[Illustration: ]
The Boy
Fortune Hunters
in China
By
FLOYD AKERS
Author of
“The Boy Fortune Hunters in Alaska,”
“The Boy Fortune Hunters in Panama,”
“The Boy Fortune Hunters in Egypt”
[Illustration: Publisher Logo]
CHICAGO
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
PUBLISHERS
Other Books in
The Boy Fortune Hunters
Series
By FLOYD AKERS
The Boy Fortune Hunters in Alaska
The Boy Fortune Hunters in Panama
The Boy Fortune Hunters in Egypt
Cloth 12 mos. illustrated, 60 cents each.
COPYRIGHT 1909 BY
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Sea Tragedy 11
II. Prince Kai Lun Pu 25
III. Smiling at Death 32
IV. A Startling Proposition 42
V. The Halls of His Ancestors 53
VI. “Old Death’s-Head” 65
VII. We Become Conspirators 76
VIII. Dr. Gaylord’s Proposal 86
IX. We Outwit Mai Lo. 93
X. An Unheeded Warning 102
XI. An Unexpected Desertion 112
XII. Mai Lo Makes a Discovery 121
XIII. The Elephant Train 131
XIV. The Chief Eunuch 139
XV. The Royal House of Kai 150
XVI. The Governor Shows His Teeth 156
XVII. Wi-to Proves Faithful 165
XVIII. The Sacred Apes of Kai 177
XIX. The Pearl of Kai-Nong 186
XX. “Three Little Maids from School” 199
XXI. An Unlawful Interview 210
XXII. The Secret Passage 220
XXIII. The Treasure of the Ancients 233
XXIV. The Royal Cabinet 244
XXV. The Trap is Sprung 256
XXVI. A Fearful Encounter 267
XXVII. The Battle in the Corridor 280
XXVIII. The Vengeance of the Ruby Scimitar 293
XXIX. The Severed Head 304
XXX. The Pool of the Devil-Fish 315
FOREWORD
Those readers who have penetrated far into the Chinese Empire, as has
the author, will be quick to discover that he has substituted for the
name of the Thibetan Province one that will not be recognized.
The reasons for this are evident. Ancestor worship is still the
prevailing creed of the most numerous class of Chinese, and a violation
of the sanctity of any ancestral chih, or underground tomb, would
naturally be resented if it disgraced a family so important as that of a
royal prince of the realm.
The Chinese characters presented in the story are drawn from life.
Prince Kai Lun Pu is a well-known type of the liberal-minded, educated
young men who are the best guarantee of the future expansion of the
Celestial Empire. The rule of the Chief Eunuch still dominates every
palace in China, and even the efforts of the late Dowager Empress could
not restrain the encroaching powers of these masterful creatures.
The manners and customs herein described will serve to acquaint those
who have not visited China with some of the most curious traditions of
that ancient race, while the adventures related, startling as they are,
are fully within the bounds of possibility.
The Boy Fortune Hunters in China
CHAPTER I.
A SEA TRAGEDY.
The sinking of the first-class passenger steamship _Karamata Maru_ in
the neighborhood of Hawaii on June 17, 1908, has been the subject of so
much newspaper comment that doubtless the reader imagines he knows all
the circumstances connected with the fatal affair. But I have carefully
read these newspaper reports and am astonished to find them quite
perverted and unreliable, the result of carelessness or ignorance on the
part of correspondents, the desire of officials to shield themselves
from blame and the tendency of editors to amplify scant material into
three-column articles with numerous “scare heads.”
I may well speak with authority in this connection, because it was our
ship, the _Seagull_, which first arrived at the scene of the disaster
and rescued the passengers and crew of the ill-fated _Karamata Maru_
from their imminent peril So I shall tell you the story in my own way,
as it has an important bearing on the extraordinary events that
afterward took place—events which have led me to write this book, and
place on record a series of adventures so remarkable as to have been
seldom if ever equalled.
To begin with, I beg to introduce myself as Sam Steele, of Chelsea,
Massachusetts, eighteen, years of age and filling the responsible
position of purser and assistant supercargo on the trim little
merchantman yacht, the _Seagull_. Indeed, I am one of the three owners
of our ship, the others being my father, Captain Richard Steele, and my
uncle, Naboth Perkins. My father is a seasoned and experienced seaman,
who has sailed in nearly every navigable part of the world. My uncle is
an expert trader and an honest man—a combination that accounts for his
great success in his profession.
Circumstances placed me on shipboard at an early age, and in the course
of several long and eventful voyages I have encountered many adventures
and queer happenings that have made me richer in experience than most
young fellows.
One may remain modest and unassuming, I think, and still bear witness to
the truth of adventures in which he has participated. It is not because
I love to speak of myself that I am telling my own story, but because I
have full knowledge of those events in which I bore a personal part, and
so am qualified to relate them. And you will discover, when I have
finished the tale, that I have not posed as a hero, but merely as a
subordinate actor in the drama—what, I believe, is called a “walking
gentleman” or “general utility man” in theatrical parlance. The theatre
being, at its best, a reflection of real life, the illustration is
permissible.
It will be necessary to tell you something about the company assembled
aboard the _Seagull_ when she began her voyage from San Francisco early
in May to carry a cargo of mixed merchandise to Canton, China.
The _Seagull_ has no regular itinerary, but sails a free lance in any
sea and to any country where it may be profitable for her to go. Both my
father and Uncle Naboth have adventurous natures, and prefer to let fate
direct their future rather than attempt to plan a succession of tedious
and uninteresting voyages which might mean surer gain but would afford
less excitement. This has resulted, however, in a neat fortune for each
of the _Seagull’s_ three owners, and our success has encouraged us to
persist in our eccentric methods. In the merchant service our beautiful
ship is dubbed a “tramp,” and I and my chums are called “the Boy Fortune
Hunters,” Uncle Naboth “the Yankee Trader” and Captain Steele “crazy old
Peg-leg,”—because poor father has really a wooden leg, which in no way,
however, renders him less able as a skipper. But we laugh at this
harmless raillery and, well knowing that we are envied by many who thus
banter us, pursue our own way with unconcern.
So it happened that after a prosperous voyage around the Horn, to
deliver a valuable cargo of tin-plate to the great canning factories of
Oregon and Washington, we had barely anchored in the bay at San
Francisco before we received a commission to sail to Canton with a cargo
of merchandise. This suited us all; but none better than me, for I had
long desired to visit China, Japan and the Philippines. Also it suited
Joe Herring, our cabin boy and my particular friend; and it suited
Archie Ackley, a well-to-do young fellow who had sailed with us on a
former voyage and passed as my chum. Archie was a reckless, adventurous
sort of chap, and had made the trip around the Horn on the _Seagull_ to
give a broken leg time to knit perfectly, the said leg having been
damaged in a foolish wrestling bout.
I am sure you would shake your head dubiously if I were to recount all
of the characteristics of this youth which had endeared him to our
little ship’s company. I should be obliged to say, for instance, that
Archie was stubborn as a mule, conceited as a peacock, reckless of all
conventionalities, and inclined to quarrel and fight on the slightest
provocation. But I should hasten to add that he was brave as a lion and
tender as a woman to those he loved. His loyalty had been fully proven
on the occasion of that former voyage to which I have referred, when he
accompanied us to Egypt and won our hearts completely.
Archie was about my age; but Joe, our cabin boy, was a little younger,
and as staunch a friend and queer a character in his way as you will
ever be able to find on this astonishing earth.
Joe is rich. He could purchase a mate to the _Seagull_ and never feel
the expenditure. He could sail on our craft, if he chose, as an honored
guest; but he prefers to remain a cabin-boy. Yet, in truth, there is
little caste among us, and if Joe prefers to have duties to occupy him
during a voyage, and fulfils those duties admirably, no one admires him
less for that reason. Captain Steele slaps him on the shoulder as fondly
and familiarly as he does Archie or me, and fat little Uncle Naboth
locks arms with Joe and promenades the deck with him for hours.
A slight, stooping lad, is Joe, with great dark eyes, steady and true,
and a faint smile always curling his lips. His face is sensitive and
expressive, and in his slender frame lurk strength and agility that are
positively amazing when they are called into action. Yet he is a silent
fellow, though by no means unsociable, and when he speaks you are
inclined to pay attention, for you know that Joe has something to say.
We three boys were inseparable comrades at the time of which I am
writing, although perhaps Joe and I were a little closer to each other
than we were to Archie.
The ship’s crew were staunch and able-bodied seamen, carefully selected
by my father, and our engineers were picked men of proven ability. But I
must not forget to introduce to you two important characters in the
persons of our chef and steward. The former was a South Sea Islander
named Bryonia, and the latter another South Sea Islander named Nux. I
say “named” advisedly, for Uncle Naboth named them in this queer way
when he rescued the poor natives from an open boat years ago and
restored them to life by liberal doses of nux and bryonia—the only
medicines that happened to be in his possession at the time. They were,
of course, unable to speak English, at first; but they learned rapidly
and were devoted to Uncle Naboth, and afterward to me. Indeed, I had
come to regard both Nux and Bry as my own personal followers, and well
had they proven their claim to this title. They were nearly as dark as
Africans, but very intelligent and faithful in every emergency. In
addition to these qualities Bry was a capital cook, while as a steward
Nux was unsurpassed, and looked after our comforts in a way so
solicitous that he really spoiled us.
We were about ten days out of the Golden Gate and had left Honolulu well
on our starboard quarter, when one evening we ran into a dense fog that
could almost be felt. It set the deck hands all coughing and wetted them
to the skin; so we all shut ourselves up aft in the cabin and Captain
Steele slowed the _Seagull_ down to half speed and kept the fog-horn
blowing every half-minute. We believed there was little danger in this
part of the broad Pacific, although every sailor dreads a fog as he does
a ghost and is uneasy until it lifts.
Uncle Naboth and Archie played checkers on one end of the cabin table
while Joe and I had a quiet game of cribbage together. Father smoked his
pipe and darned stockings under the light of the swinging lamp, for Ned
Britton, the first mate, was in charge of the deck, and no better sailor
than Ned, or one more careful, ever was born.
So we passed the evening of the 16th of June pleasantly enough, in spite
of the drenching fog outside, and when the watch changed all of us save
Captain Steele turned into our bunks and fell asleep without minding the
weird wail of the fog-horn in the least. It is the kind of noise you
forget to listen to when you get used to it.
I was roused from my slumbers by the agitated shuffling of feet on the
deck overhead, the violent ringing of the engine bells for the ship to
go astern and a medley of shouts and orders through which my father’s
clarion voice could be distinctly heard.
Before I was fully awake I found myself standing on the floor and
fumbling with my clothes, instinct guiding me rather than knowledge of
what was impending. Danger there was, I realized, and I noticed that my
cabin was dimly lighted, as though by the break of day. A moment later I
rushed on deck, to find all crowding at the starboard bulwarks and
peering out into the mist.
Suddenly—scarce a boat’s length away, it seemed—there came a terrific
crash and a grinding of timbers, followed by shrieks and cries so
heartrending that I found myself shuddering with horror. Yet not a man
of us moved. We stood as if turned to stone. For it was not the
_Seagull_ that had struck; but behind the impenetrable curtain of the
fog a tragedy of the sea was being enacted that was terrible enough to
curdle the blood in our veins; for we realized that Death was claiming
his victims from the men and women of some unknown vessel.
Then, by one of those marvelous transformations wrought by Nature, the
fog instantly lifted and dissipated, and there before us was a sight
that wrung moans, curses or shouts from our very hearts, so awful was
it.
A big liner—the _Karamata Maru_, we afterward learned—had driven her bow
straight into the broad side of a great freighter, a derelict known as
the _Admiral Swain_, which had been abandoned in a storm a month
earlier.
The _Karamata Maru_ had crushed through the sides of the derelict and
then her bow had lifted and slid high and dry across it, plunging the
stern of the liner deep into the sea. In this terrible position the
great liner trembled a moment and then broke in two. Her steel plates
buckled and crumbled like tin, and the crash that followed as she
splintered and tore asunder was greater than that when she struck. Again
we heard the screams and terrified cries of the poor victims and as the
sea rushed madly into the gaping compartments and the escaping steam
hissed from the open seams, scores of men and women threw themselves
into the water in an effort to escape what seemed a more horrible fate
than drowning.
We saw and heard all this, for the _Seagull_ had lost headway and
floated gently a short distance from the scene of the tragedy. But the
next moment we awoke to action. Every life preserver and rope’s end we
could muster flew overboard and our boats were manned and lowered in a
twinkling. Big Ned Britton, the mate, was the first to put off in the
cutter, and was picking the struggling forms from the sea long before
the whaler was on the scene and assisting in the work of rescue. I took
the gig myself and at once found my task so arduous that I had little
time to mark what the other boats were doing. I only know that we all
accomplished wonders, and every man, woman and child that managed to
float until we reached them was rescued. Fortunately the sea was calm,
and the light breeze that had dissipated the fog merely rippled the
waves.
At last, as I looked around for more survivors, someone hailed me from
the wreck of the _Karamata Maru_ and I bade my men row swiftly to her
side. Already the great liner rode so low that the little group awaiting
me was almost on a level with my head, and I realized that I was in a
dangerous position in case she sank. The freighter also was filling
rapidly.
First those on the _Karamata Maru_ lowered an injured man into the gig,
and two attendants—one the ship’s doctor, I afterward learned—came with
him.
“Hurry, gentlemen,” I called to the others; but they shook their heads
and retreated from the side.
“It’s no use, sir,” growled the doctor. “They’re ship’s officers and
won’t leave their charge. Cast off, for God’s sake, or we’ll follow her
to the bottom when she sinks!”
I obeyed, seized with a sudden panic at the warning words, and my men
rowed lustily from the dangerous neighborhood of the wreck.
We reached the side of the _Seagull_ just as Ned had assisted the last
of his rescued passengers up the ladder, and I made haste to get my own
aboard. The injured man had fainted. I noticed that he was a Chinaman,
although dressed in European costume, and that he was an object of great
solicitude on the part of his attendant and the doctor. We put him in a
sling and hoisted him up the side, and after the others had followed and
I was preparing to mount the ladder myself a mighty shout from our deck
arrested my attention. I turned quickly, just in time to see the awful
climax to this disaster. The derelict and the liner sank together, and
the sea gave a great gasp and closed over them, whirling and seething
about the spot as if a thousand sea-monsters were disporting themselves
there. The suction was so great that had we not already caught the davit
falls the gig would have assuredly been drawn into the whirlpool, while
the ship to which I clung trembled in every beam, as if with horror at
the sight she had witnessed.