THE YACHT “SYLVIA”
O’Neil and Marley sat dejectedly in the luxuriously upholstered chairs
of the yacht’s cabin and gazed upon each other with a mixture of
annoyance and humor. It was plain to their nautical eyes that the hatch
above them which they had heard closed tightly and dogged, was the only
means of exit. They were securely imprisoned.
“Bill, it’s terrible to have such confiding natures,” O’Neil exclaimed
glumly. “We walked into this with our eyes wide open.
“Hello!” he added surprisedly, “they’ve stopped heaving in, and there
goes the launch down again.”
The sailormen’s faces were at the nearest air ports and it was soon
plain enough to O’Neil what had taken place on deck as he saw the
lowered launch shove off from the yacht’s side, and shoot swiftly
shoreward.
“There’s that villain Impey in her stern sheets. See him, Bill?” he
cried out angrily.
Marley’s unsophisticated face betrayed not a gleam of intelligence as
to what this move might mean, so the boatswain’s mate turned from the
air port, threw himself back in his chair and began to elucidate.
“They thought the Japs had pinched this letter from Mr. Impey last
night, so they were leaving the country before they’d get jailed. This
letter here was sealed, and Impey and Randall have opened it and read
it. So they were proper scared. But now their minds are easy again. Do
you see?” he ended, his voice becoming serious in tone. “We are the
goats, and they’ll keep us here until we can’t do them any harm.”
“What did he mean about Japan seizing the Chinese ships?” Marley asked.
That was the important thing in his mind. Everything else he classed as
diplomatic Greek and he was determined not to understand it.
“You know that China has a new navy coming out,” O’Neil answered
patiently; “the ships were built in Europe, and it looks to me that if
Japan took these ships she would do it so as to lick us.”
“But ain’t we got nothing to say?” Marley questioned perplexedly. “We
ain’t looking for a fight with Japan.”
O’Neil smiled knowingly.
“No, but some of our wise guys think that we’ve got something that
she wants; the Philippines, you see. And then there’s this open door
flimflam in China. It’s a big question, Bill.”
O’Neil, while he was educating his friend upon the intricate and
unexplained steps that frequently in the past had led into war nations
apparently friendly, allowed his gaze to roam searchingly over the
contents of the cabin. He noticed a door leading into what he supposed
was a stateroom, and as he finished speaking he arose and tried the
door-knob. It was unlocked, and the sailor pushed it open and cast a
glance within.
“Wireless!” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “There’s a chance,” he
muttered jubilantly. “Somebody may be listening.”
O’Neil surveyed the room minutely. He saw that the yacht’s wireless set
was of the same manufacture as the one installed on board the “Alaska.”
He thanked his luck for the practice he had taken in his leisure
moments under the guidance of the midshipmen in learning the operation
of the outfit. He saw that everything was connected, and that the power
of the yacht’s dynamos was there at his service upon the closing of
the switch on the table before him. He glanced closely at the tuning
device, and although he did not understand the theory of wave lengths,
he remembered that the “Alaska’s” pointer was usually set at or near
the figure four hundred. Quickly making this adjustment, he closed the
switch and heard the hum of the alternating current motor generator
transferring the direct current of the yacht to an alternating one of
high frequency and tension.
“Bill,” he exclaimed, “this little machine here may get us out of the
brig before our term of confinement expires! They’ll cut the aerial as
soon as they can after they hear the noise from the spark-gap. What’ll
I say?” he asked thoughtfully. “It’s got to be short and yet tell ’em
enough.”
Suddenly his hand moved quickly, rhythmically, and the white arc across
the air-gap sizzled and rasped. Then the boatswain’s mate suddenly
threw out the sending circuit and listened eagerly through the
telephone head-piece for an answer. Marley observed a satisfied smile
on his face as he again threw in the sending circuit, and for several
minutes the spark leaped and played under its glass case like a thing
alive. The noise of the arc drowned out completely the click of the
key. Then the metallic sound of the key suddenly was heard, showing
that the aerial wire had been severed on deck, and O’Neil threw off his
head-gear and slapped Marley a resounding blow across the shoulders.
“Bill, every ship in the harbor knows that there’s a mutiny on the
‘Sylvia,’” he laughed. “I was afraid the ‘Alaska’ wasn’t listening, so
I made the ‘general call.’ Now when the first boat comes alongside, you
and I have got to make as much noise as Buffalo Bill’s Wild West and
Pawnee Bill’s Far East, in one.”
The two sailors were not kept long in suspense. O’Neil from his point
of vantage soon espied one of the “Alaska’s” steam cutters, full of
armed men, standing down toward the yacht’s gangway, while he heard the
excited and joyful voice of Marley from his station on the other side
of the cabin.
“Here comes a Jap steam launch full of our little friends. I never was
so glad to see any one not of my own race before.”
O’Neil and Marley, like two men at a race-meet encouraging their
favorite horses, called out loudly, cheering the two boats on. The
steam launch from the “Alaska” passed close to his air port.
“We’re the mutineers, sir,” O’Neil cried out loudly across the ten feet
of intervening water. “They’re holding Marley and me prisoners here in
the cabin.”
Within a few minutes the hatchway was undogged and lifted and the two
sailors came up blinking into the sunlight. They saw Randall and his
friend closely guarded by both the Japanese and American rescue party,
and O’Neil could not suppress an amused smile as he read real terror on
their faces.
“You’ll feel worse than that in a few minutes!” the boatswain’s mate
exclaimed hotly to the discomfited Randall. Then he put his hand into
his shirt and pulled out the letter which had been the cause of all the
trouble.
“Mr. Winston,” O’Neil exclaimed, “here’s a letter I found in the
yacht’s cabin. Bill Marley and I have been chasing these fellows to
get it since last night. When they found we had it, they locked us in
the cabin.” O’Neil’s face was serious as he told the story, which was
quite near the real facts. Randall’s jaw dropped, and he would have
denied the sailor’s words, but that he saw by the intimidating faces of
the Japanese sailors that his denial would fall upon deaf ears.
“This Japanese officer will know what it is; I can’t read the
language,” the sailor added. “It was opened just as you see it when we
found it. Wasn’t it, Bill?”
Marley’s face broke into a happy smile as he assured the assembled
officers and men, who had been progressively arriving as quickly as the
numerous boats could land at the two gangways, that every word spoken
by O’Neil was the gospel truth.
Lieutenant Winston took the letter and handed it over to the Japanese
lieutenant who had been the first to arrive. Winston’s face wore a
solemn air of perplexity.
“What does all this mean, O’Neil?” he asked sternly.
“These varmints,” pointing to the now trembling prisoners, “have been
writing up all kinds of lies for a Japanese paper, and they were trying
to make off with this letter.”
The Japanese lieutenant’s face wore a puzzled look; he tried in vain to
follow the English of the sailor. Winston turned to him and in simpler
language explained the situation.
“I’ll take my men back to the ship,” he ended, bowing, hand to his cap,
while the Japanese officer insisted upon shaking both O’Neil and Marley
by the hand and thanking them solemnly for their great service to his
country.
“Don’t mention it, sir,” O’Neil replied. “I hope you’ll give those
white-livered guys there a hot line of Japanese argument. Where I come
from there’d be a tar and feather party.”
The Japanese lieutenant smiled again, much puzzled, apologizing that he
could speak and understand so little English.
“That’s good, sir,” O’Neil said as he obeyed the signal to embark.
“Just don’t understand a word they say, for it won’t be true, anyway.
What I’ve told you is the correct dope.”
After the American launch had shoved off from the yacht and was
standing back to the “Alaska” some hundreds or more yards away,
Lieutenant Winston turned an inquiring glance on the boatswain’s mate.
“That must have been an important letter,” he exclaimed, “by the way
the officer pounced on it and stowed it away in his tunic pocket. Do
you know what was in it?”
“Not first hand. No, sir,” O’Neil replied soberly. “But that fellow
Randall knows all about it, or I miss my guess.”