THE PIRATE ATTACK
"Not very pretty to look at, is he?" asked Ralph, indicating by a nod
the huge Chinaman who had slipped noiselessly past them on his way to
the galley.
"He isn't exactly a beauty," assented Tom, looking after the retreating
figure, "but then what Chinaman is? Besides he didn't sign as an Adonis,
but as an assistant cook. What do you expect to get for your twelve
dollars a month and found?"
"Well, I'd hate to meet him up an alley on a dark night, especially if
he had a knife," persisted Ralph. "If ever villainy looked out from a
fellow's face it does from his."
"Don't wake him up, he is dreaming," laughed Bert.
"I do not like thee, Doctor Fell,
The reason why I cannot tell;
But this one thing I know full well,
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell,"
quoted Dick.
"Come out of your trance, Ralph, and look at these two junks just coming
out from that point of land over there," rallied Tom. "Those fellows
handle them smartly, don't they?"
It was a glorious evening off the China coast. The _Fearless_ had
hoisted anchor and turned her prow toward home. Every revolution of the
screws was bringing them nearer to the land of the Stars and Stripes.
The sea was like quicksilver, there was a following wind, the powerful
engines were moving like clockwork, and everything indicated a fast and
prosperous voyage.
The boys were gathered at the rail, and, as Tom spoke, they gazed with
interest at the two long narrow junks that were drawing swiftly toward
them. All sails were set and they slipped with surprising celerity
through the water.
"They both seem to be going in the same direction," said Ralph. "It
almost looks as though they were racing. I'll bet on the--What was
that?"
The ship shook from stem to stern as though her machinery had been
suddenly thrown out of place.
The captain rushed down from the bridge and the mates came running
forward. The boys had leaped to their feet and looked at each other in
dismay. Then, with one accord, they plunged down in the direction of the
engine-room. Before they reached it they could hear the hoarse shouts
of MacGregor and his assistants as they shut off the steam, and the ship
losing headway tossed helplessly up and down.
"What is it Mr. MacGregor?" asked the captain.
"I canna' tell yet," answered Mac. "Something must have dropped into the
machinery. And yet I'll swear there was nothing lying around loose. But
I'll find out."
A minute or two passed and then with a snarl and an oath, he held up a
heavy wrench.
"Here's the thing that did it," he yelled, "and it didn't get there by
accident either. I ken every tool aboard this ship and I never set eyes
on this before. Somebody threw it there to wreck the engines."
"To wreck the engines," repeated Captain Manning. "Why? Who'd want to do
anything like that?"
"I dinna' ken," said Mac stubbornly. "I only know some one must ha'. I'd
like to get these twa hands of mine on his throat."
"Has any one been here except you and your men?" asked the captain.
"No one--leastwise nane but the Chink. He stopped to say----"
Bert jumped as though he had been shot. The Chinaman of the villainous
face--those junks putting out from land! Like a flash he was up the
ladder and out on the deserted deck. His heart stood still as he looked
astern.
The two junks were seething with activity and excitement. The decks were
packed with men. All pretense of secrecy was abandoned. The stopping of
the ship had evidently been the signal they were expecting. All sails
were bent to catch every breath of air, and long sweeps darted suddenly
from the sides. The prows threw up fountains of water on each side as
the junks made for the crippled ship like wolves leaping on the flanks
of a wounded deer.
Bert took this in at a single glance. He saw it all--the Chinese
accomplice, the carefully prepared plan, the wrecking of the machinery.
His voice rang out like a trumpet:
"Pirates! Pirates! All hands on deck!"
Then, while the officers and crew came tumbling up from below, he
rushed to the wireless room and pressed the spark key. The blue flames
sputtered, as up and down the China coast and far out to sea his message
flashed:
"Attacked by pirates. Help. Quick."
Then followed the latitude and longitude. He could not wait for a reply.
Three times at intervals of a few seconds he sent the call, and then he
sprang from his seat.
"Here, Howland," he shouted, as his assistant appeared at the door.
"Keep sending right along. It's a matter of life and death. Let me know
if an answer comes."
Then he grabbed his .45 and rushed on deck. A fight was coming--a fight
against fearful odds. And his blood grew hot with the lust of battle.
Short sharp words of command ran over the ship. The officers and crew
were at their places. The women passengers had been sent below and an
incipient panic had been quelled at the start. The officers had their
revolvers loaded and ready and the crew were armed with capstan bars and
marlinspikes beside the sheath knives that they all carried. There was
no cannon, except a small signal gun on board the ship, and this the
pirates knew. The battle must be hand to hand. The odds were heavy. The
decks of the enemy swarmed with yelling devils naked to the waist and
armed to the teeth. They were at least five to one and had the advantage
of the attack and the surprise.
The boys were grouped together at the stern toward which the junks were
pulling. All had revolvers, and heavy bars lay near by to be grabbed
when they should come to hand-grips with the pirates. They looked into
each others eyes and each rejoiced at what he saw there. Together they
had faced death before and won out; to-day, they were facing it again,
and the chances were against their winning. Yet they never quailed or
flinched. The spirit of '76 was there--the spirit of 1812--the spirit of
'61. They came of a fighting stock; a race that could face and whip the
world or die in the trying. They glanced at Old Glory floating serenely
above their heads, and each swore to himself that if he died defeated he
would not die disgraced. Their fingers tightened on the butts of their
weapons, their teeth clinched and their eyes grew hard.
The captain, cool and stern, as he always was in a crisis, had divided
his forces into two equal parts. He himself commanded on the port side,
while Mr. Collins took charge of the starboard. A long line of hose had
been connected with the boiling water of the engine room, and two
sailors held the nozzle as it writhed and twisted on the rail. Had there
been but one junk, this might have proved decisive, but, in the nature
of things, it could only defend one side of the ship. The pirates were
proceeding on the plan of "divide and conquer." As they drew rapidly
nearer, they separated, and while one dashed at the port side of the
ship, the other swept around under the starboard quarter. Then a horde
of half-naked yellow fiends with knives held between their teeth swarmed
up the sides, grabbed at the rails and sought to obtain a foothold. A
volley of bullets swept the first of them away, but their places were
instantly taken by others. The boiling water rushed in a torrent over
the port side, and the scalded scoundrels fell back. But it was only for
a moment and still they kept coming with unabated fury.
Bert and his comrades fought shoulder to shoulder. Their revolvers
barked again and again and the snarling yellow faces were so near that
they could not miss. Many fell back dead and wounded, but they never
quit; and when the revolvers were emptied, a number of the pirates got
over the rail, while the boys were reloading. Then followed a savage
hand-to-hand fight. Iron bars came down with sickening crashes; knives
flashed and fell and rose and fell again. The pirates were gaining a
foothold and the little band of defenders was hard pressed. But just
then reinforcements came in the form of MacGregor and his husky stokers
and engineers. They had been trying desperately to repair the engines,
but the sounds of the fight above had been too much for them to stand,
and now they came headlong into the fight, their brawny arms swinging
iron bars like flails. They turned the tide at that critical moment and
the pirates were driven back over the sides. They dropped sullenly into
the junks and drew away from the ship until they were out of range of
bullets. Then they stopped and took breath before renewing the attack.
They had suffered terribly, but they still vastly outnumbered the
defenders.
The boys reloaded their revolvers, watching the enemy narrowly.
"I wonder if they have enough," said Dick as he bound a handkerchief
around a slight flesh wound in his left arm.
"I don't think so," answered Bert, "their blood is up and they know how
few we are as compared with themselves. They certainly fought like
wildcats."
"They're live wires sure enough," agreed Tom. "They--why Bert, what's
the matter?" he exclaimed as Bert sprang to his feet excitedly.
But Bert had rushed to the captain and was eagerly laying before him the
plan that Tom's words had unwittingly suggested.
The captain listened intently and an immense relief spread over his
features. He issued his orders promptly. Great coils of heavy wire were
brought from the storeroom and under Bert's supervision were wound in
parallel rows about the stern of the ship. At first sight it looked as
though they were inviting the pirates to grasp them and thus easily
reach the deck. It seemed like committing suicide. The work was carried
on with feverish energy and by the time the pirates swung their boats
around and again headed for the ship, there was a treble row of wires
about a foot apart on both the port and starboard side.
The revolvers had all been reloaded and every man stood ready. But the
tenseness of a few minutes before was lacking. For the first time since
the fight began Captain Manning smiled contentedly.
"Don't fire, men, unless I give the word. Stand well back from the rail
and wait for orders."
On came the pirates yelling exultantly. The silence of the defenders
was so strange and unnatural that it might well have daunted a more
imaginative or less determined foe. Not a shot was fired, not a man
stirred. They might have been dream men on a dream ship for any sign of
life and movement. The crowded junks bore down on either side of the
ship, and as though with a single movement, a score of pirates leaped at
the rails and grasped the wires to pull themselves aboard.
Then a wonderful thing happened. From below came the buzz of the great
dynamo and through the wires surged the tremendous power of the electric
current. It was appalling, overwhelming, irresistible. It killed as
lightning kills. There was not even time for a cry. They hung there for
one awful moment with limbs twisted and contorted, while an odor of
burning flesh filled the air. Then they dropped into the sea. Their
comrades petrified with horror saw them fall and then with frantic
shrieks bent to the sweeps and fled for their lives.
* * * * *
And so it befell that when the good ship _Fearless_ drew up to the dock
at San Francisco, the young wireless operator, much to his surprise as
well as distaste, found that his quick wit and unfailing courage had
made of him a popular hero. But he steadfastly disclaimed having done
anything unusual. If he had fought a good fight and "kept the faith," it
was, after all, only his duty.
"Well, yes, but admitting all that," said Dick, "it's so unusual for a
fellow to do even that, that when it does happen the world insists on
crowning it. You know.
"'The path of duty is the road to glory.'"
Neither knew at the moment how much of prophecy there was in that
quotation. For Glory beckoned, though unseen, and Bert in the near
future was destined to win fresh laurels. How gallantly he fought for
them, how splendidly he won them and how gracefully he wore them will be
told in
"Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner."
THE END
Transcriber's Notes:
--Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
--Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
--Page 149: oe ligature expanded (manoeuvering).
End of Project Gutenberg's Bert Wilson, Wireless Operator, by J. W. Duffield