AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER
Phil had ceased to struggle; his doom was too close upon him to hope
to escape it. His one chance was the launch. A low cry of joy burst
from him as he saw her turn safely under the overhanging bows of the
junks and steam swiftly toward him. Yet he knew that all danger had not
passed; the current was still sweeping him down while the boat must
keep her headway else she would be carried back under the shipping. The
launch loomed above him; he saw her anxious crew gathered in the bow
ready to grasp the struggling men as they were swept by on the crest of
the flood.
He was conscious of strong arms about him, and the next moment he and
the rescued Chinaman were safely on board the launch, while she was
steaming at full speed for safety away from the treacherous shore.
After the rescued Chinaman had been resuscitated, and Phil had
recovered from his terrible exertions, he ordered the coxswain to land
at the foreign concession. The Chinaman lay on the deck of the launch,
fully alive but not showing by word or sign his gratitude to the
midshipman who had saved his life at the risk of his own.
As the boat stopped at the stone steps of the jetty, the Chinaman arose
unsteadily to his feet, grasping the boy’s hand in both of his, then
without a word stepped quickly out of the launch and was lost in the
night.
Phil was so astonished at the man’s action that it was some moments
before he realized that a ring had been left in his hand. He examined
it eagerly in the dim light of an oil lantern; what was his surprise to
find that it was of massive carved gold, set with a green jade stone.
As the launch was secured alongside of the “Phœnix’s” gangway, Phil
stepped to the coxswain’s side and took the sailor’s rough hand in his
own, much to the embarrassment of the latter.
“Blake,” the lad said earnestly, “you saved my life, and you did it as
coolly as if you had been only making a landing alongside the ship.”
“It was nothing, sir,” the coxswain answered quickly, his face beaming;
“but to think of your jumping into this river to save a Chink,” he
added admiringly.
“My act was upon impulse,” Phil declared earnestly, “and took no real
nerve, while you deliberately measured your chances and saw that the
odds were dead against you; one slip, one spoke too little helm, one
revolution too few with the engines, and you and your crew would have
been swept underneath that mass of junks, and knowing this you took the
chance and had the nerve and grit to steer your boat cleverly to safety
and me with her. My act is insignificant beside yours.”
Leaving the coxswain still wondering at his words of praise, Phil
reported his return and went at once to his room for dry clothes.
Although the hour was early, and there were many things over which he
would have liked to talk with Sydney and their new friend Langdon, when
once in dry, warm clothes he found his exertions of the past hour had
sapped his strength, and he was soon fast asleep. Nor did he awake
until the sun was streaming in through his port-hole.
Turning out promptly, and making a hasty toilet, he was soon in
the mess-room, where he found the full mess at breakfast, and all
discussing the seriousness of the present crisis.
As he put his hands on the table the brightness of the ring the
Chinaman had given him startled him; the deep green of the stone stood
out clearly against the white tablecloth. Langdon, sitting beside him,
espied it immediately and grasped the boy’s hand, examining the ring
closely.
“Royal jade!” the pilot exclaimed. “Where did you get it? That’s one of
the finest stones I’ve seen in years.”
Phil felt abashed, not wishing to relate his experience before the mess.
“I’ll tell you later,” he whispered, withdrawing his hand before the
attention of the rest of the mess could be attracted. Then turning to
the executive officer, presiding at the head of the mess-table, he
asked anxiously:
“Is there any news, sir, about sending the guard to the legation? If
it is going I should like to be allowed to go in the detail.”
Sydney hastened to add his plea to go along also, and Mr. Webster’s
face broadened in an amused smile as he watched the eager faces of the
midshipmen.
“I can tell you,” he replied heartily, “that you are both in the
detail, so you may rest easy. I for one hope there will be no necessity
for the expedition. China is a dangerous country when once aroused.”
Then, turning to Phil, whose joy showed plainly in his face, while his
pulses beat faster, he added:
“What’s this we hear about your rescuing a Chinaman from drowning last
night? It’s all about the ship forward, yet aft here we’re the last to
hear of it.”
Phil colored painfully while he outlined the episode of the river; he
said but little of his part, but praised unstintingly the coolness and
courage of the coxswain of the launch.
“Coxswain Blake belittles his own part as much as you praise it,” Mr.
Webster remarked kindly, as the officers rose from the breakfast table.
In Phil’s room after breakfast, Langdon examined the ring closely in
hopes of discovering a clew to the identity of the owner.
“There’s nothing here to tell,” the pilot announced after careful
scrutiny, handing the ring back to the midshipman; “it’s of great value
among the Chinese; undoubtedly the man was rich and he left with you
the only article of value he was then wearing. The Chinese are a queer
lot; their superstitions will not allow them to save a fellow-being
from drowning, but when they themselves are saved by a foreigner they
will at once put aside the obligation by giving their rescuer a costly
gift. Your Chinaman doubtless considers his debt is paid.”
After breakfast was over the midshipmen asked and received permission
to visit the foreign concession.
“You must go in uniform,” Lieutenant Webster replied to their request,
“and the captain’s positive orders are not to enter the Chinese city.”
The lads quickly agreed to keep to this rule, and a half hour later the
“Phœnix’s” steam launch landed them on the stone jetty abreast the
ship.
Here they were immediately surrounded by a score of Chinese ricksha
coolies, each one anxious to enlist their patronage in engaging a
jinricksha, which is the customary conveyance of the far Eastern
countries. The lads were soon seated each in one of these miniature
carriages; and the coolies in the shafts darted off at a lively pace
down the smooth macadamized roadbed of the Bund.
“Where shall we go first?” Sydney questioned, raising his voice so as
to be heard above the rattle of the wheels.
Phil shook his head in sign of perfect indifference. The sensation
of riding in one of these novel carriages for the first time was
distinctly pleasant. He felt half exhilarated and half ridiculous.
However, before they had traveled a block, he lost his feeling that
every one was looking at him, a grown man riding in a baby carriage,
and began to thoroughly enjoy the situation. The throngs on the streets
interested him, and the color scheme pleased his eye; the gayly dressed
natives sprinkled here and there with the more sombre garb of the
Europeans or Americans.
“I don’t care,” he answered as Sydney repeated his question. “Let them
take us wherever they will. Later, though, I want to go to the bank and
buy a draft to send home.
“Here we are,” he added suddenly, making energetic efforts to stop his
own ricksha in its mad career, as he espied the sign on a great stone
building: “Hongkong Bank.”
The lads alighting, bidding by sign their rickshas to wait, entered the
wide doorway of the bank.
Here they met scores of Chinamen pouring continually in and out,
depositing or drawing out great sacks of Mexican dollars, the token
currency of China. Behind the counters, although the bank was owned
by an English corporation, Phil saw only Chinese. Millions of dollars
daily passed through their hands.
Leaving Sydney gazing interestedly at the scenes of activity, Phil
moved over to a desk upon which were paper and ink laid out for the
bank customers. As he drew near, he took casual note of a foreigner
standing with his back toward the door, engaged apparently in writing.
At the man’s feet he saw a neatly folded paper lying. Apparently it
had just been dropped from the foreigner’s pocket. Stooping down, Phil
picked it up, hastily glancing over it to see if it was of sufficient
consequence to ask the stranger if it were his. He had barely time to
note that the writing was in English when it was roughly seized from
his hand, and looking up in surprise, he found himself confronted
by an angry, excited face, whose dark, piercing eyes snapped with
uncontrolled passion. The stranger thrust the letter into his pocket
with one hand, while the other was closely clenched as if he were about
to strike down the innocent offender.
“What do you mean by trying to read my letter?” the foreigner cried in
a voice full of wrath.
The blood mounted to Phil’s forehead as he returned unflinchingly
the stranger’s wild look. He was about to answer an apology when the
foreigner’s cutting voice stayed him.
“Just like you officious Americans,” the stranger exclaimed, surveying
the neat blue uniform of the American midshipman; “always meddling in
some one else’s affairs.”
“What’s the trouble, Phil?” Sydney asked in alarm, hastening to his
friend’s side, upon seeing the look on Phil’s face and the menacing
attitude of the other.
By an effort Phil controlled himself. His first thought was then and
there to settle accounts with this infuriated man; but wiser counsel
prevailed.
“I did not read your letter,” he retorted in a dignified voice. “I
wished only to see if it was of any consequence in order to restore
it to its owner.” Then realizing that his conciliating answer had
not changed the attitude of the stranger, he added in a voice of
self-contained anger:
“If you got what you deserved, it would be a sound thrashing for your
slanderous tongue.”
The foreigner, hearing the lad’s just rebuke, and seeing by his
muscular frame that he was capable of carrying his implied threat into
execution, shrugged his shoulders eloquently, pocketed his papers and
walked sullenly toward the door of the bank.
Phil stood his ground, his eyes defiantly following the stranger until
the swinging doors closed behind him.
Sydney was told of the cause of the unexpected dispute and was eager to
follow the foreigner and demand an apology, but Phil only laughed.
“I got in the last word; that’s something,” he said, as he quietly
wrote out his order for the draft. “I wonder who he is. By his accent
I should say he was of a Latin race. He spoke to me in good English,
though.”
“Do you suppose he is a naval officer from a foreign gunboat?” Sydney
asked by way of an answer.
“No; he’s probably some beach-comber,” Phil answered testily, taking
his paper to the cashier’s desk. “And as far as I am concerned I don’t
care who he is. He’s not of sufficient importance to give him any more
attention,” he added, shutting his firm jaws with a snap in dismissing
the unpleasant incident.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s forget him. There are lots of things here
more amusing.”