CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
A WILD-BEASTS' CAGE.
All doubts as to our next destination were set at rest the next morning, for it was generally known that we were making for Tsin-Tsin, at the mouth of the Great Fo river, where the prisoners were to be delivered over to the Chinese authorities.
I had been pretty busy all the morning with Barkins and Smith, going from one to the other, to sit with them and give them what news I could, both looking rather glum when I went away, for they were feverish and fretful from their wounds.

But I promised to return soon with news of the men, who were all together in a cool, well-ventilated part of the 'tween-decks, seeming restful and patient, the doctor having been round, and, in his short, decisive way, given them a few words of encouragement.
I saw their faces light up as I went down between the two rows in which they were laid, and stopped for a chat with those I knew best, about the way in which they had received their wounds, the coxswain of our boat being the most talkative.
"They all got it 'bout the same way, sir," he said.

"It all comes of trying to do the beggars a good turn.

Who'd ever have thought it, eh, sir?
Trying to save a fellow from drownding, and knives yer!" They were all very eager to know what was to become of the prisoners, and upon my telling the poor fellows what I knew, I heard them giving their opinions to one another in a lying-down debate.
"Seems a pity," said one of the men.

"Takes all that there trouble, we does; captivates 'em; and then, 'stead o' having the right to hang 'em all decently at the yard-arm, we has to give 'em up to the teapots." "How are you going to hang 'em decently ?" said another voice.
"Reg'lar way, o' course, matey." "Yah, who's going to do it?
British sailors don't want turning into Jack Ketches." "'Course not," said a third.