THE OPENING OF THE WAR.
“Here we are at last, Oliver! I declare the place looks like home to
me, after being away so long!”
It was Dan who spoke, as the _Cardigan_ steamed up to her wharf at
the Chinese-English port for which she had been bound. The voyage had
proved without incident, and we stepped from the ship feeling in the
best of health, despite the many adventures through which we had passed.
“It certainly looks more friendly than Manila did,” I returned, as I
gazed at the long line of shipping. “I wonder what your folks will say
when they hear our story.”
“Perhaps Harry Longley has succeeded in getting a cablegram through,”
was the answer. “The Spaniards are cute, but, you know, we have a
secret code.”
Leaving the _Cardigan_, we walked up the broad wharf and on the street.
Not far away was a booth at which foreign periodicals were sold.
Around this booth a number of men were congregated, talking excitedly.
“War has been declared between the United States and Spain!” were the
first words which reached my ears.
“Can that be true?” I burst out.
Dan did not answer, but pushed his way to the stand, and bought a copy
of the latest paper to be had.
“Yes, the war is practically on,” he said, scanning the sheet. “Here is
a dispatch from Washington. Havana, Cuba, is about to be blockaded.”
“And the army is to be called out,” I said, looking over his shoulder.
“Oh, Dan, what about Manila now,--and our business?”
“Let us hurry to my father’s office,” answered my chum, and thrusting
the paper in his pocket he stalked down the street and I after him.
The office of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith was a pretentious one of stone,
located on a main corner of Hong Kong. Entering, we found Mr. Holbrook
deep in some accounts.
“Dan!” he cried, and caught his son by both hands. “I was afraid you
were dead,--that you had gone down with the _Dart_.”
“Then you have heard of the foundering, father?”
“Yes, a cablegram came in a few days ago. And you, Oliver, too! I am
thankful to Heaven that you both are safe!” and he shook hands.
“We had a good many adventures,” said the son, as we seated ourselves.
“No doubt. Tell me your story.”
What we had to say occupied the best part of an hour, and then it was
lunch time and the three of us went to eat. Mr. Holbrook was very much
perplexed.
“This war will upset everything,” he said. “We are already cut off from
Manila.”
“By cablegram?” I queried.
“Yes, and by mail, too. A message I offered yesterday was refused, and
I was given to understand that no letter to an American firm would be
delivered.”
“Is the war to be carried on away out here?” I cried, struck with a
sudden idea.
“It will be carried on wherever the armies and navies of Spain and
America may meet,” was the serious reply. “This war is to be no child’s
play.”
“Well, we can’t do much out here,” said Dan. “We have no soldiers
closer than those at San Francisco.”
“We have a number of warships in these waters, my son--I looked into
that matter last night.”
“American men-o’-war?” I put in, with interest.
“Yes, five or six of them, commanded by Commodore Dewey.”
“Where are the ships?”
“Here at Hong Kong, presumably awaiting orders from Washington.”
“And have the Spaniards any war vessels about the Philippines?” asked
Dan.
“Yes, they have a fleet under the command of a certain Admiral Montojo.”
“And what if these two fleets meet?”
“There will be a big fight, my boy, and who will come off victorious
there is no telling.”
“We’ll win!” I cried. “I don’t believe those Spaniards can whip us.”
“We mustn’t be over-confident, Oliver, even if we hope for the best.
But this war is a bad thing for our house, and the loss of those
documents you were carrying makes matters still worse.” Mr. Holbrook
scratched his head in perplexity. “I am afraid our Manila connection
will become a total loss to us.”
“Have we much money invested there?”
“Something like forty or forty-five thousand dollars. The Spanish sugar
planters who have bought machinery of us won’t pay a dollar now.”
“Unless we come out ahead in this war--and we will come out ahead,”
put in Dan. “Hang it all, but I feel like fighting myself!”
“So do I!” I cried. “I wish we had some soldiers out here, I would join
them, and sail for Manila and demand our rights.”
At this outburst Mr. Holbrook smiled. “You are very enthusiastic.
Soldiering is not such a holiday-making as you may imagine.”
“We couldn’t have any worse experience than we have had among those
dirty Tagals,” I answered. “I want to get back there, and get square
with those Spaniards, and with that villainous Captain Kenny.”
The conversation continued for the best part of the afternoon, but
without definite results. As it drew toward evening, Dan and I
accompanied Mr. Holbrook to the latter’s home, where we were warmly
received by Mrs. Holbrook and the other members of the family.
Mr. Holbrook had expected to go out in the evening, on a matter of
business, but was not feeling well, and presently asked Dan if he would
like to carry a note to a friend’s house for him.
“Why, certainly I’ll go,” answered the son, and I said I would
accompany him.
The letter was soon written and handed over, and we started out, down
the broad street and then through half a dozen narrow and crooked
thoroughfares belonging to the ancient portion of Hong Kong. The
friend lived the best part of a mile away, and we did not reach his
residence until after nine o’clock.
The message delivered, we started on our return. It had been dark and
threatening a storm, but instead of rain a heavy mist crept up from the
China Sea, through which the scattered street lights shone like tiny
yellow candles.
“It’s beastly,” remarked Dan, as he buttoned up his coat around his
neck. “I shall be glad when we are safe home and in bed. My, how good
it will feel to get back into my own bed again!”
“It will beat sleeping in a dirty Tagal hut, won’t it?” I laughed.
“Indeed it will, Oliver. That experience was--” Dan broke off short.
“What’s that?”
A loud cry came from behind, a man’s voice.
“Help, help! Murder! help!”
“Somebody is in trouble!” I ejaculated.
“What had we best do?”
The question remained unanswered in words, but both of us broke into a
run, heading as closely as we could for the spot from whence the cry
came.
The mist confused us not a little, and as the cries ceased we paused in
perplexity.
“Where are you?” I yelled.
“What’s up?” added Dan.
“This way! Help!” came more feebly. “The heathens are trying to murder
me!”
The words came from the entrance to a narrow alleyway, along which were
situated several Chinese gambling houses. As we sped along, I caught
up a stone that lay handy, and Dan pulled out a pistol he had procured
before starting out, for in Hong Kong it is a common thing to go armed.
We were but a few feet from the scene of the encounter when a Chinaman
plumped into me, sending me headlong. But as I went down I caught the
Celestial by the foot, and he fell.
The shock dazed me for an instant, and before I could recover the
Chinaman had me by the throat.
“Let--let up!” I gasped, and as he did not I grabbed him by the ear, at
which he let out a scream of pain. Then, in a twinkling, a dagger was
flashed before my eyes, and I felt as if my last moment on earth had
come.