brought us too much fame, for when we put into Labuan, a British island off the north coast of Borneo, for coal, after seeing the merchantman safely on her way, and reported the incident, we had to get out in a hurry to avoid a lot of innocent questions as to who Dr. Burnet was and where he came from.