THE PIRATE JUNK
I
“Send Midshipman Raxworthy, sir!” suggested the commander hopefully.
“Why should I send my senior midshipman?’ countered the captain plaintively, almost petulantly.
“It would give him a chance to let loose some of his high spirits,” replied the Bloke, who was only too glad of a possible opportunity to free himself from his thorn in the flesh, in the person of Mr. Midshipman Raxworthy.
Yes, the midshipman in question was a bit of a problem even for the fiery-tempered commander to manage. It was something like the task of trying to harpoon a floating cork with a blunt fork. He might succeed in “putting the midshipman under”, but Raxworthy invariably succeeded in bobbing up again “as fresh as paint”.
It wasn’t that he was insubordinate, or anything of that sort. Raxworthy had a great reverence for discipline, but, somehow, and often through circumstances beyond his control, he found himself up against the Bloke who, in turn, imagined that the midshipman was everlastingly trying to get to wind’ard of him.
“I suppose so,” agreed the Owner. “Apparently the job to which he is to be lent requires considerable initiative and discretion.”
“Raxworthy has plenty of initiative,” the commander hastened to assert.
“And discretion?”
“I know of no midshipman with a better sense of that, sir.”
“What about Timpson?” inquired the captain, who still showed a disinclination to fall in with his subordinate’s suggestion.
“He’s all right while he’s under my eye, sir,” replied the Bloke. “Outside the ship I don’t quite know how he would shape. In lending a snottie we have to be careful to see that the one we choose doesn’t reflect discredit upon the ship.”
“Exactly,” agreed the Owner warmly. “Very well, then; make it so!”
The nature of the request was a somewhat unusual one. It came—through the commander-in-chief of the China Squadron—from the lieutenant-commander of the shallow-draught river gunboat Sandgrub, asking for the loan of a midshipman as soon as possible, and for an indefinite period. The reason given was that Sandgrub was about to proceed up the Yang-tse on particular service, details of which were already known to the admiral, since he had given orders for the gunboat to proceed up the river.
The admiral didn’t want to spare any of the midshipmen in the flagship—midshipmen in the flagship are ornamental and also necessary satellites to the planetary omnipotence of the admiral—so he scribbled on the document, “Referred to you for immediate compliance”, and had it sent on to the captain of the light cruiser Ripon, in which Midshipman Raxworthy was “borne on the books”. And Ripon was the admiral’s choice as she was not one of the China Squadron, having been temporarily detached from the East.
The commander, having gained the point, retired from the captain’s cabin and made his way to his own.
“Ha, Pay! you’re just the bright lad I want,” he exclaimed, as he encountered the paymaster-lieutenant outside the wardroom. “Do you know of any passenger steamers about to leave here for Shanghai. We’re sending young Raxworthy to Sandgrub, and I don’t suppose the admiral will dispatch a destroyer for the purpose of conveying a snottie from Hong Kong to Shanghai.”
The paymaster-lieutenant considered the question. He, like all officers of the Accountant Branch, was supposed to be a sort of perambulating encyclopædia. He usually was, especially on matters concerning the King’s Regulations and Admiralty Instructions.
“No mail-boat until Monday next, sir. I think——”
“I said a passenger steamer.”
“There’s the Ah-Foo, Chinese owned, but under British officers. She’s leaving Hong Kong to-morrow.”
“That’ll do. Make out the necessary warrant,” decided the commander, and he proceeded to his cabin, there to write instructions in the order book for Midshipman Raxworthy’s temporary transference to H.M. Gunboat Sandgrub.
II
“Something that’ll interest you, Rax!” exclaimed Morton, the sub of the gun-room. “Catch!”
He tossed the order book across to Raxworthy, who caught the book dexterously, though without enthusiasm. The commander’s order book usually contained—when it mentioned him at all—some unpleasant reference to something also unpleasant that the midshipman was called upon to perform.
But soon Raxworthy’s eyes sparkled.
“Crickey!” he ejaculated. “This is a slice of luck!”
“What’s up, old son?” inquired Timpson. “Has the Bloke given you a double dose of duty steam-boat ‘cause you carved off a chunk of the accommodation ladder when you brought him alongside yesterday?”
“No,” replied Raxworthy. “I’m lent to Sandgrub. Up the Yang-tse!”
“Lucky dog!” commented Timpson. “Only, take my tip: don’t try mixed bathing in the Yang-tse. ‘Tisn’t like the Mediterranean. One mouthful and you won’t want another.”
“Initial the blessed thing, and don’t waste time kagging,” announced the sub, who wasn’t too pleased over the business. One midshipman short meant not only additional duties for those who remained, but increased work for him. “And don’t leave any of your gear knocking about. I don’t want the job of sending it after you. Anyway, what’s the bright idea of sending a snottie to a gunboat? I’ve never heard of it being done.”
It did not take Raxworthy long to make his preparations. Life in the Royal Navy teaches a man to be sharp off the mark even at short notice.
His sea chest was soon packed. It contained, amongst other articles, that ornamental but useless weapon, his dirk, and something that was not ornamental but certainly business like—his service revolver. Then, of course, he had to take his sextant. He wondered whether he would be called upon to “take sights” when miles up the Yang-tse. He hoped not. He didn’t shine at mathematics and “working out his sights” was a task he detested. That fact had been the cause of several of the many unpleasant “incidents” between him and the Bloke, although he guessed shrewdly that the commander at his mature time of life wouldn’t know how to use a sextant with any degree of accuracy.
At nine next morning Raxworthy, wearing plain clothes, boarded the S.S. Ah-Foo.
A Chinese steward, stealthy in movement and with almost expressionless features, showed him to his cabin.
“Velly nicee cabin. Me help navee officer unstow?”
“Thanks, no; I’ll do my own unpacking,” replied Raxworthy, and wondered how the Chinaman knew he was R.N.
It was a single berth cabin, with two large scuttles and a jalousied door. Above the bunk was an electric fan. Close to it was a switch controlling the electric light. The cabin was enamelled white, but showed considerable signs of iron mould in spite of the cork cement casing the deck-head beams.
The steward, bowing, backed out of the cabin. Raxworthy unlocked his chest, removed those articles he required for immediate use, and then re-locked it.
About a quarter of an hour later he went on deck.
The Ah-Foo was already under way.
From the boat-deck the midshipman looked down upon the well-deck, which was crowded with Chinese of the working-class. Men, women and children, most of them sitting upon bundles that contained the whole of their worldly goods, seemed to have “pegged out their claims” as if they intended remaining there for the duration of the voyage. Everyone, according to custom that had arisen from necessity, had been searched for hidden arms.
The third officer, elderly and rigged out in none-too-smart tropical uniform, came up and stood by Raxworthy’s side.
“Pretty measly crowd, aren’t they?” he remarked. “Thank goodness we aren’t carrying them far. We’re getting shut of most of them at Swatow.”
“Swatow! I thought the Ah-Foo was bound for Shanghai direct?”
“Never in your life, Mr. Raxworthy. This is an intermediate boat, and well I know it! Swatow, Amoy, Foochow, Wen Chow, Hangchow, Shanghai; like a porter yelling out the names of stations on the old North-Eastern. By smoke! What wouldn’t I give to be in Liverpool Street station now instead of in this old hooker.”
“Good heavens!” ejaculated the midshipman aghast. “How long does it take her to make Shanghai?”
“Depends,” replied the third officer guardedly. “Depends on what cargo’s offering. Say a week, and you’ll not be far wrong. But she’s a fairly comfortable ship and you won’t be crowded. You’re the only first-class passenger.”
That was little consolation. Here he was, under orders to report on board Sandgrub with the least possible delay, with the prospect of kicking his heels for a week, perhaps ten days. Once these “intermediates” go into port there’s no knowing when they will leave.
Then, reflecting, he remembered that it was through no fault of his that he had been booked for a passage in the Ah-Foo. Probably the commander would think so and not forget to mention it when, at some future date, he rejoined his ship. Meanwhile he must make the best of things and trust to luck that Sandgrub hadn’t gone up the Yang-tse before he arrived at Shanghai.
He hoped she wouldn’t. He was looking forward to the experience tremendously. It was a most unusual procedure to send a midshipman for service in a river gunboat. What was the idea? He couldn’t think. Neither the Owner nor the Bloke had hinted about the nature of his duties. It might be that the Sandgrub was on special service—a chance of smelling powder, perhaps—and if that were so he would be an object of envy to his messmates who remained in the light cruiser.
Raxworthy remained on the boat-deck until the island of Hong Kong dipped behind the horizon and the rugged China coast showed up through the heat haze broad on the port beam.
About two miles off a large junk was on a course diagonal to the shore. Although she was at present dead ahead, she would draw clear long before the Ah-Foo cut her track.
The midshipman gave the junk a casual glance. Since he arrived on the China Station he had seen too many craft of this type to show any interest in her.
A Chinese steward announced that tiffin was ready. Raxworthy, having a healthy appetite, was reciprocally ready. He went down to his cabin, washed, brushed his hair, and then made his way to the saloon.
He was, as the third officer had remarked, the only first-class passenger. His seat at the table was therefore on the captain’s right. The ship’s officers present at the meal were the second officer, the purser and the doctor.
The repast started well. The soup was excellent, the fish, cunningly garnished by native cooks, was most appetising. Conversation, however, was desultory and by no means general. The doctor and the purser were discussing some matter that was completely outside their respective departments. The second exchanged a few words with the Old Man and then devoted his attention to his plate; while the captain, having passed a few commonplace remarks to Raxworthy, seemed to be lost in thought. Occasionally he would turn his head to one side and gaze up at the open skylight, like a terrier hearing strange noises. The Chinese servants, standing motionless yet keenly responsive to any sign on the part of the people at table, gazed woodenly at the opposite bulkhead.
Suddenly the sharp crack of a pistol rang out, followed by another, and then a perfect fusillade.
The Old Man leapt from his seat, drew an automatic from his hip pocket, and without waiting for the others, dashed on deck. The doctor and the purser vanished. So did the Chinese servants.
“Got a revolver handy?” asked the second officer hurriedly. “Fetch it. I’m off to get mine.”
Raxworthy needed no second bidding. He followed the second officer along the alleyway until they separated outside their respective cabins. He didn’t even have to ask what the violent commotion was about. He knew.
It was an attempt on the part of pirates disguised as Chinese passengers to seize the ship.
This sort of thing had been done before. In fact, cases of piracy in the China Sea were far too frequent, notwithstanding the increasing vigilance of the European officers—for even ships flying the ensign of Republican China as well as those flying the Red Duster and manned by native crews, were almost invariably officered by British subjects.
Pulling out his bunch of keys, Raxworthy was about to unlock his sea chest when the lid opened under the movement of his hand. Even in his excitement the midshipman noticed it.
“Could have sworn I locked the jolly old thing,” he muttered. “Perhaps I didn’t, though.”
The revolver, fully loaded, was reposing in a holster and sandwiched between his great coat and one of his tropical uniforms. Somewhere in the chest he had stowed an unopened packet of service ammunition. At least, he thought he had, but it was not to be found.
Slamming the lid of the chest, Raxworthy left his cabin, breaking the revolver as he did so in order to reassure himself that the weapon was fully loaded. The heads of six brass cartridge cases showed themselves in the chambers. So far so good!
III
Raxworthy almost collided with the third officer who had come out of his cabin with a small American revolver in his right hand.
“Keep your weather eye lifting!” cautioned the latter. “Here! Get behind me!”
Without ceremony he pushed the midshipman on one side and continued his way along the otherwise deserted alleyway. Overhead pandemonium reigned.
The third officer’s bulky form obstructed the companion way. Raxworthy saw his shoulder moved as he raised his right arm. Through the gap between the third’s body and the jamb the midshipman caught a glimpse of a mob of Chinese, some armed with automatics, others brandishing broad-bladed knives and iron bars.
The third fired in rapid succession—six shots at about five yards’ range. Then he dropped on his hands and knees across the raised coaming of the companion-way.
That left Raxworthy’s outlook almost unimpeded. He was standing on the third step of the ladder from the top, and his waist was nearly level with the luckless Englishman.
The pirates rushed forward, probably not knowing that another armed man barred their passage. They were only a part of the crowd that had treacherously attacked the ship’s officers, and thinking that all resistance was now at an end they were making for the saloon and cabins with the object of looting.
Levelling his revolver, Raxworthy fired at the broad naked chest of the foremost pirate. At that distance it was almost impossible to miss, and the midshipman had won a trophy for pistol shooting, competed for by the junior officers of the fleet.
The pirate continued to advance, apparently uninjured. There certainly was no ugly wound in his chest that one would expect from a heavy bullet fired at a few yards’ distance.
Raxworthy fired again.
Even in the moment of extreme peril he tumbled to it. There was hardly any kick of his revolver as he fired.
“Surely I wasn’t such an idiot as to load with blank?” he thought.
He fired again.
The pirate was almost within hand’s reach. The blast from the muzzle of his revolver pitted his chest. Raxworthy had a distinct recollection of that.
Then his ideas grew distinctly misty.
Something heavy descended upon his head.
A vivid white light spangled with countless stars flashed before his eyes. Then everything became a blank.
IV
The midshipman was not long in a state of unconsciousness; but a lot had happened during that time.
When he opened his eyes and his scattered senses were able to act more or less in consort, he found himself lying on the well-deck and without protection from the tropical sun.
The pirates were active and apparently moving in procession past the spot where he lay. What they were doing he could not make out.
On either side of him was a bound man. The one on his left turned his head and said something that the midshipman could not catch. It was the ship’s doctor. There was a dark red stain above the elbow on the sleeve of his jacket. The wound was bleeding profusely. Neither the pirates nor their victim had taken any steps to staunch the flow; the former probably through complete indifference, the latter because he was bound hand and foot.
On trying to raise himself to tend to the wounded man, Raxworthy discovered that he himself was bound hand and foot—or rather, his ankles were bound and his arms secured behind his back by a short length of rope that allowed only a limited movement.
“Hello, young man!” exclaimed the doctor, speaking with difficulty. “What have they given you?”
“Crack over the head,” replied Raxworthy. “And you?”
“Bullet through the arm. My own pistol, most likely. It was missing when I went to my cabin.”
“And mine was tampered with. Either the bullets were broken out of the cartridges or else some blighter reloaded with blank and shoved the revolver back in my sea-chest.”
“Ten to one it was that oily rascal of a steward,” hazarded the doctor. “They shot the Old Man down like a dog. The third’s on your right. I don’t know what’s happened to the other deck officers or the engineers.”
For some moments they remained silent. The midshipman altered his position slightly to obtain some shade from the shadow of the foremast. By that fact his seamanship told him that the Ah-Foo was now on approximately a south-easterly course—heading for the coast of the mainland.
Then he happened to look along the deck, which was only a few inches below the level of his eyes. To his horror he saw the decapitated head of a child rolling between the coaming of the cargo hatch and the scuppers.
“Look, doctor!” he exclaimed.
The doctor gave a wry smile.
“Yes, the solution to the mystery how the pirates smuggled their arms on board,” he rejoined. “It’s only a doll’s head! Those women we took aboard are working with the pirates.”
So that was it! Most if not all of the children in arms were dolls that concealed the weapons that had enabled the pirates to rush the bridge and capture the ship. Although each male passenger had been rigorously searched as he came on board, no one had thought to disturb the “infants” that slumbered so soundly in the shawls that strapped them to their “mothers’ ” backs.
It was a new ruse on the part of the pirates. Hitherto they had concealed arms in baskets containing meal and rice; they had strapped automatics to their ankles; they had hidden them under their bowl-shaped hats. In every case they had been successful in surprising the officers of the various ships upon which they had designs. In most instances survivors—for the pirates rarely went to the extreme measure of murdering their prisoners—reported how the arms had been smuggled into the ship. This made the searchers at the port of embarkation wise. The pirates hardly ever repeated their ruses. It had developed into a continual war—the pitting of the brains of the authorities against those of these modern buccaneers of the China Sea.
Presently one of the pirates strolled past and caught sight of the decapitated doll’s head. He picked it up, looked at it thoughtfully and then called to another of the party—the broad-chested fellow at whom the midshipman had fired thrice in vain.
The two Chinamen discussed the find and glanced significantly at the bound captives. To Raxworthy it seemed as if they were proposing to cut the prisoners’ throats, on the principle that dead men tell no tales. To employ dolls as hiding-places for smuggled arms had proved so successful that the pirates felt inclined to repeat the process. It would almost certainly work, provided there were no hostile witnesses. Then the big fellow, who was either the chief of the gang or someone in high authority amongst them, stepped up to the place where the midshipman lay.
Smiling horribly, he tapped his bare chest.
“Leetle boy’s bullet no makee hurt!” he declared. “Now you speakee. You Engleesh officer from shippee that fight?”
“I am,” admitted Raxworthy.
“Little boy big officer-man?” asked the pirate.
The midshipman guessed what that meant: although he was a mere youth he might be someone of importance and therefore a likely subject for ransom.
Raxworthy shook his head and regretted that he had done so. It made his skull throb agonisingly.
“Your fliends payee fifty t’ousand dollar, may be?”
“They’ll more likely send a warship and make finish with you!” declared the midshipman boldly.
The pirate leered and made a deprecatory movement with his hand.
“English navee makee—finish,” he rejoined, and went on to enlarge upon his statement.
It gave the midshipman an insight into the Chinese opinion of foreign navies; for the pirate recalled the time when British, Russian and German fleets in the Far East had matters almost entirely their own way. He touched upon the rise of Japan’s navy, which owed its birth and development to Great Britain; how the Japanese fleet first destroyed that of his own country and next annihilated that of Russia in the Tsushima Strait; next, Japan’s action in clearing the Germans out of Chinese waters during the Great War.
Then Raxworthy was told how the short-sighted policy of certain British statesmen then in power had had its repercussions upon the teeming masses of China. Then he heard of the drastic reductions in the British Navy; how the powerful fleet that once sailed under the white ensign in Far Eastern waters diminished in both the size and numbers of its ships, while that of Japan increased by leaps and bounds.
“V’ly soon,” concluded the pirate, “no Englis’ shipee left. Before they makee go I takee you p’risoner. Fifty t’ousand dollar, p’laps hundred t’ousand dollar. We makee see!”
“You won’t,” said Raxworthy defiantly.
He was highly indignant, not merely because he had been ignominiously captured and was to be held to ransom, but chiefly because of the pirate’s scorn for that which he prized above all things—the honour of the British Navy.
“Then,” continued the Chinaman, as he passed his forefinger over the tip of his nose, “we makee cut one time. If no good, p’laps one ear; p’laps two. You makee see?”
Raxworthy understood. If the demanded ransom were not forthcoming his captors would deprive him first of the tip of his nose and then both ears, sending the severed portions to the midshipman’s superior officers just to show that the maritime bandits meant business!
V
The pirate chief went off, letting the full significance of his cold-blooded threats sink in.
“He’s made a dead set at you, Raxworthy,” observed the doctor. “Evidently he thinks you’re no end of a swell! I suppose they’ll be content with a mere thousand dollars for me; but I don’t think they’ll get it. Hang it all! why can’t they free my wrists and let me attend to this bullet wound in my arm? It’s bleeding too much to be pleasant!”
As if in answer to his words, another Chinaman came up with a bowl of water and some linen. First he gave the three now conscious Englishmen a drink in turn; then, setting the bowl on the deck, he cast loose the doctor’s bonds that secured his wrists and proceeded with a certain degree of tenderness to wash and bind up the wound. The bullet had passed completely through the doctor’s arm, fortunately missing the bones and arteries. Having done this, the pirate refastened the doctor’s arms, but this time across his chest, so that the injured limb obtained some manner of support.
Then Raxworthy’s arms were freed and the pirate stood by while the midshipman bathed the ugly-looking bruise on his head. After that the third officer’s wounds were attended to.
All this time the captured Ah-Foo had been steaming dead slow on an easterly course. No doubt the pirates had compelled the engine-room staff to carry on.
She now stopped. Raxworthy caught sight of the towering stern of a large junk—probably the one he had seen some hours previously, before the surprise attack took place—as she came alongside.
The junk was secured fore and aft and her abnormally large crew assisted the other pirates to tranship the cargo to her from the Ah-Foo. And not only the cargo; they commenced to strip the ship of everything of value.
And how hard they worked! In spite of the broiling sun they toiled, heaving bulky goods from one deck to another, and only employing the ship’s derricks when the weight to be shifted was beyond human muscles.
This went on until about an hour before sunset, by which time the Ah-Foo was almost gutted. Her lightened freeboard rose above that of the now deeply laden junk.
Meanwhile, men on the steamship’s bridge kept a sharp look-out for any strange sail. But none hove in sight, for a very good reason: by taking the Ah-Foo close inshore they had gone well to the east’ard of the regular steamship track for vessels bound to and from Chinese coastal ports.
The pirate captain then came up to where the prisoners were lying. Without a word to them he gave orders to some of the men.
Raxworthy and the doctor were then lifted and passed across to the junk. The pirate crew abandoned the Ah-Foo, leaving the wounded third officer to navigate her as best he might.
Then, in the short tropic twilight, the Ah-Foo, rolling heavily, with empty holds, stood away to the sou’-west, while the junk, deeply laden and crowded with men, hoisted her huge mat sails and, like a ghost, glided stealthily through the gathering darkness towards the pirates’ lair.
VI
The pirates were jubilant over their success. Their usually impassive features betrayed their feelings. The capture of the Ah-Foo had been a most fortunate coup—the best they had ever made.
Altogether, the crowd on board the junk numbered about a hundred. All were well armed with revolvers or automatics. For the most part they were tall, powerfully built men from the northern provinces, although there were a few slight wiry Cantonese.
Except for the half-naked helmsman and a couple of fellows on the towering poop, the pirates had gathered in the waist, where they sat eating rice and sharks’ fins and discussed the events of the day and the possible division of the spoil on the morrow.
“Where are they making for, do you know?” asked Raxworthy of his fellow-captive. “Bias Bay?”
The doctor shook his head.
“Not this time,” he replied. “I know this coast fairly well. I’ve been up and down it regularly for the last three years. We’re well to the nor’ard of that famous pirates’ lair. I fancy this must be a rival gang with headquarters fifty or a hundred miles farther up the coast. Did you notice that the junk altered course when the Ah-Foo was out of sight?”
“Yes.”
“She was making in the direction of Bias Bay. That was to throw our people off the scent. The pirates of Bias Bay will get blamed for this. Probably a couple of destroyers will be sent to inquire into the matter. Meanwhile the gang goes unsuspected.”
“But will they ask for our ransom to be sent there?”
“No fear; they’ll conduct negotiations through an agent who, perhaps, lives in Canton or Amoy. Hello!”
A Chinaman cast adrift their wrist lashings and handed each of them a wooden bowl containing a greasy substance looking like porridge.
The doctor sniffed at it.
“Rice and fish,” he declared. “Might be worse: rotten eggs and seaweed for example.”
“Dashed if I can eat the stuff,” exclaimed the midshipman.
“You’d better,” advised his companion. “We may have to eat worse stuff than that before we’re set free.”
“Set free?” echoed Raxworthy. “I’m not going to wait for that, if I can possibly help it. I’m going to make a dash for it at the first chance that offers.”
The doctor smiled.
“You’ll have to wait a deuce of a long time, then,” he rejoined. “That is, if these fellows take the usual precautions with their prisoners. And if you do get a chance and have the misfortune to be recaptured, you’ll wish you’re dead long before you are!”
“Cheerful optimist, aren’t you, Doc?”
“It just happens that I know,” continued Raxworthy’s companion in misfortune. “Provided these fellows think there’s a chance of obtaining ransom, they won’t treat you so badly. But if they see no likelihood of the British Government paying up, or if you try to slip through their fingers, then——”
He snapped his fingers impressively.
“Then you wouldn’t try to escape if you had a chance?”
“My dear fellow, maturity has given me discretion,” replied the doctor.
Raxworthy pondered for a few moments.
“Look here,” he exclaimed. “Supposing I made a dash for it. Would they make it the worse for you, out of spite?”
“Having lost one possible source of wealth, they proceed to destroy the other and lesser one, eh? Hardly, I think. While there’s money there’s hope, is an axiom among them.”
“Good enough,” declared the midshipman.
“Let’s hope it is,” added his companion drily. “Only just watch and see what sort of country you would have to find your way through.”
They finished their sorry repast in silence.
The midshipman was hungry—very—and that fact alone enabled him to overcome his repugnance at the fish-flavoured rice. And having finished it he still felt the pangs of hunger.
“Now,” thought Raxworthy, glancing at the night-enshrouded deck—for the junk displayed no light—“they’ve freed my arms. I can cast my ankle lashings adrift. What’s to prevent me going over the side? There are bound to be some fishing boats about. I heard oars splashing not so very long ago.”
He bent forward and commenced to tease the knots of the rope that secured his ankles.
Even in the darkness his companion realized what he was doing and sensed his intentions.
“Better not, Raxworthy!”
“Why not?”
“Sharks!”
VII
One of the pirates replaced the two prisoners’ bonds. The opportunity had passed for the midshipman to carry out his intention.
A few minutes after the captives had been properly secured, one of the men on the poop shouted something. Instantly there was a commotion in the waist. A mob rushed aft and commenced to tail on to a rope. Raxworthy could see their outlines silhouetted against the starlit sky, and thought that they were hauling on to a sheet or a halliard.
“ Yay-hai . . . yah-hai . . . yah-hai,” the pirates sang in chorus, as they heaved and hauled.
Then there was a tremendous thump on the poop. The midshipman could not see what caused it, owing to his position almost under the break of the poop. Several of the pirates, still tailing on to the rope, descended the ladder. Others in the waist also assisted in the hauling process, while the monotonous Yah-hai continued.
Foot by foot the rope came in. More men descended the poop ladder.
Then Raxworthy saw the cause for the commotion.
At the end of the rope was an enormous shark. Its captors had hauled it up over the taffrail and were dragging it amidships to dispatch it. The brute was lashing out furiously with its tail.
Rather apprehensively the midshipman wondered what would happen to him when the shark toppled over the edge of the poop. He and the doctor were unpleasantly close to the foot of the ladder.
There was a crash of broken wood. The shark, with a terrific sweep of its tail, had partly demolished the railing and part of the handrail of the ladder. The next instant the brute, weighing perhaps a ton, landed in the waist, luckily well clear of the two prisoners.
Now half a dozen electric torches—part of the booty from the Ah-Foo —threw a strong light upon the scene. Armed with knives and axes the pirates swarmed round the struggling shark.
They hacked off its tail. It still floundered. They battered its head; plunged their knives deeply into its stomach until the deck planks were slippery with gore.
When the shark was dead the pirates cut off its fins, which they esteem a special delicacy. Then the captain, with an uncanny grin, showed his captives two objects that had been removed from the creature’s stomach. One was a boot, the other a silk sunshade, the handle and wires bent but still recognizable.
“No makee swim,” he observed ominously. “Plenty big fish allee time!”
Having taken what portions they required, the men heaved the rest of the carcass overboard. There were splashes that were not accounted for by the impact of the pieces upon the water. Other sharks were fighting fiercely in their cannibalistic feast!
Raxworthy had to admit that the doctor’s warning carried considerable weight.
Shortly afterwards he fell asleep, in spite of the sultry air and the foetid stench from the unwashed decks of the pirate junk.
At frequent intervals he awoke. It was difficult to sleep with his arms bound behind his back and nothing to support his head. Every time the junk heeled, his body swayed from hip and shoulder. Yet after a considerable time, fatigue sent him into a heavy slumber.
He was awakened by two of the pirates lifting him by his shoulders and feet.
It was now dawn. The sun had risen above the horizon, and the short twilight had given place to broad daylight.
Two others were carrying his fellow-captive aft. All the crew were in a state of commotion. Many of them had armed themselves with rifles. A machine-gun had been placed on the poop, and its crew were engaged in fitting the ammunition belt. Everyone seemed to be taking more than ordinary interest in something away on the starboard beam.
This much Raxworthy noticed before he was carried aft, and then down a short ladder to a flat below the water-line. The doctor had already been unceremoniously dumped there.
“What’s the idea?” he inquired, as the midshipman flopped on the deck beside him.
Before Raxworthy could hazard an explanation a stuttering rifle-and machine-gun-fire opened from the junk.
“Hurrah!” he exclaimed. “One of our destroyers is butting in.”
VIII
“Then I hope to goodness they don’t send the old tub to the bottom. I don’t mind running risks from rifle-fire in the open, but dashed if I like the idea of being cooped up here if the junk’s sunk. It’s worse than being in a submarine.”
Raxworthy felt inclined to agree with his companion on that point. If the junk were sunk—and a six-pounder shell accurately placed would do the trick neatly and easily—they wouldn’t stand a dog’s chance, bound hand and foot as they were. Not that that mattered compared with the greater issue. Even if their limbs were free they were imprisoned in a stuffy box-like compartment below the water-line.
“Look here,” exclaimed the midshipman, raising his voice to make himself heard above the terrific din on deck, “we may just as well get rid of these lashings—just in case.”
Working in pitch-black darkness the midshipman succeeded in freeing the doctor from his bonds. Then, with hands at liberty, the latter quickly performed a like service to his companion.
By this time Raxworthy began to have doubts concerning the appearance of a destroyer. By various ominous sounds he knew that the junk was being hit again and again by small-arms projectiles—probably rifle and machine-gun bullets. A destroyer would have kept beyond range of such weapons and settled the argument with a warning shell across the junk’s bows and then, if that failed to bring about the desired effect, she would send the junk’s masts by the board. If that didn’t make the pirate surrender, sterner measures would be taken.
But the craft engaging the junk did none of these things. She was within easy musketry range. Raxworthy was aware of this, because he could hear above the shouts of defiance the ever-increasing cries and groans of the wounded.
“They’re going it hot and strong,” observed the doctor.
“We’re safe enough here.”
“From bullets—yes; but how about it if the junk’s sent to the bottom?”
“She isn’t yet,” replied Raxworthy. “She doesn’t appear to be leaking. We’d hear the water pouring in if she were.”
“All the same, I’d rather be on deck. Never did like being shut up in the dark. Why, I don’t know. Probably I had a fright when I was a child. . . . What are you doing?”
“Having a grope round just to get my bearings,” replied the midshipman. “Ough!”
“What is it?”
“Bumped my head on the same place as I got that whack.”
“One would,” rejoined the doctor. “It’s the perversity of things. If you bark your shin, for example, you’ll probably knock it half a dozen times in as many days. Go slow.”
“This seems to be a sort of bo’sun’s store,” declared Raxworthy. “There are coils of rope and—good!—here’s an axe.”
“You don’t propose to set about me with it, do you?”
“So far, the possibility hasn’t occurred to me.”
“I hope it won’t; but why this jubilation over a chopper?”
The midshipman made no reply. He hardly knew why, but grasping the helve of the axe seemed to give him renewed confidence. In the back of his mind he had an idea that the axe would come in useful.
The two prisoners listened in silence to the din of conflict without. Raxworthy felt convinced that the pirate junk was in action with a rival gang, and the two unwieldy vessels were closing. Probably the newcomers were getting the best of it, and were about to decide the day by carrying the junk by boarding.
If so, how would the change of fortune affect the two prisoners?
Suddenly Raxworthy’s thoughts were interrupted by a terrific roar accompanied by a deafening concussion. The for’ard bulkhead of the flat seemed to bulge inward. The deck heaved under them.
Then, amid the crash of shattering timber, the junk—or what was left of her, turned completely upside down.
The pirates, faced with massacre at the hands of their rivals, had blown up the magazine.
IX
Although the ammunition in the magazine had been greatly depleted during the fight, the explosion was sufficient to destroy every man on deck who had so far escaped death by the bullet. It was not, however, sufficiently powerful to blow the junk to smithereens. The force of the detonation was localized, with the result that the junk was rent asunder amidships.
The bow portion remained floating and only just awash, while twenty feet or so of the stern remained bottom upwards and was prevented from sinking by air trapped in what was once the “run aft” of the junk.
And in this confined space, partly stupefied by the concussion, were Raxworthy and his companion in misfortune.
The midshipman had been in more than one tight corner, but the stark horror and uncertainty of the situation froze the blood in his veins. He knew that the junk—or what remained of her—had capsized and that the doctor and he had survived the explosion. But whether their prison was still afloat or slowly sinking to the bed of the sea, he knew not. He imagined what would happen if it were sinking. Sooner or later the as yet watertight planks would collapse under the enormous pressure. Death would come swiftly when it did, but before it did there was that agonizing suspense, waiting in utter darkness for the end.
After a little while the midshipman grew calmer. He became aware of the “lift” of his prison. Obviously the upturned portion of the junk still remained afloat.
Then his sense of hearing reasserted itself; the concussion had temporarily deafened him.
He heard voices. He strained his ears to listen.
Some craft nearby were being propelled by oars. Boats from the victorious junk were looking for survivors, not with the object of saving life, but that of making assurance doubly sure, according to piratical standards. The men in the boats were talking loudly in Chinese. That dispelled Raxworthy’s faint hopes that the destroyer of the pirate junk was a British or a Japanese warship.
“Good heavens! What’s happened?” ejaculated his companion.
“Ssh!” cautioned the midshipman. “We’re all serene so far. Don’t make a noise, or we’ll be out of the frying-pan into the fire.”
“What do you mean?”
“The rival gang’s rowing round to see what’s worth saving,” explained Raxworthy. “If they don’t trouble to break a hole in this chunk of wreckage it’ll keep afloat. They’ll push off soon, I expect; and then we can cut our way out. It’s lucky I found that axe.”
The two conversed in low tones, occasionally pausing to listen to noises from without.
Once one of the victorious pirates prodded the keel with an oar. The noise sounded almost deafening in the confined space. Then, after an animated discussion amongst her crew, the boat rowed away.
Raxworthy had lost all count of time; but at the end of what he judged to be two hours, hearing no ominous sounds outside, he decided that the time for action was at hand.
He realized that they would have to proceed cautiously. If the wreckage were kept afloat by the air trapped in the compartment in which they were imprisoned, the moment the planking was cut through the remains of the junk would sink—and sink before they had time to enlarge the hole sufficiently for them to make their way through.
He hadn’t the faintest idea where the new water-line was. If the wreckage were almost awash the position would be pretty hopeless, since it would be a superhuman task to hack through the massive kelson and keel of the junk, which was now the highest part left of her.
Another disturbing thought flashed across the midshipman’s mind. Supposing the liberated Ah-Foo had got into touch with a British destroyer—and the latter had steamed hard in pursuit of the pirate junk? She’d probably sight the large piece of floating wreckage and would shell it as a danger to navigation. The risks of enemy action Raxworthy was prepared to face. It was part of his profession; but he drew the line at being blown to pieces by a unit of the Royal Navy!
“Make a trial hole first,” suggested the doctor. “Try boring through the bulkhead.”
“What with?”
“This,” replied his companion. “Feel for it. It’s an auger. It’s sharp.”
“Good business!”
Raxworthy didn’t waste words by asking how the doctor had come by it.
“There’s a tool chest,” volunteered the latter, by way of explanation. “When we turned turtle it nearly smashed my leg. If only we had a light.”
They hadn’t, so perforce had to work in the dark, and the midshipman had only a vague idea of the lay-out of the junk.
He set to work with the auger, boring through the bulkhead at a point a few inches from which was the deck, now the roof of their prison.
The woodwork was of teak, as sound as a bell. In about five minutes the auger was through. Gingerly Raxworthy withdrew it. To his unbounded relief no gush of water followed.
“Keep clear!” he cautioned. “I’m going to swing the axe!”
Klip, klop; klip, klop!
The midshipman knew how to use an axe. It was one of the many useful things he had been made to learn in the workshops at Dartmouth. Even in the darkness he struck hard and true, bringing each stroke of the blade obliquely to the preceding one. Splinters flew, and the hitherto noxious air now reeked of the oily and pleasant scent of freshly cut teak.
“Through!” he exclaimed, breathless but triumphant.
A gleam of pale green light streamed through the jagged gap.
Looking through the aperture Raxworthy saw a strange sight. It was akin to being in a cave and looking towards the entrance, with water instead of solid rock for a floor.
Actually the roof consisted of about twenty feet of deck that terminated in a jumble of rent and riven planks. Between this edge and the level of the water was a height of from two to four feet—it was constantly varying as the wreckage rose and fell on the long sullen swell of the sea.
Owing to the dip of the wreckage the depth of water nearest the bulkhead was only a few inches, but increased for’ard until it was over six feet.
“We’ve ample margin,” declared the midshipman, preparing to renew the attack.
“Let me give you a spell,” suggested his companion.
“Can you?”
The doctor laughed—the first time he had laughed since the capture of the Ah-Foo. It was a good sign, anyway.
“I spent two years in a lumber camp,” he explained. “My muscles may be a bit flabby, but I’ll make a show, I think.”
He did; using the axe with his uninjured arm in a workmanlike manner, until by the time Raxworthy called “spell-ho!” the hole had been enlarged almost sufficiently for them to squeeze through.
Then Raxworthy resumed the task and in a few minutes more the way to escape lay open; but would escape mean freedom?
“A wetting for each of us, it seems,” remarked his companion.
“If that’s all it means I’m not grousing,” replied the midshipman. “Will you lead on?”
The doctor squeezed through the gap and dropped into the water. A few strokes and his feet touched the underside of the deck. There he had to duck to avoid hitting his head, for there was only a mean distance of six inches between the water level and the extremities of the jagged, blackened planks.
“All O.K.!” he shouted.
“Right! I’ll be with you,” rejoined Raxworthy.
They clambered upon the curved, teredobored planks until they were astride the keel. It was the highest point of vantage. Seaward there was nothing in sight, but the land looked too near to be pleasant. It was perhaps four miles away, and in all probability inhabited by Chinese depending chiefly upon piracy.
Now that they were free, for the time being at least, the pangs of thirst and hunger assailed them. Raxworthy would cheerfully have eaten of the mess of fish and rice similar to the dish of which he had partaken so reluctantly on the previous day. Quite likely there were provisions and water stowed under the poop; but these were almost as remote as the poles, as far as the two survivors were concerned, since the poop was ten or fifteen feet under water.
The fragment of the junk, which somewhat resembled the roof of a house that had been tilted, showed no sign of sinking. There was precious little freeboard—about nine feet from the water’s edge to the heel of the keel. It was a precarious refuge even in calm weather. Should the breeze pipe up and a sea develop, the two men would stand very little chance. And if sleep overcame them, what then? It was only by holding on to the wide keel that they were able to prevent themselves from slipping into the shark-infested sea.
It was now high noon and the sun’s rays were oppressively powerful. The hitherto saturated planking emitted clouds of vapour, the noxious fumes of which added to the survivors’ distress. Overhead, large sea-birds wheeled and soared as if waiting until their intended prey was in no condition to resist the vicious pecks of those formidable beaks.
The doctor’s arm was giving trouble. The wound had reopened and was bleeding freely. He made light of it, however; but Raxworthy noticed that he was looking pretty ghastly.
“You’d better have a caulk, Doc,” he suggested.
“Young man, you’re as much in want of sleep as I am.”
The midshipman caught sight of a rope trailing overboard. It gave him an idea.
“Look here,” he declared. “We’ll get hold of that rope and bend it round our waists. There’s nowhere else we can make fast to. Then you get one side of the keel and have a doss, and I’ll do the same on the other side.”
Clambering down the jagged planking, the midshipman secured the rope. Most of it was sound, although one end had been charred by the explosion. Deftly he made a couple of bowlines at a distance of three or four feet apart, and the two survivors took up their positions as Raxworthy had suggested.
Although they were reclining on a slope, the intervening keel prevented them from slipping and soon they were dozing in spite of the heat.
Some time later, Raxworthy opened his eyes and sat up. Everything seemed to have taken a reddish hue, but through the blur he thought he saw smoke some distance away.
The mist cleared before his eyes and he realized that he had not been mistaken. Coming towards the wreckage was a destroyer.
X
“Wake up, Doc!” exclaimed the midshipman. “We’re saved!”
“Sure?” asked his companion, rubbing his eyes; for he, too, was suffering from blurred vision, caused by the terrific glare.
“Sure.”
They waited in silence.
The oncoming vessel was travelling at high speed, and throwing up a huge bow wave. Then, when within a cable’s length, she reversed engines and lost way. A boat was lowered and brought alongside the remains of the junk.
A sub-lieutenant in the stern sheets shouted to the two survivors to jump for it.
Raxworthy was able to do so, but his companion was not. He had fainted through exhaustion and loss of blood.
The midshipman recognized the young officer in the boat.
“Hello, Cartwright!”
“Who in the name of fortune are you?” demanded the sub, staring at the ragged, sun-baked youth who had addressed him. “Why, it’s young Raxworthy!”
“What’s left of him. Bear a hand to get the doctor into the boat. He’s from the Ah-Foo.”
Two bluejackets scrambled upon the side of the wreckage. By means of the rope the unconscious man was lowered into the boat, and then, without assistance, the midshipman followed.
But when he gained the stern-sheets he promptly collapsed. He’d gone beyond the limit of human endurance.
An hour later Raxworthy recovered consciousness. He was safe on board the destroyer Buster, and lying on one of her officers’ bunks.
“Didn’t expect to pull you out of the ditch, young man,” observed the destroyer’s lieutenant-commander. “We picked up a wireless signal ordering us to search for a junk that had taken part in the capture of Ah-Foo, but we had no idea you were mixed up in the business.”
“It’s no use searching for that junk,” announced the midshipman. “She blew up. The Ah-Foo’s doc and I are the only survivors—and that was a bit of luck! But, sir, where are you making for—Hong Kong?”
“Perhaps, in ten days’ time.”
“I say, sir! I’m under orders to join Sandgrub at Shanghai!”
The lieutenant-commander smiled.
“You’ve missed the bus!”
Raxworthy’s face fell. This was a catastrophe! Through no fault of his own he would be unable to report for duty in Sandgrub, and his chance of “smelling powder” up the Yang-tse had vanished. It might never recur.
Buster’s owner heard his story sympathetically.
“Sorry, Raxworthy,” he said kindly. “You’ll have to remain aboard us till we rejoin the Flag. I’ll wireless the admiral and report that you’re safe. And, unless I’m much mistaken, you won’t regret it, ‘cause we, like Sandgrub, have a little job of work in hand. There’s a nice little nest of pirates over yonder, and we’re under orders to make things hot for them.”
Midshipman Raxworthy positively beamed.
He wasn’t altogether sure that Sandgrub would be in action up the Yang-tse; but from the lieutenant-commander of the Buster’s words there was every prospect of the destroyer being in the thick of it before very long.
“Good egg, sir!” he exclaimed joyfully.
