“OLD DEATH’S-HEAD.”
When we arrived on deck again the wind had freshened and the pleasant
spell of weather we had lately experienced seemed likely to leave us.
But our gallant _Seagull_ headed the waves merrily, with scarcely any
heaving of her swanlike body, and we knew her staunchness so well that
we did not dread any weather that might overtake us.
Finding a sheltered position in the waist, we three boys eagerly
discussed our important interview with the Prince and the chances of
success in the adventure offered us.
“He’s made everything so blamed easy for us that it’s like taking candy
from a babe,” said Archie, gleefully.
“He has certainly proved himself a generous friend,” I assented. “It’s a
pity he must die. I’d rather have him alive and my friend, than to get
the treasure. Eh, Joe?”
“Exactly,” answered Joe, in his quiet voice.
“I like the chap, too,” said Archie, “but our sentiment won’t alter the
facts in the case, will it? Here’s a treasure—and a whopper, too, I
imagine—calling to us to come and take it, and——”
“And here’s Mai Lo, who wants it himself,” added Joe.
“Oh, him!” cried Archie, scornfully.
“Joe’s right,” said I, thoughtfully; “Mai Lo is a power to be reckoned
with. Even the Prince fears him.”
“I don’t,” declared Archie, “the man’s a dummy. Anyone that’ll kow-tow
and get on his knees the way this fellow does, is a coward and a sneak.”
“The doctor,” said Joe, softly, “calls him ‘Old Death’s-Head.’”
“Well, what of it?”
“I’m afraid of Death.”
We both started at this; but Archie, recovering courage, asked:
“What can one miserable Chinaman do, opposed to three Americans?”
“Very little, in America,” replied Joe. “But we’re going to his own
country, to China, where old Death’s-Head is a high mandarin, and the
governor of a province. He won’t kow-tow there, for the Prince is his
only superior, and the Prince will be deep under the ocean soon.”
We thought this over. There was usually something to think over when Joe
made a long speech.
“Do you mean, then, that you’re scared out; that you won’t undertake
this thing?” demanded Archie, finally.
“No,” said Joe, “I’m going to China. That is, if you fellows are game to
go with me.”
“That’s the way to talk!”
“But we’re putting our heads in the jaws of a trap, and the least little
thing is likely to spring it,” added Joe.
Archie looked puzzled.
“I can’t understand why you take that view of it,” he protested. “It
seems to me the thing’s easy enough. We’ve got the Prince’s letter to
his people, and the ring, and the secret of the private way into his
ancestral hall. If we bungle such a job as that, we ought to be hanged.”
“And will be, or worse. So we mustn’t bungle it,” said Joe. “Where is
this province of Kwang-Kai-Nong, Sam?”
“I forgot to ask,” I replied, wondering at my oversight.
“China’s a big country,” suggested Joe.
“I know. I’ll inquire about the location, and how to get to it, the next
time I see the Prince.”
“Do,” said Archie, “that’ll help a lot.”
But I didn’t see the Prince again. At the lunch table we found the
doctor, eating with apparent gusto but with an intent look on his face.
“How’s your patient, Doc?” Uncle Naboth was asking as I entered.
“Why, I’m out of a job again,” replied Doctor Gaylord, gravely.
“Great Goodness! The man ain’t dead, is he?” demanded my uncle.
“He is, sir.”
I do not know why I had such a sudden sinking of the heart as I heard
this. Perhaps the noble young Chinaman had won from me more admiration
and affection than I had suspected, during the brief time I had known
him.
I glanced at Joe and Archie, and they were looking mighty solemn.
“Wasn’t it rather sudden, Doc?” inquired Uncle Naboth, after a pause,
during which he stirred his tea energetically.
“Yes, he might have lived another four-and-twenty hours. But he wore out
the morphine and began to suffer terribly. So I killed him.”
“What!”
“Gave him an overdose of morphine, at his own request, and he went to
his long sleep with a smile of gratitude upon his face.”
There was another pause.
“Ahem!” said Capt. Steele, clearing his throat, “was that—er—er—strictly
professional, Dr. Gaylord?”
“It was strictly humane, Captain. The man was crushed and mangled from
the waist down, and according to all the laws of science and
common-sense has been as good as dead ever since the accident. He
couldn’t have lived until now without the morphine. When that failed to
soothe him the end was bound to creep nearer by slow degrees, allowing
him to suffer horrible torments. I couldn’t stand that, and he couldn’t.
So he begged me to end it for him, and I did.”
“You’re a good man, Gaylord,” remarked Uncle Naboth, mopping his bald
head with his red bandanna. “I’m glad you had the courage to do it.”
“This Prince of China,” said the doctor, leaning back in his chair and
thrusting his hands in his pockets, “was a royal good fellow. I had
observed him on shipboard, and was attracted by his cheerful,
intelligent face. When the _Karamata Maru_ broke up I left everyone else
to attend to Kai Lun Pu, until I discovered he was fatally injured.
Unfortunately all my surgical tools and requirements were out of reach,
and in the pockets of the clothes which I grabbed up before I rushed on
deck were only a small medicine case and my hypodermic outfit. I
assisted Mai Lo, the only one of the Prince’s attendants who survived,
to get Kai off the wreck and safe aboard this ship, and at his urgent
request I remained with him, since the doctor of the _Nagasaki Maru_
could look after the few survivors of the _Karamata Maru_ who were
injured. I am well paid for doing this, but I want to state that the
money did not influence me in the least.”
To look at the doctor was evidence of the truth of this statement; so we
merely nodded assent.
“As soon as I had him settled in your cabin yonder,” he continued, “I
told him that he was dying. Kai accepted the decree like a philosopher
and asked me how long I could keep him alive without suffering. It was
then that we made our bargain, and I promised he should die comfortably.
It seems he had certain family affairs to arrange with Mai Lo, who
represents him in his province, and afterward he had several long talks
with Sam and the other boys here.”
He paused to look from one to the other of us curiously, and the shrewd
glance from beneath his prominent gray eyebrows was rather
disconcerting.
“By good luck,” he went on, “the Prince finished his arrangements,
whatever they were, before the effect of the morphine wore out. When I
went to him a while ago I saw the time had come to fulfil my promise. I
asked him if he was ready and he said he was. So, in the parlance of the
Chinese, he sleeps with his ancestors.”
In the silence that followed we were all busy with our own thoughts.
Finally my father asked:
“Where is Mai Lo?”
“Burning prayers before the body. He’s going to make trouble for us,
pretty soon.”
“How’s that?” asked the Captain.
“These Chinese believe it’s a lasting disgrace to allow their bodies to
be buried anywhere but at home. Mai Lo has already asked me when I would
embalm the body; but I’ve been making inquiries and find there’s no
material aboard the _Seagull_ that will enable me to preserve the corpse
of Kai Lun Pu until we can get him to China. He himself understood this,
and was willing to be cast overboard; but old Death’s-Head has different
ideas, and when he learns what we are going to do he will make trouble,
as I said.”
“What can he do?” asked Uncle Naboth.
“These Chinese have a disagreeable way of running amuck and slicing a
few people into mincemeat before they can be overcome. I won’t say Mai
Lo will do that, but he will do something—anything in his power to
prevent us lowering his master’s body into the sea.”
“He won’t run amuck,” said I, positively; “nor will he do anything that
will endanger his own life.”
“Why not, Sam?” asked my father. “Mai Lo’s a queer chap. I can’t make
him out at all. Seems to me he’s likely to do anything.”
“Except endanger himself,” I added. “The Prince knew Mai Lo better than
anyone, and from what he told me I believe Mai’s more clever than you
suppose, and too ambitious to sacrifice his life for a mere whim.”
“It isn’t a mere whim,” said the doctor. “The Shintoists are ancestor
worshippers, and the sacredness of a dead body is part of their
religion. Mai Lo, if he’s a good Shintoist, believes he himself will be
condemned by the spirits of his own ancestors if he allows his master to
be cast into the sea, whence it is impossible he can be resurrected when
the end of the world comes.”
“But _is_ Mai Lo a good Shintoist?” I asked.
“Mm—I don’t know. He claims to be; but the fellow puzzles me. Many of
the Chinese wear a mask of expressionless reserve; but Mai Lo is the
most incomprehensible being I have ever met. If he weren’t clever he
wouldn’t be a high mandarin, so we can’t judge him by his terracotta
face and beady eyes.”
“Oh, well,” remarked my father, “we can’t endanger our own health by
keeping a decaying body on board, so whenever you’re ready for the
ceremony, Doctor, we will give the Prince as decent a sea-burial as
possible. And that in spite of the old mandarin. By the way, Sam, see if
Mai Lo wants anything to eat.”
I arose and knocked softly upon the door of the state cabin. Presently
it was opened a mere crack and I caught a glimpse of Mai Lo’s
expressionless face behind it. But when he saw me he closed the door
again quickly, before I had time to speak; and I heard the key click in
the lock.
“Let the beast starve,” I growled, turning away to go on deck; and the
others seemed to approve the sentiment, for they followed me without
protest.