ON THE HIGH SEAS
Around the table in the saloon cabin were an incongruous group as the
two midshipmen entered. Phil smiled at the sight of Impey in his sailor
uniform. There were two strange faces beside O’Neil and Marley; the
latter men had risen respectfully upon the entrance of the lads.
“Mr. Impey’s friends,” O’Neil introduced them with a wave of his hand
toward Wells and Randall.
Phil inclined his head, while the men thus unceremoniously presented
looked half ashamed at being so designated.
“We’re all in for it,” Phil said bravely. “We were discovered by the
Japanese battle-ships and will surely be chased by a torpedo boat.
If we are overtaken before we clear the bay we’ll be brought back to
Yokohama.
“To us that will mean only a failure to thwart the aims of the
Japanese,” he added, “but for Mr. Impey and his friends something more
serious will be in store.”
Impey’s face appeared pale and worried.
“They can do nothing to me,” he exclaimed, striving to show a bold
front. “They can deport me, but I am quite ready to leave Japan.”
“Do you know the penalty, under the Japanese law, for breaking the
Emperor’s seal?” Phil asked cruelly. “It’s five years in prison. How
the Japanese lieutenant came to permit your two assistants to remain
here, I can’t understand, unless they thought they’d be within easy
reach. I shall take great pleasure in testifying against the lot of
you, unless,” he added, “you stand by us and do all in your power to
help us elude the vessel that soon will be in chase of us.”
The midshipman waited quietly for an answer.
“You can count on Wells and me,” Randall returned promptly. “I am in
no mood to be introduced to a Japanese prison and a rice diet. If I
can shake off the dust of this country nothing less than a Broadway
beefsteak will suit me.”
Wells nodded his head and raised a hand in agreement with his
companion’s views. Phil’s eyes were on Impey.
“I can’t see why you wanted me to go with you,” Impey said finally, in
a petulant voice. “I offered you the yacht and gave you the permit from
the Chinese cabinet. Of what further assistance can I be?”
Phil smiled mysteriously.
“I didn’t see the sense of taking only a paper permit when the living
permit in the person of the agent for the builders of the ships was
available,” he replied pointedly. “However, if you all will agree to
obey me implicitly in everything and ask no questions, we shall elude
the Japanese. If you don’t agree, then down you go under lock and key
in one of the cabins.”
Impey’s lip quivered irritably as he reluctantly gave an assent to
Phil’s proposal. His subtle mind was attempting to solve what the
midshipmen’s intentions might be. Nothing less, he decided, than to
checkmate Captain Inaba and win the Chinese ships for the United States
fleet--the course he himself had already outlined.
The “Sylvia” was now tearing through the troubled waters of the bay at
almost railroad speed. Her three turbine shafts were revolving at a
far greater speed than they ever had before. The Chinese crew in the
fire-room were told that their own lives depended upon the outcome of
the race--that their old enemies the Japanese were chasing them. Their
Oriental minds could not grasp the lack of logic in the warning. They
knew that they had been hired for hazardous work, and were being paid a
larger salary than they could get anywhere else in the Orient.
“I think we can all safely turn in,” Phil suggested, after O’Neil had
returned from a tour of inspection with a report that everything was
going finely, and that it was too thick to see more than a mile astern.
“If they send a destroyer after us, it can’t overtake us until the
morning. It will be a race of wits,” he added, “and not of speed, if a
destroyer once gets us in sight, so sleep is what we need to clear our
minds.”
The yacht had staterooms for the entire party, and Phil after a short
conversation with Captain Bailey, who stuck manfully to the bridge,
where he said he would remain all night and would call “all hands” if
necessary, lay down in his clothes with a blanket drawn over him and
was almost immediately asleep.
It seemed that he had only dozed when a sharp discharge as of a gun
awakened him. Quickly jumping up he ran out on deck. A bright flashing
search-light was visible on the port beam, and Phil’s heart was in his
mouth as he saw a flash of fire and heard the whistle of a shell.
“The forts,” he cried in alarm. “They have been notified to stop us.”
He glanced anxiously at the weather. The rain had ceased, and the
wind had fallen light, but the air was misty and warmer. The “Sylvia”
was rushing by the nearest fort at the speed of an express train. The
search-light was now shining on the black hull, and flash after flash
told that the fort was in earnest. Phil found his way to the bridge,
passing an excited group of frightened Chinese crewmen on his way.
“They’re hitting pretty close, sir,” O’Neil exclaimed as a hissing
shell threw a shower of salty spray over the speeding yacht. The
boatswain’s mate spoke in a low tone to Captain Bailey, and then
quickly disappeared from the bridge, followed by the faithful Marley.
It seemed to the two midshipmen, now standing side by side, entirely
exposed to the terrific cannonading, that the next minute must be
the yacht’s last. Then, as if by command, the firing ceased, but the
search-lights, now three in number, illuminated the “Sylvia’s” trim
hull from bow to stern. The fort had drawn aft to the quarter and the
range was ever increasing. The point of greatest danger was passed. But
what was the meaning of the sudden cessation of fire?
A cry from Sydney caused Phil to glance astern, expecting yet dreading
to see the low olive green hull of a destroyer loom out of the night.
“What is it?” he cried in alarm.
Sydney silently pointed; there at the peak floated a large American
flag. Then that alone had caused the Japanese to stop their cannonade!
Phil was about to order it down, but quicker almost than it takes to
tell it the fort disappeared in the mist and the flag fluttered down
to the deck.
“That flag certainly talks, Bill,” O’Neil said as the two men walked
quietly back to the bridge.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Phil exclaimed after O’Neil had
informed them that he had hoisted the colors. “You’ve advertised that
American naval officers are running this yacht. With the present
tension between Japan and the United States that flag made the Japanese
army officers in the forts hesitate. They thought it might mean war, so
they stopped firing.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Perry,” O’Neil returned quickly, “but if I hadn’t
hoisted it, or hoisted any other flag, we would have all been swimming
for the shore by this time.”
“It will only be a matter of hours now before destroyers will be
hunting us from every naval port in Japan,” Phil said disappointedly,
as he started again for his cabin and more sleep.
The morning dawned gray and cheerless. The “Sylvia” was steadily
steaming to the southward. Great drifts of fog were frequently
encountered through which the yacht plunged to emerge again into the
semi-misty atmosphere surrounding it.
“We heard them talking last night, sir,” O’Neil announced after
breakfast. “I was listening in the wireless room almost all night.
Bill Marley and I took down some of the messages, but we can’t read
Japanese,” he added.
“The Japanese navy uses our letters, but doubtless their messages are
in cipher,” Phil returned as he took the penciled records from O’Neil,
glancing at them carelessly. Impey stood near by apparently much
interested. The lad handed the papers to him, a questioning look in his
face.
“I can’t read them,” Impey said after a minute’s study. “Hello, here’s
one not in cipher,” he exclaimed, scanning a sheet more closely.
The midshipmen waited impatiently. Phil could barely suppress a
doubting smile as there came into his thoughts the garbled manner in
which Impey had given the ambassador the contents of the lost document.
Could they depend now upon his rendering of this mysterious aerial
message? Impey again scanned the paper, apparently in deep thought.
“My knowledge of Japanese is limited,” he said finally, his eyes still
on the paper. “But roughly this message directs that all vessels in
this vicinity search for us and hold us.”
Phil nodded his head. There was no harm in believing that.
Steadily the yacht reeled off the miles over a sea that was becoming
smoother now every hour. The air had become heavier and the rifts of
fog were being encountered more frequently.
“It’s only a forlorn hope, Syd,” Phil exclaimed sorrowfully as the two
leaned over the after rail, their eyes on the horizon to the north. “We
are probably making twenty-three knots an hour, but a destroyer is good
for at least thirty. I am afraid we were too hasty in our plans.”
Sydney was silent. Far astern above the low fog a dark smudge had
caught his eye.
“Smoke!” he cried out dejectedly. “If the fog would only shut in to
stay!”
Phil called for a spy-glass, and looked long and eagerly at the dark
mass hanging above a distant fog bank. The sailors and Impey, seeing
that something was in the wind, had joined the lads, and all eyes were
peering at the dreaded signs of a chasing vessel.
They were not left long in doubt. From out of the mass of fog bank a
dark speck suddenly became visible, and before their eyes it grew until
a four funneled destroyer stood clearly outlined. A white line of foam
at its bow told of its great speed, and it was heading directly for the
yacht.
“There’s an end to all our hopes,” Phil exclaimed sadly. “We can’t
fight her, for we have no guns, and if we fought and lost they could
treat us as pirates and swing us at the yard-arm.”
A flash from the bow of the destroyer followed by a hissing splash
astern told of the newcomer’s invitation to “heave to” and “be spoken.”
“O’Neil, tell Captain Bailey to stop and wait,” Phil ordered
dejectedly. “We can’t afford to run risks. These Japanese know how to
shoot, I am told.”
The “Sylvia” very soon lay dead in the water, steam pouring from her
escape pipes, while a gangway was quickly rigged and the midshipmen
stood ready to meet the officer who they knew would soon pay them a
visit.
The destroyer drew rapidly up on the motionless vessel, and was soon
stopped alongside, rolling deeply in the swell, scarcely a hundred
yards away. Phil with rapidly beating heart saw a small dinghy dropped
from the destroyer’s boat davit and, with an officer in the stern
sheets, pull quickly alongside the yacht’s gangway.
His face fell as he saw the officer was no other than Lieutenant
Takishima. Here were more complications. Takishima knew only too
accurately the midshipmen’s plans, for had they not invited him to
share them?
The midshipmen were in civilian’s clothes, and Takishima with a studied
official manner looked past them seeking some one in authority to whom
he might address himself.
“I am sorry to inconvenience you,” he said, his eyes on Impey, the one
whom he took to be in authority. “My orders are to convey you back to
Yokohama. You sailed without clearing from the port authorities, and
you refused to stop when challenged by the forts.”
“We are on the high seas,” Impey replied quickly. “You have no right
to detain us. By the law of nations except in time of war that flag
protects us from such a high-handed proceeding.” He pointed to the
British ensign, which had been run up to the gaff when the destroyer
was first sighted.
Takishima glanced aloft and a sphinx-like smile appeared upon his
upturned face.
“Last night you flew a different one,” he said calmly. “Are you under
the protection of both governments? Maybe between times you carry the
black flag of a pirate.”
Impey bit his lips, at loss for an answer.
“Just a mistake,” he replied hesitatingly.
Phil had from a distance observed his Japanese friend. After he had
ignored the midshipmen’s presence and addressed himself to Impey,
the lad had backed away, but kept just within ear-shot. He saw that
Takishima was armed with a revolver, and knew that each man of the
waiting boat’s crew also was armed. The destroyer had now ranged close
alongside, and he could read the interest in the faces of its crew, so
close was it. The mist was beginning slowly to shut down; a warm south
wind had sprung up, and in contact with the cold sea-water was giving
up its moisture in fog. O’Neil stood at the gangway, the boat-line in
his hand to which the small boat was holding. There seemed no possible
loophole of escape.
“I shall put some of our sailors on board,” Takishima said, turning
toward the gangway, and then for the first time addressing Phil. “Will
you come back with me to the destroyer ‘Hatsuke’? I can land you
somewhere, and you and your friends can return to Yokohama by train
without publicity.”
Tears of mortification stood in Phil’s eyes. His plans had miscarried.
He bowed his acknowledgment to Takishima for his consideration. In
being landed he and his companions would escape the disgrace of
returning in the seized “Sylvia.”
Takishima raised his voice and hailed the “Hatsuke.” An answer quickly
came back, and the water was churned to foam as the destroyer shot
ahead, turning with port helm. Phil understood that Takishima had
ordered the officer in command to come alongside the yacht in order to
transfer passengers. While all eyes watched the graceful lines of the
fleet craft, suddenly, as if a curtain had been dropped, the “Hatsuke”
dissolved from sight. Acting upon an impulse as daring as it was
sudden, Phil grasped the duplicate engine telegraph near the mainmast,
and rang up full speed ahead. No word was spoken, but as the yacht
forged ahead, O’Neil threw overboard the life-line to which Takishima’s
boat was made fast. The men in the boat gazed up in startled surprise,
but O’Neil waved his hand in the direction the destroyer had
disappeared, and almost at once the boat had drifted astern and out of
sight in the fog.
Takishima was completely taken by surprise. His hand went quickly to
his revolver, but Sydney’s iron grip on his wrist prevented him from
drawing it from its holster, while Phil’s revolver peered into his
angered face.
“It’s our turn now, Taki; be game!” Phil exclaimed. “This gun isn’t
loaded, and I wouldn’t shoot you if it were. It’s only a figure of
speech; but if you try to draw I’ll wrestle you for your gun, and I am
a lot bigger than you are and have a few friends to help me.”
Takishima wrenched himself angrily away, and the next minute his
brightly polished revolver was held at Phil’s head, and it was only too
plain from the light in his eyes that he would not hesitate to use it.