RAXWORTHY’S RUSE
I
“Sorry I was unable to report for duty earlier, sir,” said Midshipman Kenneth Raxworthy apologetically.
“Don’t worry about that,” rejoined Lieutenant-commander Wilverley of H.M. river gunboat Sandgrub. “The admiral wirelessed explaining the delay. No matter; you’re in time. Do you know what for?”
“No, sir.”
“A rough house, Raxworthy; a rough house. Do you tumble to it?”
“A scrap up the Yang-tse, sir?” asked the midshipman eagerly.
“Every jolly old indication of it, my lad! This old hooker has only six weeks to do before her two years’ commission is up. We’re due to pay off on the 25th of next month. During the whole time I’ve been in her we haven’t fired a single round except in the quarterly-gunnery exercises; and now, almost at the last lap comes the chance for Sandgrub to have a look in. You’ve heard nothing, I suppose?”
“Of what, sir?”
“Of the plan of operations.”
“No, sir.”
“Good! One doesn’t want them to be known until the show’s over. Now you’re one of us, it’s only right that you should know what you’ve been let in for when I requested the commander-in-chief for the loan of a midshipman. Sit you down. You’ll have an iced drink?”
The lieutenant-commander touched a bell and gave an order to a Chinese messman.
Raxworthy sat down in one of the cane lounge chairs in the captain’s cabin, which was in the superstructure amidships. Owing to her shallow draught—she drew only two feet six inches aft— Sandgrub’s internal arrangements were very differently planned from those of sea-going units of the navy. The cabin extended the whole width of the superstructure. The bulkheads, to a height of four feet, were of steel and thick enough to stop a rifle bullet. The windows were of plate glass—square and not of the scuttle type—and were fitted with jalousies, or sliding louvres, to admit air, but to exclude the glaring sunlight. At the present time they were lowered, giving Raxworthy a wide view of the animated river scene.
“It’s a complicated business,” continued Wilverley. “Six hundred miles up the Yang-tse a cheerful old gentleman, who is known to the Chinese as Fu-so-li, has been raising Cain. He’s not a pukka Chinaman—far from it. I understand that his father was a Russian who had married a Korean woman, and that he had been brought up in a Buddhist monastery until he kicked over the traces.
“At the present time Fu-so-li is at the head of a few thousand bandits. The Chinese Government either cannot flatten him out or doesn’t want to, and they’ve requested the British to do it for them. Strictly speaking the whole business is irregular. We have no right to interfere with the internal affairs of China, even at its government’s request.”
“The Japs would take the job on quick enough,” observed Raxworthy.
“Undoubtedly,” agreed the lieutenant-commander drily; “but, unfortunately, the Chinese—quite rightly in my opinion—have an idea that if the Japs get a hold in any Chinese territory it takes a deuce of a lot to shift ’em—if ever! Luckily for us there is an excuse. Fu-so-li has taken it into his head to loot and burn a trading station managed by an Englishman—a Mr. Blakeborough. Blakeborough is missing—probably he will be held to ransom—but Fu declares that he was carried off by a smaller and rival gang who, apparently, are in the peculiar position of being outlawed by the Chinese Government and at the same time in conflict with Fu-so-li’s crowd. That may be all eye-wash on Fu’s part; the fact remains we’re off up the Yang-tse to square things up, put Fu in irons and release Blakeborough. Now you’d better sling your hammock and make yourself acquainted with the internal arrangements of the ship.”
Raxworthy saluted and withdrew. “Slinging his hammock” he knew to be a mere term of formality. Actually his servant would make up his bed in a bunk. That left the midshipman free to go over the ship and make the acquaintance of his brother officers.
Lieutenant Poundall, the officer-of-the-watch, he had already seen officially. Viner, the other lieutenant, however, took him in hand and showed him round.
Sandgrub was by no means a modern vessel. She had been on the China Station for more than twenty years, and was likely to remain there until it became absolutely necessary to replace her. She was armed with two six-inch guns and recently—as a sign of the times—had been given a pair of three-inch anti-aircraft guns. She was driven by two propellers each working in a tunnel in order to protect the blades from hitting the bottom of the river, since her cruising radius was almost entirely in shallow waters where sandbanks and shoals are many. Most of these are uncharted—not that that made much difference, since the bed of the Yang-tse is constantly shifting both in height and direction.
Raxworthy had completed his tour of the river gunboat and was talking with Poundall on the quarter-deck when he broke off in the middle of a sentence and asked:
“When did you ship that Chink, sir?”
II
The lieutenant followed the direction of the midshipman’s gaze.
“That chap? He’s the second messman. Don’t know when he was taken on. One Chinaman’s face is much like another’s. At least it seems so to me. Why did you ask?”
“Because he’s the living image of the steward of the Ah-Foo.”
“The boat you were in when she was captured by Ton-quen pirates?”
“Yes; and the strange part about it was that before the attack some blighter extracted the ball cartridges from my revolver and substituted blank.”
“I can understand a fellow in league with the pirates removing the live cartridges; but what was the object in reloading with blank? Seems to me his object would be achieved if he left the chambers empty.”
“Because he thought I might snap open the breach and make sure the revolver was loaded,” explained Raxworthy. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“And the cartridges; were they blank ammunition or had someone merely broken out the bullets?”
“That I can’t say, sir. Never had a chance to look. After I’d emptied the pistol without effect and had got a crack across the head, I was knocked out properly. I never set eyes on my revolver again.”
“But what has that to do with our messman?”
“I may be wrong, but he’s exactly like the Ah-Foo’s steward who, I feel certain, tampered with the revolver. As far as I know no one else entered my cabin——”
“Want to question the fellow?”
“I’d like to, sir.”
Beckoning to a seaman, Poundall told him to bring the second messman to him; for the Chinaman, without giving a glance at the midshipman, had gone for’ard.
In a minute or so the Chinaman, his face as impassive as if hewn from granite, shuffled to the quarter-deck—which, like every member of the ship’s company, he saluted—and silently awaited Raxworthy to speak.
The midshipman came straight to the point.
“How did you get away when the Ah-Foo was sunk?”
“No can do,” replied the Chinaman.
“You were the steward of the Ah-Foo,” declared the midshipman challengingly.
“No can do,” reiterated the bland Celestial.
“You’ll jolly well have to,” continued Raxworthy. “How long have you been in Sandgrub? How many days have you been here?”
“Two moons.”
The answer took the wind out of Raxworthy’s sails. Two moons—equivalent to two months—meant that if the Chinaman were speaking the truth, he couldn’t possibly have been in the Ah-Foo, eight hundred miles away.
“All right; you can go,” he ordered.
“Didn’t get much change out of that Chink, my lad,” observed Poundall.
“I’m not satisfied, sir.”
“Snotties rarely are,” rejoined the lieutenant, with a cheerful smile. “Better luck next time! Did you think we had a cut-throat pirate on board? I tell you what: I’ll get hold of the Owner’s messman. He’s straight enough. Been in the ship ever since we commissioned, nearly two years ago.”
The head messman was sent for. Raxworthy had seen him when he brought drinks to the captain’s cabin.
“Tell me, Ming,” began the lieutenant, when the Chinaman appeared, “what’s the name of your assistant?”
“He is called Ti-so, sir,” replied the messman in good English.
“And how long has he been in the ship?”
“Two moons, p’laps little more.”
“Know anything about him? Has he a clean run an’ all that sort of thing?”
“Sir, I no understand.”
“Well, would you lend him five dollars and know you’d get the money back?”
“Ti-so he vally good Chinaman, sir.”
“That’s hardly an answer to my question, Ming. He might be a good Chinaman but a rascal to his masters. Is he to be trusted?”
“I trust Ti-so with silver to makee clean. Not one piecee go adrift, sir.”
“All right, Ming; carry on,” concluded the lieutenant.
Raxworthy waited until the messman was out of sight.
“It seems as if I’ve made a mistake, sir,” he confessed.
“Thought so from the first, Raxworthy,” rejoined Poundall. “Well, I’m going ashore; care to come along to the club?”
III
At daybreak next morning, Sandgrub slipped her moorings and stood down the Wu-sung to the estuary of the mighty Yang-tse-kiang, which at its mouth is fifty miles in width.
And Midshipman Raxworthy positively disgraced himself by being seasick! Only once before in his naval career had he fallen a victim to this malady and that was in one of the Naval College cutters just outside the Dart. Since then he had been in picket-boats, sailing cutters, destroyers and light cruisers; but the motion of the shallow draught river gunboat as she pounded over the short steep seas of the Yang-tse estuary compelled him to “muster his bag”.
The only slight compensation he received lay in the fact that Lieutenant Viner—Poundall’s junior—Ridge, the surgeon-lieutenant and nearly a dozen of the crew were similarly affected.
Viner tried to attribute his indisposition to the sickly reek of the mangroves, until the Owner pointed out that the wind was westerly and consequently an on-shore breeze; but he added that these waters were notoriously wicked, often upsetting the hardiest seaman.
Before nightfall Sandgrub was well up the river and in sheltered water. Owing to the difficulties of navigation she dropped anchor at sunset rather than risk running aground on one of the many mudbanks. Double look-outs were posted and the watch on deck were armed. What with civil war in China and the presence of pirates who belonged to neither of the rival parties, it was essential that Sandgrub should be prepared for all eventualities since the Chinese are apt to make mistakes and then offer bland though tardy apologies.
Three days later, struggling constantly with the strong adverse current, Sandgrub found herself about twenty miles above Hang-kow.
Here her troubles commenced.
Raxworthy was standing morning watch with Viner in charge of the deck. The gunboat was making good about eight knots against a five-knot current. The leadsmen were in the chains and had been monotonously singing out: “By the mark three” for the last twenty minutes.
It was out of the question to detect the shallows owing to the muddy nature of the water, except where the mudbanks were almost awash. Then the ripples over them gave an indication of what Sandgrub was likely to expect if she didn’t alter helm smartly.
“Plenty of water hereabouts,” declared the lieutenant. “It’s a hundred miles farther up that we’ll find shoals. Last June we got aground and stopped there for a week. Gruelling job, I give you my word! Where’s that blighter Ti-so? I told him to bring iced drinks at six bells.”
The lieutenant turned and looked towards the companion.
As he did so there was a sudden jar accompanied by a disconcerting crunching sound.
Viner staggered backwards, knocked Raxworthy off his feet and both fell upon the deck, the lieutenant uppermost. Just at that moment the Chinese messman was arriving with a tray and two glasses of iced lemonades, each with a dash of gin and bitters.
He, too, staggered and unable to recover himself tripped over the two writhing officers.
Raxworthy, although underneath, contrived to wriggle clear and was the first to regain his feet. Then Viner stood up, seemingly regardless of a gash in the back of his hand which was bleeding freely.
“We’ve hit the putty this time, by Jove!” he ejaculated. “Chains, there! What have you got?”
“Hardly enough to float a duck, sir!” replied one of the men. “The lead’s showing.”
Somewhat to Raxworthy’s surprise no orders were given to stop engines. The twin screws continued to revolve apparently driving the gunboat farther on the shoal. But for the fact that they were protected by their respective tunnels the propeller blades would have been torn from their bosses, for Sandgrub had grounded not upon mud, but on hard gravel.
Beyond the first effects of the stranding no one on board seemed to mind. The lieutenant-commander came on the bridge and grinned to his subordinate.
“So you’ve smelt it, Viner?” he observed. “What are we doing?”
“Both engines half speed ahead, sir.”
“Good! Keep this going. She’s a couple of feet below her water-line for’ard. Send a dozen hands over the side and stir things up.”
The order was passed for’ard and presently a dozen seamen, who were wearing tropical uniforms including shorts, dropped overboard into about six inches of muddy water. They were equipped with shovels and crowbars, and at once set to work to loosen the hard gravel against the ship’s bows.
Then Raxworthy tumbled to it why the engines were still going ahead. The pulling astern of the propellers increased the flow of current past the ship’s sides into a miniature mill-race, and as fast as the men loosened the gravel the debris was swept away. Slowly but surely Sandgrub was sinking into a trench she was making by the aid of some of her crew and the propellers.
Then, ping!
A greyish splash against the ship’s side just abaft the bridge showed the spot where a rifle bullet had mushroomed itself.
Somewhere on the mangrove-clad bank about two hundred yards to starboard a sniper was taking pot-shots at the “foreign devils”.
“Get round to the port side and carry on, men!” ordered Wilverley. “Gunner’s mate! Fetch up a Lewis-gun and stand by! . . . I wonder where the chap is?”
The officer on the bridge levelled the binoculars, scanning the shore in an attempt to locate the rifleman.
For some minutes there was no more firing. Apparently the native was reluctant to waste more ammunition and was satisfied at having cleared out the bluejackets working in the water.
Presently there was another report and the whine of a bullet overhead.
“Smokeless powder and high velocity bullet,” declared Viner. “Shall we traverse the bank with a burst of Lewis-gun fire?”
“Yes, do,” replied the lieutenant-commander.
The weapon barked, sending out a wide-flung sheaf of bullets. After that there was no more sniping from that part of the river bank.
“Think she’ll take it going astern, Viner?” inquired the Owner.
“She’s scooped out quite a lot of gravel,” replied the lieutenant. “There’s no harm in trying.”
The engines were run first at half and then full speed astern. Sandgrub quivered but otherwise remained immovable.
“It seems as if the level of the river’s falling,” declared Poundall. “By Jupiter! It is! Look at that patch on our starboard bow. It wasn’t dry four minutes ago.”
The unpleasant fact was apparent. It meant that if the gunboat had been unable to free herself some hours ago she certainly could not now, since the river had fallen quite eighteen inches.
“We’ll be here till we’ve grown whiskers,” said the lieutenant-commander moodily as he rang down “finished with engines”. “Get the party over the side to lay out an anchor, Mr. Viner; then pipe all hands to ‘make and mend’.”
The stream anchor, weighing over three hundredweights, was lowered and a quantity of cable ranged out.
“Where do you want the killick laid out, sir?” inquired the leading seaman with the party over the side.
“Beyond that hump,” replied the captain, pointing to the shoal that had recently been uncovered. “Mr. Raxworthy, you’d better superintend operations; see that the flukes are well bedded.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered the midshipman.
Taking off his shoes and socks, Raxworthy lowered himself over the side into about fifteen inches of water. It was so muddy that he was not able to see his toes.
The bluejackets bent a rope to the crown of the anchor and commenced to drag it towards the spot that the Owner had indicated. When the drag of the cable became too great they ran out the slack by means of long-handled steel hooks until they were able to shift the anchor another twenty feet or so.
“Last flight, lads!” exclaimed Raxworthy, who felt compelled to take an active part in the operations, and was tailing on to the rope. “Walk away with her!”
The next instant his legs were knocked away, and he sat down in the swiftly running water. The splash nearly blinded him, while water in his ears had temporarily dulled his hearing.
Yet he was aware of the men shouting both ashore and on deck and of the sharp cracks of a rifle.
He tried to rise, but there seemed no power in his legs.
“It’s that confounded sniper!” he thought. “The blighter’s got me through both ankles!”
IV
There were more shots. Raxworthy made another unsuccessful effort to rise. Then a pair of strong hands gripped him round the chest and partly dragged and partly lifted him to his feet.
“Thought the brute had got you, sir!” declared the bluejacket who, with others, had gone to the midshipman’s assistance.
“He has, I think,” rejoined Raxworthy. “He’s plugged me through both ankles!”
“What d’ye mean, sir?” inquired the leading hand. “Those bullets went well wide of the lot of us. They got the mugger all right.”
The midshipman, bewildered, but conscious of returning strength to his legs, knew that the term “mugger” is frequently applied to crocodiles frequenting Asiatic waters.
Then one of the men pointed to a dark object lying half awash and about fifty yards off. It was an enormous crocodile that had been lying doggo on the shoal, and had been mistaken for an exposed portion of the bank upon which the gunboat had grounded.
The brute’s back harmonized so well with the muddy water that the men laying out the anchor had got close to it before it took action. This it had done in customary fashion by making a terrific sweep with its tail and capsizing its victim. The latter happened to be Raxworthy, who was at the end of the line of men tailing on the anchor rope.
In another instant the crocodile would have seized its victim but for the prompt action of one of the seamen on board Sandgrub, who, with admirable coolness had snatched up a rifle and taken careful aim at the saurian.
The bullet struck the crocodile in his eye. In its death agonies it wriggled several yards, being assisted downstream by the current, until three more shots finished it off.
The party carried Raxworthy back to the ship, where Dr. Ridge made an examination. The curious part of the midshipman’s injuries was that although the whip of the crocodile’s tail had laid the skin open on both shins, the deepest gashes were on the soles of his feet.
“That’s easily accounted for,” declared the surgeon-lieutenant. “The force of the blow swept your feet over the gravel, and the gashes were caused by sharp stones. You’ll be on the sick-list for a day or two, my lad!”
The midshipman protested, ineffectually, that there wasn’t much to worry about, and that he was frightfully keen upon carrying out his duties; but the word of a surgeon-lieutenant carries more weight than that of a captain in such cases.
And Dr. Ridge was fully aware of the poisonous germs that infest the Yang-tse. Very thoroughly he applied sterilizing lotion to Raxworthy’s wounds, but as a concession he allowed his patient to lie on a mattress under the quarter-deck awning.
“And if you shift your moorings without my permission, young fellah, I’ll have you bastinadoed!” concluded the doctor with mock severity.
Night fell, but Sandgrub was still in her ignominious position. If anything the river was still falling. It was the dry season, and there was a chance of the gunboat being left almost high and dry for weeks.
The circumstances made it imperative for Sandgrub to wireless the senior naval officer at Shanghai reporting the stranding. It would not have been necessary had she run aground for only a few hours. Such incidents were of common occurrence in the Yang-tse-Kiang; but the prospect of being high and dry indefinitely rendered a wireless report necessary, and with it the disquieting probability that Sanddigger would be sent up-river to take over Sandgrub’s task of dealing with the bandits.
At sunset colours were lowered, armed look-outs posted and regulation lights hoisted to signify that the ship was aground near the fairway. The crews of the six-inch quick-firers slept at their guns, while the men detailed to run the searchlights were told to get what rest they could beside the projectors.
Raxworthy, under a mosquito curtain, dozed fitfully. With the fall of night his lacerated feet began to throb painfully. Mosquitoes pinged and fireflies darted to and fro. From the nearby paddy-fields bull-frogs croaked incessantly. Frequently sampans drifted down stream, their crews, which chiefly consisted of whole families, greeting the “foreign devils” with sarcastic though generally unintelligible remarks concerning their plight.
About four in the morning, Raxworthy was aroused by a peculiar grinding noise, followed by shouts from the look-out that the ship was on the move.
She was. Owing to a heavy thunderstorm, its centre perhaps a hundred miles or more up stream, the level had risen three feet and was still rising.
Sandgrub, waterborne, was swinging almost broadside on, her keel-plates rasping over the shingle.
Then as the strain on the anchor was taken up, she swung round through eight points, and snubbed heavily at her cable.
“Holding?” shouted Poundall, who was the officer-of-the-watch.
“No, sir; she’s dragging!” replied a voice from the fo’c’sle.
“Then pay out another shackle.”
The additional cable roared through the hawsepipe. The compressor was applied, and again the gunboat brought up with a jerk.
“Holding now?”
One of the hands prodded the ground with a boathook.
“Steady now, sir!”
There was no need for Poundall to send a messenger to inform the captain that they were afloat once more. Wilverley, awakened by the noise, was on the bridge wearing pyjamas plus his badge of authority, namely, his gilt oak-leaved cap.
“Current’s running hard, sir,” reported the officer-of-the-watch.
“Yes, send the quartermaster to the wheel and warn the look-outs to keep a sharp look-out for drifting sampans and wreckage.”
This precaution was necessary. Throughout the night the steam steering gear was frequently clanking as the man at the wheel gave the anchored gunboat a sheer to avoid various large objects that came down upon the now swirling stream.
A wireless message was sent off announcing that the gunboat was again afloat, and then conditions became quieter until dawn.
By this time the river had risen to such an extent that Sandgrub could heave short her cable without the risk of running aground again.
“Good old Excelsior!” exclaimed Viner. “Here we are in the same benighted spot that we were twelve hours ago.”
“Up and down, sir!” announced the petty officer, superintending the weighing operations.
The lieutenant gave order for half-speed ahead, and gradually gathering way, the gunboat resumed her cautious progress.
V
Three days later Sandgrub anchored for the night within ten miles of the site of Blakeborough’s factory, which, although the ship’s company did not know of it, was now a heap of smoking ruins.
Greatly against his inclinations, Lieutenant-commander Wilverley had decided against covering the last lap during the hours of darkness. It was reputed to be a particularly tricky stretch of the river, and it would be unlucky for the gunboat if she ran hard aground within range of the bandit Fu-so-li’s guns.
Raxworthy was still on the sick list, and reclining on a mattress on the quarter-deck. The doctor had promised to return him to duty on the morrow, when serious work might be expected.
His servant brought him his dinner.
“Soup, sir? Mock Turtle?”
The midshipman looked at the greasy liquid and shook his head.
“Take it away, Saunderson,” he exclaimed.
“You’re losing your appetite, sir,” observed the man. “Ti-so’s put some good stuff into it, so he says.”
“Away with it,” decided Raxworthy firmly.
He turned down the fish, but managed to eat a little quail. Somehow he felt off colour.
At eight bells the relieved officer-of-the-watch went below to a belated dinner. Soon afterwards Raxworthy dozed.
He was awakened by someone touching his shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked drowsily.
“Queer goings on, sir,” replied the chief petty officer. “Mr. Viner’s fallen asleep outside the chartroom, and three officers below are blind to the world!”
“What! three sheets in the wind?”
“No, sir; sort of in a trance. Even the surgeon-lieutenant. We’ve been trying to rouse them, but it’s no good.”
Raxworthy sat bolt upright.
“Officer-of-the-watch too!” he exclaimed. “All right, I’ll come along.”
He made his way to the bridge. The leading signalman and the quartermaster of the watch had carried Viner into the chartroom and laid him on the settee. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing stertorously.
His breath did not smell of spirits. The midshipman raised the unconscious officer’s arm and let it drop. It fell as if it were as heavy as lead.
“Drugged!” decided Raxworthy.
“And the rest of the officers are in the same boat, sir!” declared the chief petty officer.
“How about the ratings; are any of them affected?” asked the midshipman.
“They’ve their own cooks—not a galley run by a crowd of Chinks, sir,” rejoined the C.P.O. darkly.
“So that’s what you think? Good; pass the word for Ming and Ti-so.”
Quickly the captain’s steward appeared with his characteristic bland expression.
Ti-so was nowhere to be found. It was afterwards discovered that the look-out had seen a sampan pass just before midnight. They had also heard a splash, but paid no particular attention to it, thinking that it was caused by a fish.
“Where’s Ti-so, Ming?” demanded Raxworthy.
“Honourable sir, I know not,” replied the head messman. “P’laps he in his bunk.”
“He ain’t,” declared the chief petty officer.
“Who served the officers’ dinner, Ming?” pursued the midshipman.
“Ti-so, honourable sir. I say to captain, ‘Me no well; no can do’. He say, ‘Velly good, lay off’, so I lay off till you send for me.”
“Jolly fortunate for me I didn’t have that confounded soup,” thought Raxworthy. “Well, I’m taking no chances. I’ll put Ming under arrest.”
The Chinaman was taken for’ard and placed behind the screen under the charge of an armed seaman.
Raxworthy then went below to the wardroom, where he found that Poundall and the doctor had been lifted upon the settees. On the deck cards lay scattered. Obviously the effect of the drug had a delayed action, since it was after dinner, and the two officers were playing cards, when unconsciousness suddenly overtook them.
Wilverley, too, had gone to his cabin, and was writing a letter before he, too, collapsed. He hadn’t even a chance to ring the bell for assistance.
“Get strong coffee ready,” ordered Raxworthy. “Make them drink plenty when they show signs of regaining consciousness; but no stimulants, mind!”
He did not remain long below. He sensed danger. His place was on deck, since he was the sole remaining officer on board fit for duty.
He went the rounds, visiting the guns’ crews and those in charge of the searchlights, impressing upon them the utmost need for vigilance. Small arms and ball ammunition were served out, and the watch below warned that they might be required in double quick time.
The hours of darkness passed slowly, and with intense anxiety. All was quiet. Not a single craft of any description passed either up-stream or down. Not a light flickered on the reed-fringed banks. The silence and solitude were ominous.
At eight bells (4 a.m.) the middle watch was relieved, but Raxworthy still carried on. Indefinitely he must be commanding officer of the watch, since there was no one of executive rank to take over his responsibilities.
With the first streaks of dawn came a shout from one of the look-outs:
“Flotilla coming down stream, sir!”
Soon it was light enough for Raxworthy to discern the composition of the “flotilla”.
It was headed by a motor-launch, probably looted from Blakeborough’s factory. She was towing about half a dozen large sampans each crowded with armed men—some in the uniform of the Chinese army, but mostly in native civilian garb.
They were heading straight for the anchored gunboat as if anticipating an easy prey.
Realizing the great disadvantage of Sandgrub being brought up, though fortunately steam had been maintained to full working pressure, Raxworthy gave orders for the cable to be buoyed and made ready to be slipped. There was no time to heave up the anchor; it could be recovered later—after the present little episode ended.
The boats were still about a mile off when Sandgrub fired a blank round as a gentle reminder for the bandits to keep off—for the midshipman had no doubt on that score.
The effect of the gun was to make the motor-launch cast off her tow. The sampan took to the oars and sheered across the stream to the left-hand bank. Presently the motor-launch hoisted a large white flag.
“What’s the bright idea?” asked Raxworthy.
“Want a chin-wag, I expect, sir,” replied the C.P.O., “the blighters thought to catch us napping, and now they’re pretending it’s just a friendly call!”
Since a white flag is not included in the contents of a signal flag locker in his Majesty’s ships, one of the wardroom table-cloths had to be brought on deck and hoisted to the masthead.
A Chinese bandit is generally a treacherous brute, but he has complete faith in a flag of truce when hoisted by a British man-of-war.
The motor-launch, drawing ahead of the rest of the flotilla ran downstream, swung round and approached the still anchored gunboat. In her stern sheets was a tall, powerfully built man in the uniform of a colonel of the Government forces. His features did not resemble those of a Chinaman. Raxworthy rightly came to the conclusion that there was the notorious bandit who had assumed the name of Fu-so-li.
Raxworthy turned to the chief petty officer who was with him on the bridge:
“Nip below and take Andrews with you. Put on Mr. Viner’s patrol jacket and cap, and tell Andrews to wear Mr. Poundall’s. And bring me the Captain’s cap.”
These instructions were smartly carried out, and by the time Fu-so-li was alongside he was considerably astonished to find three officers—one of them the captain, although he appeared to be rather youthful—awaiting him. Not only that, they were supported by a full ship’s company armed, and the gunboat cleared for action.
“I have come to discuss the affair of the Englishman Blakeborough,” began the bandit chief in fair English.
“That is also our reason for being here,” replied Raxworthy. “In fact, we demand his immediate release, and compensation for his treatment.”
“Mr. Captain, it is no fault of mine,” declared Fu-so-li. “An enemy of mine has done this hurt. He has burnt the house of the Englishman Blakeborough and carried him off to hold to ransom.”
“That’s your affair. We have it on excellent authority that Mr. Blakeborough’s factory was raided by your orders. Now, listen; I give you six hours in which to find Mr. Blakeborough and hand him over to us. As compensation you will pay eight hundred ounces of gold.”
“It cannot be done!”
“Then my instructions, which have the approval of the Nankin Government, are to open fire and also to make use of the aircraft we carry on board. I’m not here to argue. The flag of truce will be hauled down in half an hour.”
Fu-so-li smiled, but it was a sickly smile. Like all bullies, he was a coward at heart.
“I see what can do,” he rejoined, and signed to the mechanic in the motor-launch to restart the engine.
Watching the bandit chief out of sight, Raxworthy actually winked to the two ratings, who for the first and probably last time in their service careers were wearing gold rings with curls on their sleeves.
“It’s going to work,” declared the midshipman. “The only thing I was doubtful about was whether that blighter had brought Ti-so with him!”
VI
But Fu-so-li had not brought the treacherous second steward of the gunboat with him. Actually, Ti-so had been reaping a profitable income from his double-dealings. As the steward of the luckless coasting steamer Ah-Foo, he had been instrumental in giving the pirates a chance to seize her. That done, he had hurried hot-foot to Shanghai, where he heard that Sandgrub was going up the Yang-tse to conduct operations against the notorious Fu-so-li. By offering a sum of money, he had bribed Ming, the captain’s messman, to allow him to impersonate the second steward, and none of Sandgrub’s officers and crew had noticed his deception. The one possible set-back was Ti-so’s recognition by Midshipman Raxworthy, and in that case his doubts were removed by Ming’s affirmation that the suspect had been several months in the ship.
It was a simple matter for Ti-so to drug the food intended for the officers’ mess; equally simple for him to signal to a passing sampan—which was there by previous arrangement—to get her to pick him up when he dived overboard.
Thence he went to the bandit chief’s headquarters, and reported that he had drugged the officers and men in the foreign devils’ ship, and all that Fu-so-li had to do was to go alongside and seize her. What a valuable haul of arms and ammunition it would bring!
The bandit chief would be a hero amongst the coolie population. He could bargain with the Chinese government, obtaining pardon, more riches, and a high command in the army. He’d be a marshal, even as other bandits had become before him! Then, no doubt, he would remember Ti-so, who had helped him to power and fame.
Fu-so-li, however, was cautious even as he listened to Ti-so’s blandishments. There was such a thing as double-crossing, although the bandit chief had not heard it thus named.
He left Ti-so under an armed guard, while he collected his flotilla and went down stream to see for himself the state of the crew of the British gunboat.
And then he had a nasty shock.
But not such a nasty one as Ti-so received on the angry chief’s return.
Fu-so-li sent for the man.
“You told me that the foreign devils would be in a sleep near to death,” began the bandit chief, without any preamble. “They are very much awake, both officers and men.”
“Honourable Excellency, by the spirits of my unworthy ancestors,”—Ti-so began to expostulate, falling upon his knees.
Fu-so-li made an almost imperceptible sign to a huge Mongolian, who was resting his hands on the hilt of a double-handled, broad-bladed sword.
VII
Feeling as limp as a rag, Lieutenant-commander Wilverley managed to drag himself up the bridge ladder. He was the first of the drugged victims to recover consciousness, and even then his mind was in a confused state.
“What are we doing, Mr. Viner—? Hello! Where’s the officer-of-the-watch . . . That you, Raxworthy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What in the name of goodness has happened?”
The midshipman explained.
The Owner’s mind became clearer as Raxworthy continued his narrative.
“And I put it about the blighter, sir,” declared the midshipman. “Gave him six hours to surrender his prisoners, and told him we’d open fire if he didn’t. And use aeroplanes; that bluffed him all right. He must have thought we’d some stowed below. It rattled him badly.”
“Where’s that rogue, Ti-so?”
“Don’t know, sir; probably having a good ticking-off from Fu-so-li.”
“And Ming?”
“I placed him under arrest, sir, so as to be on the safe side.”
“I see; well, I hope, Mr. Raxworthy, that your ultimatum—which is highly irregular, let me inform you—will turn up trumps. If it doesn’t, you’ve landed me in a nasty mess. This was to be a sort of diplomatic errand, not a blow-you-to-Hades stunt.”
“It seems to me the only way, sir,” replied the midshipman. “Force is the only argument these fellows understand.”
“Between ourselves, I agree,” said the Owner. “Only I shouldn’t care to proclaim those sentiments at Geneva! Well, we must wait and see what turns up. By Jove! How my head’s aching.”
“Care to turn in, sir?” asked Raxworthy solicitously.
“No fear, not till I’ve seen this through. Another hour to wait.”
“Motor-launch coming down stream, sir!” murmured the yeoman of signals.
Telescopes and binoculars were brought to bear upon the approaching craft. It was the one that had been looted from Blakeborough’s factory. Fu-so-li was not on board, but there were three Chinese and, aft under the canopy, four Europeans.
The launch ran alongside and was made fast.
“Mr. Blakeborough?” asked the Owner, addressing the eldest of the four.
“What’s left of me, sir,” was the reply. “I never expected to be released so soon. It’s almost a miracle.”
He introduced his companion-assistants of the now demolished factory.
The Chinese in the launch began handing up heavy boxes.
“Better start ’em, sir,” suggested Raxworthy. “Just in case they contain lead instead of gold!”
But the bandit chief had realized that it wouldn’t pay to deceive the “foreign devils”. The boxes contained the precious metal right enough.
“Your compensation will be paid out of that, Mr. Blakeborough,” explained Wilverley. “Of course, we can’t do it on the spot. It’s a case for the courts at Shanghai. . . . Hello, what’s this?”
A wicker basket he had handed out of the launch. None of the Chinese could speak English, but when Mr. Blakeborough interpreted the Owner’s question, they replied that it was a present to the Honourable Captain from Fu-so-li.
“Don’t know what I’ve done to warrant a present from the blighters,” commented Wilverley. “If it’s grub we’ll ditch it in case it’s poisoned! Open the thing, Richards!”
The bluejacket addressed pulled out his lanyard-knife and cut the bamboo lashings securing the wicker lid. It revealed a covering of large green leaves, but under the leaves was the gory head of Ti-so.
In a third of the time she had taken to stem the current, Sandgrub made the passage down stream, and thence to Shanghai. Owing to the height of the river, she now ran no risk of getting aground on the shoals.
The drugged officers had recovered their normal state; the expedition had been successful beyond all expectation, but for obvious reasons the manner in which it was carried out had to be veiled with a discreet silence up to a certain point.
The Admiral, of course, had to be informed, but there would be no decorations “dished out” for this particular Yang-tse expedition.
In due course Kenneth Raxworthy was “returned” to the light cruiser Kirkham, but not as a midshipman.
He is now Sub-lieutenant Raxworthy, and amongst other advantages accruing from his new rank is one that he highly appreciates—and that is that he is no longer harried by that awe-inspiring despot as far as midshipmen are concerned, the Commander!