Summary

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Blue Jackets: The Log of the Teaser

All was ready on board, and I saw Mr Brooke looking stern, and the men as they grasped their oars grinning at one another, and then looking aft at the enemy.
And as we raced, the water foaming behind, the bamboo mast creaking and bending, the mat-sail cracking and making curious noises as the wind hissed through the thick stuff, the trough we ploughed through the water seemed deeper, and my temples throbbed and my heart beat, while from time to time the water lipped over the bows, but not enough to warrant any change of course.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Blue Jackets: The Log of the Teaser

I cried, feeling quite startled at the idea of the ship leaving us with our small boat in the midst of strangers. “Why, she must have had news of some other junks, sir, and gone in pursuit, or is it a mistake? We can’t have come far enough. No; this is the spot.”
The men were looking at me inquiringly, just as men accustomed to be led lean on their superiors for orders, even if one of those superiors be a mere boy, while I, acting in precisely the same spirit, looked up to Mr Brooke, and listened excitedly for what he would say next.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Blue Jackets: The Log of the Teaser

But Mr Brooke’s rule over the boat was at an end the moment the storm was upon us, and, as far as I could ever learn afterwards, no one thought of rocks, channel, saving his life, or being drowned. The storm struck us, and with its furious rush went all power of planning or thinking. Every nerve of the body was devoted to the tasks of holding on and getting breath.
Source: Gutenberg

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