Frank Merriwell in the South Seas
Illustration: AS THE MAD HERMIT HURLED ELSIE TOWARD THE FIERY PIT, FRANK MADE THE CAST FOR LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
Saving the First Officer From a Scrape
“Land on the port bow, sir!”
These words came in hoarse tones from the lips of a sailor who stood in the extreme forward angle of the fo'c'sle top.
Behind him, on either hand, were anchors lashed to the deck.
Before him was the upper end of the steamer's cutwater.
Thirty feet below him hissed and bubbled the calm waters of the Yellow Sea as the City of Glasgow plowed across their surface.
The sailor turned his back to the cutwater as he spoke, and having made his announcement, promptly faced about again and kept his eyes peering steadily forward.
An under officer, who stood on a bridge just above the level and aft of the fo'c'sle top, stared hard over the port bow a moment.
Then he turned his face antes and cried:
“Land about three points a-port, sir!”
Higher aloft and farther aft the first officer faced the main bridge with two sailors as companions.
For nearly four hours these five men had been on duty, keeping watch of the vessel's course.
It was almost sunrise, and the fog that had made the night doubly black was beginning to lift.
Indeed, it had already risen from the surface of the sea, and hung in a dense cloud hardly higher than the steamship's funnel.
Speed had been reduced during the night, for all bearings had been lost.
The sun had not shone at all the day before, and so no observation could be taken.
The officers knew that they were approaching Formosa, off whose coast are many islands too small and unimportant to figure in ordinary maps.
It was only a few minutes before the lookout's cry that the engineer had been signaled to go ahead at full speed.
“I fancy we should not be far from Ajax Island,” remarked the first officer to one of the sailors on the bridge.
“So I fancy, sir,” was the respectful reply.
The officer paced two or three times the length of the bridge and then came the warning cry of “Land a-port!”
Halting by the signaling apparatus, the first officer gazed earnestly through a glass in the direction indicated by the lookouts.
“Humph!” he muttered; “those men forward have sharp eyes. It's land, sure enough, but I can hardly make certain of it by the glass.”
The Glasgow was steered by machinery from the bridge.
One of the sailors stood with his hands on the brass-bound wheel.
The first officer handed the glass to him, saying:
“Take a squint, Jackson. You've sailed these seas so long that you should know the waters by name. What do you think? Is that Ajax Island?”
The sailor gave the wheel to his superior, and after using the glass for a a moment, handed it back with a quiet smile.
“I don't lay claim to hanswer for the names of the waves, Mr. Murray,” he said, resuming his grip of the wheel, “but I can't make nothing of that streak of rock yonder but the hisland of Hajax. That's what it his, sir, you depend upon hit, sir.”
“I thought my dead reckoning couldn't be far from right, Jackson,” responded the first officer in a self-satisfied tone.
“Nothink could be righter, sir,” Jackson began with a shrewd intent of complimenting the officer, when the forward lookout interrupted them.
“Boated ahead, sir!”
The lookout on the fo'c'sle bridge ran from one end of his platform to the other, trying in vain to distinguish the object that had attracted the attention of his comrade.
At last he turned around and bawled to the first officer:
“Boat ahead, sir!”
“Where away?” demanded Mr. Murray.
“I don't know, sir; I can't make nothink of it.”
“Ask forward, then, you blockhead!”
Without waiting to be asked the forward lookout, who had plainly heard the words of the first officer, shouted:
“Right in our course, sir! But half a mile away.”
“Starboard your wheel two points, Jackson,” said Mr. Murray as he turned his glass forward.
A glance was sufficient.
“Yes, it's a boat,” he said, half aloud, “manned by a score of men, I should say. What's she doing out here? Looks like the long boat of a merchantman. Ah! there's a signal being hoisted on an oar! Humph! Distress, wreck, wanted. Well! well!”
He laid his hand on a lever and immediately there was the clang of a bell from below.
The next instant the lever was turned back by an unseen hand.
That showed that the engineer at his post below the water line had heard the officer's signal and understood it.
Then the throbbing of the steamer suddenly ceased.
The engines had been stopped.
“All aboard for Liverpool!” called a cheery young voice, almost underneath the bridge.
The first officer looked down and grinned. He saw a boy there whose sunburned face told of much travel in the open air, and whose sparkling eyes suggested a jolly disposition and strong character.
“Go back to your bunk, youngster,” commanded the first officer, with a pretense at gruffness; “it's not time for kids to wake up yet.”
“Go on with you!” retorted the boy; “you'll be abed before I am, and glad you'll be to get there.”
“That's so, but I've been up the best part of the night.”
“You ought to keep better hours. You're old enough to know what's right. But, say!”
“Well, sonny?”
“Stow your nonsense and begin the day like a gentleman.”
“I'll take a lesson from you.”
“All right, then. Good-morning, Mr. Murray.”
The boy lifted his hat with an extravagant gesture.
“Good-morning, Mr. Merriwell,” returned the first officer, grinning broadly and waving his arm in a grand salute.
“That's right. Now, then, what are we stopping for? Where are we at? Shall I have time to get off for a stroll before the Glasgow goes on again?”
“I thought you wanted to stow nonsense.”
“Stow yours. I'll take care of my own. What's up, Mr. Murray?”
“There's a shipwrecked crew ahead in a boat. Can you see 'em?”
The boy went to the rail under the bridge and peered ahead.
“Can't make out much,” he said.
The officer, meantime, was looking forward through his glass.
After a moment he glanced along the main deck aft and spoke in a low tone:
“Come up if you want to, Prank.”
Without waiting for a more urgent invitation, Frank bounded up the steps to the bridge.
“I thought it was against the rules,” he said, “to let a passenger on the bridge?”
“So it is, but the old man isn't likely to be stirring for half an hour yet. I'll take chances on his making a row about it, if you will.”
“Of course I will! I don't believe there'd be a row, anyway. Cap'n Dunbar and I are regular chums.”
“Don't doubt it. Everybody likes you, Frank.”
“That's so, I don't think,” responded Frank, with a queer smile. “His memory turned quickly to some of his past experiences, and he recalled a number of persons who had no great reason for liking him, much as all might be compelled to honor and admire him. “Where's the boat?” he asked.
“A little to the port of our course. She'll be alongside in a few minutes.”
“Ah, yes, I see her. Whew! I should think she had the entire crew of a big ship on board. She's simply packed with men!”
“Rather odd!”
Mr. Murray was looking at the distant boat through his glass. Her crew were rowing just sufficiently to keep the boat near the steamer's course, and the Glasgow, meanwhile, was forging slowly along under her former headway.
“What's odd?” asked Frank.
“I was thinking of recent weather. We've had dead calms. There's been no signs of a storm anywhere in this direction.”
“What difference does that make? Those men might have been wrecked a month ago.”
“Hardly.”
“Why not?”
“Because there's so much shipping on this sea that they would have been picked up before now.”
“Well, it isn't always a storm that wrecks a vessel.”
“That's true enough.”
“There might be a boiler busted, or a fire, or the ship might have collided with a whale.”
Mr. Murray laughed.
“Hardly the latter,” he said. Then, with the glass still at his eyes, he started a little and exclaimed “Well! well!” in a tone of surprise.
“What now?” asked Frank.
“Chinese, every one of 'em!”
“So?”
“Yes, sir; every one is a Chink, or I'm a ghost!”
“Nothing extraordinary in that, I should say, considering that we're not far from the coast of China.”
“Thousand miles, more or less.”
“Well, that ain't much in this part of the world.”
Mr. Murray did not respond.
He stood looking at the Chinese crew for a moment, and then, shutting up his glass, remarked:
“I don't like it. The old man must be informed. Good Lord! here he comes now!”
The first officer turned a startled face toward Frank. It might be a serious matter, in spite of the boy's popularity, if Captain Dunbar should find that a passenger had been permitted on the bridge.
Frank needed no hint.
He never would have forgiven himself if by any careless act of his the friendly Murray had got into trouble.
There was but one gangway to the bridge, and that upon the port side of the vessel.
The captain was approaching this rapidly.
Frank skipped to the starboard of the bridge, let himself over the rail, and dropped.
He did not allow himself to fall to the deck, ten feet below, but caught the bridge planking with his hands and hung on, his legs swinging back and forth like a pendulum.
His fingers only were visible to anybody on the bridge, and he trusted to luck that the captain, interested in the shipwrecked crew, would not observe them.
Frank did not drop to the deck from any fear of bruising himself by the fall, but because the noise would have been noticed.
Now that the engines had stopped, the air was so still that the lapping of the water could be heard distinctly as the steamer moved lazily along.
“What's the trouble, Mr. Murray?” asked Captain Dunbar as he began to climb the ladder.
“A boat load of Chinese showing a signal of distress right ahead, sir,” responded Murray, with trembling voice, and in spite of himself he glanced nervously in the direction where Frank was hanging. “I was just about to send for you. They'll be alongside directly.”
“Humph!” responded the captain as he took up a position where he could see the shipwrecked crew.
There was no need of a glass now, though the captain used one. He looked long and silently, while Murray wondered if Frank could manage to drop to the deck without attracting attention.
Meantime, Frank was beginning to wonder how long he could hang on.
It isn't the easiest thing in the world to hold the weight of one's body by the finger tips, as any boy may know if he tries it.
Frank had quickly counted on chance assistance from a passing sailor, but as the seconds sped along and no sailor hove in sight, the lad began to fear that he would have to let go.
His arms ached and his fingers stung under the rails:
The perspiration began to roll down his cheeks.
He shut his jaws hard together and measured the distance to the deck with his eyes.
“It would make a loud thump,” he thought, “and the captain would be pretty sure to ask troublesome questions. I'll hang here till I drop, anyway.”
Just then a door opened a little way in front of him, or toward the after part of the steamer.
A young man in uniform emerged, looked off at sea a moment, then forward, and exclaimed:
“Hello! What the mischief are you up to?”
“Shut up!” retorted Frank in an agonized whisper. “Come along here, doctor, and take me down.”
Dr. Rayburn, the ship's surgeon, walked slowly toward the bridge and paused in front of Frank, smiling sarcastically.
“He was the one man on board who had not taken kindly to Frank from the start.
The doctor was a handsome fellow, and proud of it. He was accustomed to receiving a good deal of attention from passengers, and it hurt his conceit when the bright young American appeared and proceeded, without meaning to, to become the favorite of all.
He didn't understand Frank's situation, but it was clear enough that the boy was in an uncomfortable fix, and Dr. Rayburn was not sorry for it—not a little bit.
“Well, Yankee,” he said, contemptuously, “I thought you had better stuff in you than that! Why, any British kid of half your years wouldn't be afraid to make that short drop.”
“Oh, do be quiet!” whispered Frank, looking, in his anxiety for Murray, much more distressed than he really felt; “I'm not afraid to drop on my own account. Take me down and I'll explain.”
Again the doctor grinned and didn't stir.
Then came the sound of the captain's voice, hailing the men in the small boat.
“Oho!” sneered Dr. Rayburn; “I see now! You're scared of the captain, aren't then you'll be in a pretty scrape, won't you?”
The doctor spoke in a low voice now, but it was evident that he had no intention of helping Frank out of his predicament.
Frank scowled savagely.
It seemed as if his fingers were being burned off.
“See here!” he whispered, “it isn't me, but your friend Murray who'll be in a scrape if the captain tumbles to this.”
“Ha! is it Murray's watch?”
Dr. Rayburn spoke eagerly and his voice was now subdued to a whisper.
Frank had reckoned well in this appeal.
Whatever other faults he had, the doctor was not disloyal to his friends, and of all men on board, First Officer Murray was his particular chum.
Frank nodded in response to the last question.
“Come along, then,” whispered the doctor, “I'll break your fall.”
He stepped under Frank and held up his hands.
Without waiting for the doctor to brace himself for the shock, the lad let go.
He had quickly decided to take harmless revenge on the doctor for not coming to the rescue sooner.
He saw a way to do it without any risk of exposing Murray.
Accordingly, as he dropped he spread out his arms and legs so that there was no possibility that Dr. Rayburn could catch him properly.
The doctor made a frantic grab after each foot, and the result was that both he and Frank tumbled in a disorderly heap upon the deck.
On the instant Frank sent up a peal of laughter.
Captain Dunbar, greatly disturbed, looked down from the bridge.
“What the dickens is going on down there?” he demanded, angrily.
Frank, who was on his feet quickly, answered:
“No harm meant, captain; I was just taking a fall out of the doctor.”
Rayburn, meantime, blushing like a school girl, was reaching for his hat and scrambling hastily to his feet.
Captain Dunbar looked half amused, half vexed.
He hadn't the slightest desire to scold the bright young passenger, but he was a stern disciplinarian, and he felt that the dignity of the ship had been offended.
“You should know better, Dr. Rayburn!” he said, sharply. match under my very nose! A wrestling match under my very nose! Go aft, sir; go aft!'
Shamed and angry, the doctor marched away, growling to Frank, who went with him:
“Nice sort of chap you are! I thought you wanted to save Murray from trouble by getting down without any noise?”
“So I did,” replied Frank, “but as long as two of us could tumble there was no danger that the captain would suspect I had been on the bridge; see?”
“I don't see any fun in it. You've no business to laugh so! You've saved Murray from trouble and got me into disgrace”
“And I'm sorry for it,” interrupted Frank, seriously; “it was my fault, though you might have been a little more decent in coming to help me. There was no need of insulting me with your talk about British kids having more pluck than a Yankee.”
Dr. Rayburn grated his teeth and muttered:
“I was more than half right about that, anyway.”
“Well,” said Frank, quietly, “perhaps you are. I've nothing to say on that point, but one thing I'll prove. I'm not afraid to take your disgrace on my shoulders, and I'll do it. I'll square you with the captain before the day is half over.”
Rayburn shrugged his shoulders incredulously, and Frank, seeing that the doctor was not to be soothed, left him and returned to the vicinity of the bridge, where he observed the proceedings with regard to the shipwrecked crew.
CHAPTER II.
Frank Wins His Case.
It was a strange scene that presented itself when Frank leaned over the rail near the bridge.
Above him Captain Dunbar and First Officer Murray were looking down at the boat load of Chinamen silently.
On the forward deck below a group of sailors stood holding a line that had been thrown on board by the Chinese. A boatswain was among them waiting for the captain's order either to make fast the line or to let it go.
Several of the crew in the boat alongside were holding it away from the steamer's side by pushing their oars against her iron hull.
And the shipwrecked crew itself!
That was naturally the climax of interest, but it seemed to be much more fascinating than it might have been if the mariners had been whites instead of yellow Celestials.
More than twenty of them were crowded into the long, narrow boat. Less than half were at the oars.
Most of them were half lying, half sitting upon the seats and on the bottom of the boat.
All had their faces turned upward—and such faces!
Yellow, and deeply tanned at that; gaunt, hungry, wolfish faces, with parted lips, high cheek bones, and dull, staring eyes.
One would have said at a glance that they were at the last verge of starvation.
Their clothing was scant and ragged.
Some of them seemed unable to hold their heads up, supporting them wearily upon their hands and resting their elbows on the gunwale of the boat.
There never was a more miserable, downcast-looking lot of men together.
The Chinese naturally have inexpressive faces, but in this instance their dull, set features added to the appearance of hopeless distress that aroused pity in the heart of every passenger who looked on.
By this time a number of passengers had come on deck to learn why the Glasgow's engines had been stopped, and every man of them was amazed that the captain did not instantly order the suffering crew to be hauled on board and provided with all possible comforts.
When Frank took his position against the rail the Chinese, too, were silent, but after a strange pause one of them spoke in a feeble, whining voice:
“We sick, hungly, most die.”
“What did you say was the name of your ship?” demanded Captain Dunbar, harshly.
The Celestial spokesman made a reply that nobody on the Glasgow could understand.
“Might as wall say ting-a-ling-ling, for all that means to me,” the captain growled. “What port did she hail from?”
“Tahite,” replied the spokesman.
“Where bound?”
“Canton.”
“What was her cargo?”
The reply was so much like “lice” that even the sympathetic passengers smiled.
“That's as near as a Chink can come to pronouncing rice, I suppose!” said Captain Dunbar, contemptuously, whereupon all the passengers thought him particularly hard hearted.
Frank was too amazed at what seemed to be his hard heartedness that he could only stare and listen in wonder to learn what the captain was thinking of.
“Well,” said the latter after another pause, “what are you doing here?”
“Ship lecked,” responded the spokesman, promptly, as he pointed to the island now plainly visible to all. “Much fog, no lighthouse, no bells, go shore night time. Some men dlown. Ship sink, go to pieces. We allee save, allee. We get to shore on island Ajakis.”
“Why didn't you stay there?” asked the captain, regardless of the murmur of disapproval of his heartlessness that came from the passengers.
“No food,” answered the spokesman, simply.
“No food, eh, and a ship load of rice? Pooh! You might have floated around in rice soup fora month. Such fellows as you don't need much food.”
There was such an expression of horror at this from the passengers that Captain Dunbar glared down from the bridge n anger.
He caught the cool, disdainful eyes of Frank Merriwell fixed upon him and colored deeply.
“Well,” he said, turning again to the Chinese, “if it's food you want, how much can you take in that craft?”
A dull shade of disappointment crossed the spokesman's face, while his companions either turned their eyes gloomily at the boat's bottom or looked appealingly up at the passengers.
“We starve,” came the dismal reply, “and we want food, but we far flom home. No get there in this boat if storm come. Allee go dlown. You no cally us to shore?”
“I'll give you food and water, but I won't have you on board,” the captain answered, shortly.
The spokesman continued in a discouraged monotone:
“We tly find food on Ajakis. No good. Velly bad. No boats come. We get in this boat and low out to meet some boat. In night see your lights. We hope you find us and cally us to Canton—somewhere—we work velly hard—we pay you in Canton”
“Rubbish!” interrupted the captain. “I'd as soon take on board a cargo of rats!”
“Shame! shame!” exclaimed two or three passengers together.
Frank did not join in this cry, His generous nature was aroused to indignation by Captain Dunbar's harshness, and if he, as a boy, could have done anything at that moment to help the Chinese, he would have done it unhesitatingly; but Frank had traveled sufficiently to learn that the commander of a steamship is a tyrant, not often an unkind one, but a tyrant always, and that the surest way to make him ugly is to oppose him stubbornly.
The boy watched and listened, therefore, trying in vain to see a reason for the captain's ill feeling, and hoping for an opportunity to befriend the shipwrecked Celestials.
Captain Dunbar turned upon the passengers impatiently
“You're welcome to your opinions,” he said, doggedly, “but don't forget that I am master of this steamship. I know pretty well how to guard my employers' interests, and if you had sailed these seas as long as I have you'd probably do just as I am doing. You would if you were sensible.”
“But, captain,” said an elderly man, “I have traveled other seas than this and more then once have been present when shipwrecked crews were picked up.”
“Well, suppose you have. What then?”
“I know the customs”
“Don't talk custom to me! Haven't I made it plain that my will is law?”
“We all admit that, Captain Dunbar, but every commander is master of his own vessel, isn't he?”
“Of course!”
“Every commander I have sailed with before now has felt bound to obey humane instincts. Simple humanity demands that those poor wretches be taken on board and cared for until we reach port.”
Captain Dunbar scowled and did not answer. He turned to an under officer and gave an order for lowering a small quantity of ship bread and water to the boat alongside.
“See here, captain,'” cried another passenger, “does that mean that you're going to cast those suffering men adrift?”
“None of your business, sir!” roared the captain.
“I'll make it my business.”
The captain stamped his foot.
“Do you know,” he shouted, “that it is in my power to have you put in irons?”
“I do.”
“You dare to dispute my authority here and I'll have you in the dungeon in two minutes.”
“I don't dispute your authority.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“What I said.”
“That you would make it your business”
“Exactly, but not here.”
“Where, then?”
“On shore.”
Captain Dunbar turned contemptuously aside, watching the sailors preparing to lower food to the Chinese. It was evident from the way he shut his jaws hard together that he was in a tremendous rage and that it was difficult to control himself.
“I admit,” the passenger resumed, in aloud and determined voice, “that if you order those men adrift there is none here who can prevent the execution of the order. If you give the order I, for one, shall make no foolish effort to oppose you.”
The passenger paused to give the captain a chance to speak, but the latter simply turned his back and pretended not to listen.
“It may interest you to know,” continued the passenger, “that I am a newspaper man. I shall write a letter fully describing this occurrence to the China Mail, an English paper published in Canton”
“Mr. Murray,” exclaimed the captain, wheeling about suddenly, “drive those passengers aft! Don't let one of them come forward of the saloon companion. If any man resists or opens his head, put him in irons! I'll see whether I can manage my ship without interference.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said First Officer Murray, beginning to descend the ladder.
His face was very grave. The captain had ordered him to an extremely disagreeable duty, but it had to he done.
Frank stepped quickly to the bottom of the ladder.
“Captain,” he said, pleasantly, “may I come up just for a half minute?”
Murray reached the deck just as Frank finished speaking.
The passengers were beginning to withdraw without waiting to be driven.
Captain Dunbar looked down. His face was dark with anger, and for an instant it seemed as if he would send Frank away with the others, but the sight of the boy's manly countenance turned confidently toward him evidently made him change his mind.
“Yes, come up,” he answered, shortly.
Almost immediately Frank was on the bridge.
Perhaps it occurred to the captain that the boy's popularity might be useful in persuading the passengers to take a different view of the matter. He must have had something of this kind in his mind, for he remarked at once:
“See here, my lad, can't you bring that fellow Parker to his senses?”
'The newspaper man, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I'm afraid not, Cap. He's got a nasty temper and they say he writes with liquid pepper instead of ink.”
“Humph!”
The captain looked as if he scorned anything that might be done to make public his action, but Frank could see, nevertheless, that he was ill at ease.
“What did you want up here?” he asked.
“To get a better look at the Chinks.”
“Handsome chaps, aren't they, eh?”
“They're human beings, Cap.”
“Huh! so they are. I suppose, young man, you're like the rest of 'em down there. I thought I could see in your eyes a minute ago that you thought me the worst brute alive.”
“I didn't think that, Cap”
“No, but you thought I ought to haul those ruffians aboard and give 'em first-class cabins and feed 'em in the saloon, eh?”
“You go too far, Cap. I thought as a matter of course that you would have them on board and stow them forward in the sailors' quarters.”
“You did, eh?”
“Yes, and I still think that you ought to.”
Frank looked the captain frankly and fearlessly in the eyes. There was nothing impudent or even bold in his manner. It was simply the expression of an honest conviction, and even in his anger there is no doubt that Captain Dunbar admired the boy. For the moment, however, the commander of the Glasgow merely grunted, and gave his attention to the work going on below.
Frank added quietly.
“There's no denying two thing, Cap,” Frank added quietly.
“Eh? What are they?”
“First, that you are the one whose word decides the matter.”
“You're right there, boy.”
“Second, that it isn't humane to turn those poor fellows adrift.”
“I'm not so sure of that!”
“Then you must have reasons”
“Of course I have!”
The captain spoke fiercely, but in a low tone.
“Am I to be called on for reasons by my passengers?” he continued. “Why don't they come up here and tell me what course to take when we're under way, eh? I should think the second of your undeniable things would be that the captain of the steamship has his reasons for doing everything.”
“I'll agree to that, but about the humanity, Cap? Under the circumstances, won't it be just as well to prevent Parker from writing a nasty letter to the China Mail?”' Let's have your reasons.”
“Why, then, see here, Frank: would it be humane to take on board a lot of scurvy, pest-ridden Chinks who might spread disease among my crew and passengers? I suppose you hadn't thought of that.”
“I hadn't, but do you know that they are pest ridden?”
“They don't look over well, do they?”
“No, but they are suffering from starvation.'”
“I'm giving 'em food”
“Ay, but if they were English or Americans you'd have them on board.”
“Of course.”
“Then don't forget that they are men, sailors like yourself, Cap. Suppose you were cast away and the officers of some Chinese junk should refuse to help you. I don't think you'd like it.”
“No, I shouldn't”
“Then why not let the doctor examine these men, and if he reports them physically sound have them on board and take them to Canton?”
At the mention of the doctor the Captain's brow clouded and Frank hastened to add:
“I got the doctor in a scrape, Cap. Honest, it was my fault. I saw a chance to give him a tumble and couldn't resist the temptation. I don't want you to feel unkindly toward him.”
Captain Dunbar reflected a moment.
“You're a manly fellow, Frank,” he said presently. “I hate to do it, but for your sake I'll see what the doctor says about those Chinks.”
"I'm glad to hear you say that, and you understand that the doctor wasn't to blame for”
“Oh, we'll stow that! I'll tell the doctor that you've confessed and that I've let you off. You talk the matter over with that man Parker. Make him understand that I'm not a brute, but that on the contrary I was trying, and still am, to take care of my passengers.”
“I'll do so, Cap, with great pleasure. I guess I can square Parker.”
Frank immediately left the bridge and hastened to join the other passengers, to whom he gave the pleasant news that the captain, after all, was going to take a humane course with regard to the shipwrecked Chinese.
“He'd better,” growled Parker. “I could bring a hornet's nest about his head with a letter to the Mail and another to the London Times.”
“Wouldn't it be a good bet,” suggested Frank, quietly, “that Captain Dunbar intended all along to do just what he is doing now? It made him mad to think that we were trying to force his hand.”
“Well, maybe that was the case,” Parker said, and he looked very uncomfortable about it.
“The captain told me he had good reasons for what he did,” added Frank, to make sure that the newspaper man understood the situation.
Parker made no reply. The conversation took place in the smoking room and shortly afterward the passengers drifted out on deck, but they kept at a respectful distance from the bridge.
CHAPTER III.
Excitement at Midnight.
Others had made their appearance by this time. Among them was an undersized, boyish-looking person who, in spite of his fashionable clothing, could not be mistaken for anything but a native of Japan.
This was none other than Kyto, once a servant of Frank's unfortunate friend, Colonel Cutting. The colonel had suffered unspeakable terrors from real enemies and from a strange insanity that made him imagine foes where none existed, and through all his suffering Kyto had been faithful and attentive.
When the colonel died he left his entire fortune to his servant. Just at that time Kyto was having an interesting romance. He was in love with a Japanese girl named Saso, who was tormented by Wat Snell, one of Frank Merriwell's former school fellows.
Frank helped Kyto to get Saso out of Snell's clutches, and thus made the Japanese his steadfast friend. Kyto, having a big fortune at command, was taking an extended journey as a wedding tour, and whenever he could do so he traveled in company with Frank.
So they were all on board the Glasgow now.
Kyto speedily learned about the discovery of the shipwrecked Chinese, and when he heard of the part Frank had taken in obtaining humane treatment for them he shook his head gravely.
“What's the matter with you, Kyto?” cried Frank. “You wouldn't have left the poor chaps to float about this immense sea in an open boat, would you?”
“Chinese bad, velly bad,” replied Kyto.
“You think that because you're a Jap,” retorted Frank.
“Perhaps.”
“Oh, come, Kyto, the war is over. You wouldn't be mean to a Chinese just because of the fighting in which your country won.”
“No.”
“Well, wouldn't it be mean to desert these fellows?”
“Don't know.”
“Pooh! You know as well as I do.”
“Perhaps.”
Kyto turned away and started toward the saloon companion way.
Frank was greatly puzzled and a little put out by his friend's queer obstinacy.
“See here, Kyto,” he said, “let's understand each other. Don't go away yet. It isn't breakfast time for an hour.”
“No, but must see Saso.”
“Oh, of course! Bring Mrs. Kyto on deck and let's see if she wouldn't be more tender hearted to the Chinese than you are.”
“No, Frank.”
Kyto paused, reflected a moment, and then returned to where Frank stood and held out his hand. When Frank grasped it he said:
“You good fellow, Frank. You kind to everybody. You take poor man's part without thinking how bad he may be. You get in danger. Some day you be solly for it, velly solly.”
“When I'm sorry for danger of that kind, Kyto, I'll let you know.”
“Yes, that like you. You no fear. I do. I go now to Saso and tell her stay in her room all time Chinese on ship. See? No like Chinese. No want Saso in danger.”
So saying, Kyto gripped Frank's hand hard and went away. The American looked after him curiously.
“That's what race hatred means,” he said to himself. “Kyto has as good a heart as anybody, but he simply can't imagine a Chinese who isn't rotten to the core.”
Just then his attention was attracted by a commotion forward. The Chinese sailors having been examined by Dr. Rayburn and found to be free from infectious disease, were being taken on board.
The passengers viewed the scene from a distance with great satisfaction.
“Let's take up a collection for them!” cried Frank.
The suggestion was adopted at once, with the result that a considerable sum in gold was turned over to Frank to be distributed among the suffering Celestials.
Shortly after the Glasgow started on again Frank took the money to the captain.
“Well,” said that officer, “I'll see that the Chinks get this, of course, but in my opinion it's charity wasted. I tell you, young man, though you mustn't repeat it to the passengers, I'm sorry those fellows are on my ship.”
“Where are they?”
“In the fo'c'sle.”
“May I see them?”
“No, siree!”
“All right, then,” said Frank, cheerfully; “I'll say nothing to the passengers, but I don't believe you'll ever regret having treated the Chinese like white men.”
The captain bit his lip and said nothing.
Frank was deeply impressed by the captain's words and manner. He puzzled his head in vain for some meaning that wasn't apparent, and at last gave it up as a bad job.
“Captain Dunbar and Kyto,” he said to himself, “haven't any use for a Chinese. That's about all there is to it.”
With this thought he joined the other passengers and took his usual part in the games that went on on deck. The day continued cloudy, but the sea was calm, and after passing the island of Ajax the Glasgow was again upon a stretch of sea that appeared to have no end.
Everything on board went on in the ordinary way. The Chinese were mentioned occasionally, and Frank was praised until he was tired of it, for the pluck he showed in compelling the hard-hearted captain to act humanely; for in spite of anything Frank could say, the passengers would have it that Captain Dunbar would have cast the unfortunates adrift but for the boy's argument and leading.
When night came on Frank was surprised to find himself strangely nervous.
This was wholly unlike him. He could not understand it, and he did not enjoy it at all.
The Chinese kept constantly in his thoughts. He could not dismiss them, try as he would. They were in the fo'c'sle, quite likely locked up. At all events, not one of them had been seen during the day after their arrival on board. Frank wondered how they were passing the time, what sort of treatment they were receiving, and so on.
All through the day and evening Saso had remained in her stateroom, not even venturing out to meals.
Kyto remained with her or within easy call, and never did his face lose its expression of sombre gravity.
None of the other passengers appeared to be in the least concerned. Most of them retired early. By five bells, or half-past ten, Frank was the only passenger on deck. The deck steward closed the smoking room for the night and went below.
Captain Dunbar joined the second officer on the bridge. In one sense there was nothing unusual in this, but Frank noticed it and wondered much if it meant anything. The boy was leaning against the rail rather far aft, trying to make up his mind to go to his room.
Somebody approached and paused in front of him.
“Is that you, Merriwell?”
“Yes—hello, Dr. Rayburn. I'm glad to see you.”
“If you can see me that's more than I can say about you. Doosid dark night!”
“I'm glad you've come across me, then. How about the Chinese? Are”
“Oh, the Chinks are all right enough. I say, Merriwel!”
“What is it?”
“I'm much obliged, don't you know, for your squaring me with the old man. I felt rather nasty about it this morning, for nobody likes to get a tongue lashing from him. He's told me that you spoke to him”
“Oh, that's all right, Doc. Don't mention it.”
“But I must, don't you know. The old man actually apologized! Never knew him to do such a thing before in my life.”
“Well, that's pretty good, seeing that I was really breaking the rules of the ship.”
“Ha! ha! yes. He said he wouldn't have minded it, but that at the moment he was worried by the sight of the Chinks.”
“Now that interests me. Why should Captain Dunbar be worried by a handful of starved Chinese sailors?”
“On general principles, I suppose. Chinks are a bad lot. I'm going to turn in. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Doc.”
Frank would have liked to keep Dr. Rayburn in conversation about the Chinese, but as he could give no good reason or, in fact, any reason at all for his own nervousness, he made no effort to detain the doctor. A little later, feeling exasperated with himself, he went to his room, but when he got there, instead of undressing, as usual, he lay down upon his bunk with his clothes on and tried vainly to sleep.
Six bells sounded.
Except for the slight throbbing of the engines, the steamer plowed across the sea as steadily as if she were lying at dock in port.
A tediously long interval, and then seven bells rang out.
A faint, musical cry came from far forward. Frank could not tell what words were used, but he knew that it was the lookout announcing that all was well.
“And I'm lying awake,” said Frank to himself, “as if the Glasgow were in danger and her fate depended upon me! Why can't I sleep?”
For several minutes he had a mental struggle to decide whether he should get up and take off his clothes. At last he decided to do so, and accordingly he rolled from his berth.
When his fingers touched the buttons of his coat a thought struck him, and instead of carrying out his resolution he put on his hat and went on deck.
As he emerged from the saloon companion way he saw a dim figure moving rapidly along the deck.
It disappeared almost immediately.
“That sailor seems to be in a hurry,” thought Frank.
He strolled leisurely forward and paused near the bridge. It was very dark, but he could vaguely distinguish the forms of the men on duty there.
At one end of the bridge was the motionless figure of a sailor.
By crossing to the other side of the vessel Frank could see that a sailor was similarly stationed there.
Another sailor undoubtedly stood at the wheel.
Almost directly over the hurricane promenade two men, officers, evidently, were leaning against the bridge rail, and a third was pacing back and forth between the steering apparatus and the port end.
“Queer!” thought Frank. “With perfect wind and weather and on the open sea there are as many up there as there would be if a hurricane was blowing.”
He wondered who they were and presently his curiosity was satisfied.
“Go to the chief enigneer, Mr. Davidson, and tell him to report to me here.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
Davidson was the name of the second officer. The first speaker Frank recognized by his voice as Captain Dunbar. As Davidson descended the ladder the captain spoke again—words that the boy could not catch, but in the prompt “ay, ay, sir,” that followed, he recognized Mr. Murray.
“This isn't Murray's watch by rights,” thought Frank. “It must be something unusual that requires the presence of the three principal officers on the bridge at this time. Then there's the summons to the chief engineer. What's he wanted for? Let's see.”
Frank took out his watch, and withdrawing to a sheltered doorway, lighted a match and counted the vibrations of the ship. In this way he made out that the propeller was making several more revolutions to the minute than usual. In other words, the steamer was being driven at top speed.
“Perhaps the captain wants her to go faster still,” was Frank's thought.
Slowly he strolled back to the bridge and waited until several minutes had passed.
Captain Dunbar was pacing constantly. Murray still leaned motionless against the rail.
“Tell the bo's'n to pipe the watch,” said the captain, abruptly. “It's ahead of time, but let's have 'em out.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” responded Murray, and he went to another part of the bridge to call to the boatswain and give the desired command. A moment later there was a hoarse “Ay, ay, sir,” from forward, and this was followed by the a shrill bo's'n's whistle, the signal to sleeping sailors that it had come to be their turn to go on duty.
“Is Davidson going to be all night about it?” growled the captain. “He's had twice the time necessary to bring the chief here. Signal the engine room.”
Murray applied his hand to a lever and a distant bell tinkled.
There was an immediate answer.
Then followed a communication by signals between the engine room and the bridge, the substance of which was that the chief had started with Second Officer Davidson to report to the captain.
“Started, eh?” muttered the captain, and yet so loud that Frank could hear distinctly. “Then why aren't they both here?”
The bo's'n's 'whistle shrieked again.
To Frank the air seemed to tingle with mysterious excitement.
There might be nothing but commonplace events in progress, and yet somehow his heart beat hard and fast, and every second he waited, as if expecting something serious to happen.
Captain Dunbar was impatient.
“Mr. Murray,” he said, “go below and hurry up the chief and Davidson—or wait. I prefer that you remain here. I'll send a seaman.”
Just as the captain turned to give his order to the sailor stationed at the starboard end of the bridge, Frank had a glimpse of figure moving stealthily, it seemed, across the deck, some distance aft.
The movement reminded him of the sailor whom he had seen hurrying when he first came on deck.
The boy's unreasoning nervousness turned quickly to a terrible suspicion.
It seemed now as if he knew exactly what was the matter and why his nerves were on edge, why three officers were on the bridge, why
Without stopping to think farther he hastily and silently made his way aft, hugging the deck house as he went, in order that his coming might not be perceived by anybody.
To be sure, there was nobody in sight, but who might be concealed in any doorway or in the deep shadow of the rail?
He came to the open door from which the iron stairway led almost straight down to the engine room.
In a brief pause he could hear only the pulsing of the machinery.
“That sneaking fellow must have come out of the door,” he said to himself; “it couldn't have been either Davidson or the chief. Who was it? A sailor on decent business? I don't believe it.”
Frank stepped within the doorway. He was then, as he knew he would be, on a small iron platform with but two paces between himself and the head of the stairway.
His foot touched something that chilled his blood.
He stooped immediately and made certain by feeling with his hands that it was the body of a man.
Choking with horror he struck a match.
By its light he saw that the man was Davidson, the second officer.
A fine but terribly strong cord was about his neck and blood was oozing from a rent in his jacket near the heart.
Before the match went out Frank looked farther, and on the narrow landing not more than seven feet below he saw another motionless body.
It needed no glance to tell him that this second unfortunate was the chief engineer.
For one brief instant Frank's heart seemed to stand still.
He seemed powerless.
Then his blood leaped again, and he himself bounded from the doorway to the deck and sped toward the bridge.
There was no trying to move quietly now.
He heard a sound of scuffing forward mingled with hoarse cries and oaths.
There was a clash of metal as if swords were being struck against each other.
Above all was the loud voice of Captain Dunbar giving commands.
It was densely dark on the deck itself.
At first Frank did not see two figures gliding along in front of him close to the rail.
They came vaguely into view just at the bottom of the ladder that led to the bridge.
Instantly they began to climb it.
There was the stealthy, cat-like movements of the two supposed sailors whom he had noticed earlier moving about the deck.
One of them heard him and, turning, halted.
Frank was close to the ladder.
With one tremendous leap he came full against it and caught the man who was climbing up by the legs and jerked him backward.
The man lost his balance and fell to the deck.
Frank dodged his tumbling body and darted up the ladder after the other.
The latter's head was then level with the bridge.
The captain and his companions, intent upon what was going on forward and below, had not noticed the two coming up the ladder.
One of them—Murray, as it proved later—wheeled about at the sound of tumbling behind him and saw the head rising above the edge of the bridge.
He kicked at it with all his might.
At the same instant Frank sezed his second man by the legs, there was a pistol shot, a flash near the bridge floor, and Frank and his man went tumbling down the ladder together.
CHAPTER IV.
Capture of the Engine Room.
It was a fortunate tumble.
The man who had been yanked down first had picked himself up with marvelous agility and had started up the ladder with a dagger in one hand and a pistol in the other.
Frank and the second man fell upon him and bore him to the deck.
For a brief instant they sprawled and struggled there in wild confusion, while the uproar forward increased.
Several pistol shots rang out upon the midnight air, and the steamer suddenly began to quiver from stem to stern.
The meaning of this was evident to the officers.
Somebody had reversed the steam.
Who this somebody was there was no reason for doubting.
The “shipwrecked” (?) Chinese had undertaken to get possession of the vessel, and one or more of their number had captured the engine room.
“Shoot or stab any Chink at sight!” shouted Captain Dunbar.
Frank, struggling with the two Chinese on deck at the foot of the bridge ladder, felt a thrill of relief at the sound of the captain's voice.
The ship's commander at least had escaped the bullet meant for him.
But how long would it be before another bullet would be sent straight to its mark?
Borne down as he was by the weight of the Chinese above him, and colliding with the other, Frank was between the two at first.
He tried to wriggle aside, but he was clutched by both in such a way that he could hardly stir.
As long as both had their hands on him he was in little danger, but he knew that at any instant one of them might release a hand to shoot or stab
Frank was on his back.
He gripped the throat of the Chinese on top of him with both hands.
Then he struggled desperately to get away from the other, who was holding him about the waist.
It was but a second or so before the one whose throat he held let go with both his hands.
There was no seeing his actions in the darkness, but Frank knew well enough that the raising of the Celestial's hands meant that they would be brought down again almost instantly with probably fatal effect.
The situation gave him a giant's strength, but he didn't need it, for at the same time the under Chinese let go also, with the intention of inflicting a wound of some kind upon his stubborn antagonist.
Frank realized his opportunity.
He let go the throat he held and rolled aside.
Immediately he was free and he rose to his knees.
Just then First Officer Murray flashed a bull's-eye lantern upon the scene from the bridge.
Frank was appalled at what the light revealed.
The upper Chinese was bringing his arm down with all his force.
His hand held a long-bladed knife.
The under man was raising a hand that gripped a revolver.
All had happened with such remarkable quickness that neither was able to stay his hand when he discovered that his youthful enemy was no longer within reach.
It may be that neither Celestial realized that Frank was not between them.
At all events, at the instant the light flashed, the under man's pistol was fired, and the upper man's long blade was buried to the hilt in his comrade's breast.
He who stabbed sunk upon his side, and when he was attended to later it was found that the pistol bullet had struck him squarely in the forehead, causing instant death.
There was no time then to reflect upon the horror of this tragedy.
There was no time even to feel it.
Action was demanded, for these two were but two, after all, and many more were plying their murderous work forward, and possibly elsewhere in the vessel.
It was, therefore, with a sense of grim triumph that Frank leaped forward while yet the bull's-eye light was flashing and wrenched the revolver from the dying Celestial's hand.
“For Heaven's sake, Merriwell! Is that you?” cried First Officer Murray
“Davidson and the chief engineer have been strangled,” shouted Frank in reply.
“Ah!”
“Are you hurt up there?”
“Not yet. Where are you going?”
“To the engine room.”
“Frank! don't be a madman!”
“I'm going.”
“They've got possession there!”
“Are you for surrendering?”
“Never!”
“Then send anybody who can be spared to help.”
Without waiting for farther talk Frank dashed off.
Murray spoke hurriedly to Captain Dunbar.
“Shall we let young Merriwell go to his certain death in the engine room?”
“Smash their heads with belaying pins!” shouted the captain, addressing his men on the forward deck below.
“Captain,” urged Murray, “young Merriwell”
“Huh?
“He's gone”
A shot from below clipped off the vizor of the captain's cap.
“Gone where? Not dead?”
Captain Dunbar spoke excitedly, but he paid no attention whatever to his own narrow escape from a bullet.
“No, not dead. It was he who saved us just now by checking the attack from behind.”
“Good boy!”
“He's gone to the engine room.”
“Well?”
“Alone, captain! He'll”
“Frank Merriwell is capable of”
“Taking care of himself,” the captain was probably about to say, but just then there was another shot and the man who had been stationed at the wheel dropped with a groan.
Captain Dunbar leaped to the wheel and seized it.
“I'm on duty here,” he cried. “If they kill me you'll know it soon enough. Take what men you can find and recapture the engine room.”
“Ay, ay, sir!”
“Get word to the chief steward to have his men massed at the saloon gangways.
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Don't let one of the vermin be spared. Pitch 'em overboard, knock 'em out any way!”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Murray was descending the ladder. He still had his bull's eye in his hand, and he turned its rays again upon the two dead Chinese.
Then he realized what he had not noticed before: that both were dressed in clothing similar to that worn by the Glasgow's sailors.
“I should know that coat,” he thought, with fresh alarm; “if it wasn't for the almond-eyed yellow face above it, I should say that was Tom Meadows lying there.”
Tom Meadows was one of the seamen whose duty it was to come on watch at eight bells.
“How shall I know my own men?” he reflected; “in the dark and disguised by the ship's clothing, how many of our men have the rascally Chinks left alive?”
It was a terrible thought that perhaps more than half of the steamer's crew had been slaughtered in their bunks.
“Murray!” shouted the captain.
“Ay, ay, sir!”
“The stoke hole!”
Murray understood the suggestion. It was to make his way to the engine room, not by the companion used by the engineers, but by the one farther forward used by the firemen.
He went directly to it and found two men struggling fiercely before it.
One he recognized by his voice as a boatswain.
The other was undoubtedly a Chinese.
Murray caught this other by the shoulders, hurled him aside, knocked him flat on his back with a blow of his fist, and without waiting for further results, hurried down to the stoke hole.
Meantime Frank, on his way to the engineer's gangway, had brushed against Dr. Rayburn, who had been aroused by the tumult and had come on deck half dressed.
“Come along, Doc,” cried Frank.
“What's up?” asked the doctor, turning to follow.
“The Chinese”
“Great Scott! Say no more! So that was their game! What are you going to do”
“Recapture the engine room.”
“Have they got it?”
“Yes. Haven't you noticed the change in the steamer's vibration?”
“Ay, that I have. Where are the officers?”
“Two dead that I know of.”
“Whew!”
“Cap and Murray were alive a second ago.”
“They're fighters. Are you going down alone?”
They had come to the engineer's doorway.
“No,” said Frank, halting and speaking in a low tone. “I'm not going alone for two reasons.”
“Well?”
“You're going with me, because you're a fighter yourself, if I'm not mistaken, and, secondly, because I want you to go and find out for yourself about an American's pluck.”
“I don't need to go to find that out, Merriwell; but stow the talk. How shall we go about it?”
“Cautiously, I suppose. Davidson and the chief are lying just within.”
Dr. Rayburn drew a long breath.
“Terrible night's work,” he whispered.
“We are not done with it yet,” Frank returned.
Carefully they entered the doorway and stood upon the narrow iron platform.
The machinery was doing its duty as faithfully as if it was still under the control of its rightful masters.
Frank stepped across Davidson's body and peered over the edge of the platform.
Thirty or more feet below him he could see a faint light, made, as he well knew, by the lamp set near the starting lever.
How many Chinese were in charge there he could only guess. There was no sight of any of them.
It would certainly not do to go clattering down the series of stairs and ladder as if there was no trouble on board.
Whispering to the doctor to move softly and to look out for the chief's body, he began slowly to descend the steps.
The flights were short.
Every few feet there were platforms that extended in footboards into the very heart of the giant engine, paths that only a skilled workman could travel without danger of being knocked on the head by some moving piece of machinery.
It grew a little lighter the farther they descended, but it was still densely dark along most of the footboards and nobody was yet in view below.
Frank and the doctor proceeded very slowly, for they were aware that haste might give a warning of their approach and completely ruin their chances of success. The racket of the fight on deck could be heard distinctly, though more faintly, as they descended, and they hoped that the Chinese in the engine room would feel secure from interruption as long as all the ship's crew were supposedly engaged in battling for life above.
Save for the rumbling of the engine all was still. Frank at last could see the floor of the engine room quite plainly, and as yet there was no visible sign of an enemy.
All at once a light rustling behind him caused him to turn and throw up both hands quickly.
His hands were brought sharply against his face by a noose that an unseen foe had tried to slip over his head.
The thin but strong cord cut into his wrists, for the murderous Celestial was pulling at the ends with all his strength.
Frank turned, vainly trying to release his hands, and caught a glimpse of his assailant in the shadow of a cylinder beside a footboard.
The boy promptly resorted to a trick that a grown man with hardened muscles could not have accomplished unless he was an athlete especially trained for it.
He made a high kick, catching the Chinese squarely. under the jaw, dislocating the bone and causing the fellow to tumble backward upon the footboard.
Startled by the kick and the pain it inflicted, the Celestial let go the cord and Frank's arms were free.
In the short space while this was occurring the doctor overtook his young companion.
It proved that a second Chinese was in hiding near the spot, but that the approach of two men was not suspected.
Accordingly the second Chinese was not so well prepared with a noose for the doctor as the first had been for Frank.
Dr. Rayburn could see what had happened and he could see his own assailant, too.
Before the second Chinese could more than raise his noose the doctor had laid hold of him, struck him in the face and hurled him down the remaining flight of steps to the engine-room floor.
As there was no longer need of proceeding quietly, the doctor hurried after him.
Frank paused only long enough to spring upon his would-be murderer, give him a stunning blow on the forehead with his fist, and slip the noose over the Celestial's wrists. He drew the cord tight, knotted it securely, and then sprung down the steps after Dr. Rayburn, arriving at the bottom almost at the same instant.
They were greeted and brought to bay by a Chinese, who stepped out of a dark corner and with a savage chuckle leveled two revolvers at them.
It was he who had acted as spokesman for the boat load in the early morning.
“Hah!” he said triumphantly, “Englees man, Melican man allee samee no good. You allee samee die, allee same two, mebbe, eh?”
His eyes gleamed viciously behind the shining barrels of his weapons.
Dr. Rayburn was unarmed.
Frank hastily raised the revolver he had wrested from the Celestial on deck and pulled the trigger.
The weapon missed fire.
“Alle samee no good,” chuckled the Chinese. “You die now pretty soon; me make you dance first, allee samee good fun. My guns, allee samee Melican man talk, loaded for bear. You catchee on, eh?”
Yes, Frank and the doctor caught on, but the Chinese did not shoot, neither did he make them dance.
He had hardly uttered his last remark when there was a sharp report behind him and he fell over on his face, dangerous no longer.
First Officer Murray appeared in the little cloud of smoke beyond the Chinese, and behind him came a dozen or more grimy stokers with coal shovels and iron bars ready for use as weapons.
CHAPTER V.
Off for Australia Again.
“Thank Heaven! you're safe, Merriwell, and you, too, Doc,” exclaimed Murray. “I had no idea that the youngster had an assistant in his expedition.”
“Doc and I make a dandy team,” responded Frank, smiling.
“We wouldn't either of us be worth much if you hadn't come just in time,” added the doctor.
“It beats me to see how you got here,” said Frank; “I left you on the bridge.”
“I followed almost immediately and came down through the stoke hole.”
I thought that must be the case,” remarked the doctor.
“And I wasn't familiar enough with the construction of a steamship,” Frank said, “to know anything about it.”
“You see,” continued Murray as he went to the signaling apparatus and pulled a lever, “I presumed that the engineer's gangway would be guarded—hello! What's this?”
The Chinese who had been hurled downstairs by the doctor, having been stunned by the fall, was now recovering. He turned over on his side and one of the stokers raised a heavy shovel to give him a death blow.
“Hold on!” cried Frank, grabbing the shovel and preventing the blow from doing any damage, “let's not do any murdering here.”
“It's orders,” responded the stoker, indignantly.
“Whose orders?”
“Mr. Murray's.”
Frank glanced a at the first officer.
“The old man's instructions were to give no quarter,” he said.
“In fight, no,” retorted Frank, “but there's no fight left in this fellow.”
“There will be in half a minute,” said the doctor, eying the Chinese critically.
“Then bind him. A prisoner is worth two dead men. Come, men, you're not going to kill even a Chinese scoundrel in cold blood, are you? That's not like Englishmen.”
“No more it ain't,” growled the stoker, “but wot would this 'ere yeller cove done to hus, Hi'd like to know?”
“He'd have stuck us like so many pigs,” answered Murray, “but the boy is right. The old man's orders were given in the excitement of fighting. If he's all right you'll find that he'll be more anxious for live prisoners than dead pirates. Tie up the Chink, Doc, and look around for any others. Hello! There's a signal.”
During this talk Murray had been waiting anxiously for a reply to his signal to the bridge.
It came now, and after a moment the first officer cried joyfully:
“Hurrah! We've done 'em! The Chinks have been beaten, foot, horse, and dragoons! And the old man says he's all right, except that he thinks a part of his left ear may have been shot away.”
“Glad it's no worse,” said Frank.
“See 'ere!” exclaimed a stoker.
He pointed to a dark corner where an assistant engineer was found almost dead from strangulation. The poor fellow was taken in hand by the doctor, while some of the stokers went up to look after the Chinese whom Frank had bound hastily.
When it was ascertained that no other whites or Chinese were below, Mr. Murray resumed his explanation:
“I knew I should be too late for any use if I should come down by the engineers' way, and there was just a chance that I could surprise the scoundrels by coming through the stoke hole.
“One of the bo's'ns was having a scrap with a Chink at the deck entrance, but I didn't wait to see just how it came out. When I left it looked bad for the Chink.
“Perhaps you don't know, Frank, that there are narrow, dark passages between the boilers that connect the engine room with the stoke hole.
“It's a fact, and there's the one I came through.
“The Chinks understood that, and this fellow that I had to shoot was on guard in it. He had terrorized the stokers, who, being unarmed and taken by surprise, could only stand still when he leveled his pistols at them.
“His two companions had been left to guard the engineers' stairway.
“Now, he undoubtedly heard the racket caused by the Chink who was tumbling down the stairs, for I heard something of it myself.
“He must have come back here to learn what was going on. Anyhow, he wasn't in the passage when I got to the bottom, and the stokers were just going to go through it and risk a fight on their own account.
“As I had a revolver I thought I'd better go first, and that's all there is to that.
“It remains to be found just how the general attack was managed.”
They were not long in learning this after they were on deck again.
The Chinese were not the shipwrecked mariners they pretended to be, but the most daring members of a desperate crew of pirates.
There are fewer pirates now in the Western Pacific and the Asiatic seas than there used to be, but there are still enough of them to be a serious danger to sailing vessels.
Usually a steamer is safe from their attacks. In this instance the pirates counted upon the boldness of their plan and the care with which it was carried out. All they wanted was to be taken on board. They knew then just what to do.
Captain Dunbar was not so hard hearted as he had seemed to the generous passengers. He suspected treachery of some kind, and therefore took the precaution to have the watch of officers and men increased.
As it happened, this both helped and hindered the murderous Chinese.
In the first place, it took more men from the fo'c'sle than ordinarily would have been there.
The Chinese planned to slaughter or disable every sailor and stoker in the fo'c'sle before midnight, and then to come on deck at the change of watch, disguised in the sailors' clothes, capture or kill the officers, and so continue their terrible scheme to the end of murdering every body on board.
By the captain's increasing the watch they had fewer men to overcome before midnight, but for the same reason they had more to contend against on the open decks.
Even at that their plan might have succeeded but for Frank, for his action undoubtedly saved the lives of the captain and first officer.
With them disposed of, the Chinese would have had comparatively easy sailing.
After the murderous' work in the fo'c'sle, earlier in the evening, a few of the Chinese, dressed in the dead sailors' garments, had slipped out on deck unobserved and unsuspected in the darkness, and secreted themselves so that the murder of the officers and the capture of the engine room could be effected at the time when the bo's'n's whistle should sound.
That was to be the signal for their final effort. It was a little to their disadvantage that the captain ordered out the second watch ahead of time, but when all was known about the battle, it was only too sadly apparent that the Chinese had made a fearful and costly fight of it.
The terrified passengers had been kept below by the stewards, who were only less frightened themselves.
As soon as the conflict was well over the first officer and the captain went to the saloon to explain matters and assure the passengers that all danger was past.
Frank's share in the affair was made known by the officers, and the result was that the boy was overwhelmed with praise and congratulations.
To escape it he pleaded extreme weariness and retired to his room.
His excuse was genuine, for the excitement left him completely exhausted.
He was no longer nervous, however, and the moment he lay down he was sound asleep, and remained so for many hours.
Kyto was waiting for him in the saloon when he awoke.
The Jap smiled delightedly and shook Frank warmly by the hand.
“You gleat man, Flank,” he said; “but what me tell you? Chinese velly bad, eh?”
“Yes, Kyto; you were right that time.”
“You no wonder I fear for Saso?”
“Certainly not; but, Kyto, I'll tell you something.”
“What, Flank?”
“If I had it all to do again I think I should do just about the same things.”
Kyto's eyes opened wide in astonishment.
“Allee samee?” he cried.
“Exactly.”
“Let pilates come board ship?”
“As long, Kyto, as there was a chance that the men might be what they claimed to be, distressed sailors, I should take care of them. I never would run the risk of turning men adrift on the open sea just because of a possibility that they night be criminals. See?”
“Even if they were Chinese?”
“Even if they were Chinese, Kyto, or Malays, or negroes, or Dutchmen, or—or Japs, Kyto.”
Kyto failed to understand.
“I like you, Flank,' he said in a discouraged tone; “but you allee samee velly stlange fellow.”
Frank did not try to explain farther. He might have found it difficult to persuade some of the white men on board that generosity is always best.
Such of the Chinese as escaped slaughter in the terrific fight were handed over to law officers when the Glasgow arrived at Canton, which she did three days later, without farther incident of a serious nature.
CHAPTER VI.
The English Gentleman's Story.
Frank's stay in Canton was very brief. He had hardly settled himself at a hotel before a servant brought him a card and said that the gentleman was anxious to see him without delay.
“'Ralph Gillette, Park Lane, London,'” Frank read on the card. “Wonder who he is and what he can want with me? He must be a swell of the most howling kind if he really lives in Park Lane. I understand that only the nobility or tremendous millionaires live there.'
“Where is Mr. Gillette?” he asked aloud of the waiting servant.
“In the reception room, your lordship.”
This answer was delivered with the most perfect gravity. Frank looked sharply at the man and could hardly restrain a hearty laugh.
“That makes it certain,” he said to himself, “that Mr. Gillette is a howling swell. This is an English hotel. This servant is a Britisher, and either he thinks that any friend of Mr. Gillette must be a nobleman, or he imagines that he'll get a tip from me for the compliment. Well, he shall have the tip for the fun he's given me.”
Accordingly Frank slipped a coin into the man's outstretched hand and received a remarkably low bow and a “Thank you, my lord,” in return. A moment later the American boy entered the reception room.
The only person there was a well-built gentleman, apparently a little past middle age, who stood by a window looking out into the street. His short jacket, white trousers, and the gold-braided cap he held in his hand suggested that he might be an officer of a man of war.
“Is this Mr. Gillette?” said Frank, approaching the window.
The gentleman turned and greeted Frank with smiling face and outstretched hand.
“So this is Frank Merriwell,” he said. “I am glad to meet you, my boy. I've heard about you, and very favorably, I assure you.”
“I should be sorry if you heard bad reports,” Frank responded, simply.
“I have been waiting several days to see you.”
Frank's eyes opened in. astonishment, and Mr. Gillette laughed pleasantly.
“I am acquainted with your tutor,” he explained, “and some time ago I learned of your travels and expressed a desire to meet you. There was no opportunity then, and it didn't look as if ever there would be one, but here we are.”
“I am obliged to you for your interest in me, Mr. Gillette,” said Frank, “but how did you know I was to come to Canton? Did my tutor write you?”
“He cabled me.”
“Cabled you!”
“Yes. I asked him by cable from Yokohama where he thought you might be found about this time. His reply was that you would probably call here for letters, etc., before long, and that my best chance of meeting you was to come here and wait. So I did. At the steamship offices it was no difficult task to learn what passenger boats were due to arrive along at this time, and so I soon found after the City of Glasgow came in that you were among the passengers. I presumed you would come to this hotel, and again I say, here we are.”
Mr. Gillette smiled cheerfully, and Frank responded with a laugh.
“Yes, here we are, to be sure, and I must believe that there was some special reason that induced you to chase me up from Yokohama.”
“There was, my boy. Shall I tell you about it here?”
The Englishman spoke gravely now.
“If you please,” Frank answered. “My room is littered with half-unpacked baggage.”
“We are not likely to be interrupted here, but for that matter the affair is not so private that I should object if we were overheard. I am sorry to learn, however, that you intend to remain long in Canton.”
“But I don't.”
“You spoke of unpacked baggage.”
“Oh, that means that I was rummaging after some things I wanted, and making ready for a fresh start.'
“Ah! And where away this time?”
“I hadn't decided, except that in a general way I should make toward home. It's about time I headed for America.”
“You have no objection to taking a bit of a side trip on the way, I hope?”
“None whatever. I should aim to journey so as to see as much of the world as possible.”
“Then it's all right! That is, it will be if you find it agreeable to accept my invitation.”
“Your invitation?”
“I was coming to it. I am knocking about the world in my yacht, Frank, and I should like to have you take a run with me through the South Seas.”
“You are very kind, and I don't say that I won't accept, although I have just come from a voyage across the South Seas; but I take it that there is still a reason”
A very serious one, and yet one that need not give you any anxiety, and I couldn't have you come with me if you felt the least hesitation about it. I am a man of considerable means, and it is generally supposed that I am traveling solely for pleasure. That is hardly the case. I have a purpose in view, and I will tell you about it briefly.
“My younger brother, always a restless, roving fellow, left England some years ago for a couple of years of travel. He has never been heard from directly since, but indirectly we have learned that he went to the South Seas, and we have some reason to believe that he is there still. I am trying to find him.”
“Rather harder than hunting for a needle in a haystack, isn't it?”
“I think not. There are thousands of islands in the South Seas, and many of them doubtless have never been thoroughly explored by whites; but you must remember that whites are comparatively scarce thereabout and therefore easy to trace.”
“True.”
“I have proved that already, though I have not yet found my brother. Several times I have called at an island and we learned of a white man living on another island hundreds of miles distant. I have followed up every such clew without success, but at last I think, or rather fear, that I have come upon the right clew.”
“You fear it?”
“Yes. I should be glad to find my brother alive if he were still the civilized man he once was, but if it proves that he has descended to barbarism I could almost wish him dead.”
“How can you suspect such a horrible thing?”
“Ah, such things have happened before, Frank. There is more than one white man living in the South Seas who in his habits and thought has become as degraded as the vilest heathen.”
“It seems shocking!”
“So it does, indeed! I will not go into details to show why I fear for my brother's condition, but you must remember that I have been on the search for a long time and have picked up a great deal of information.”
“I shouldn't think of asking for details.”
“Then understand that I have reason to believe that Harry is, or may be, on the island of Walloa, one of the least-known islands in the Tahite group.”
“Walloa is an active volcano, isn't it?”
“Yes, it is in constant eruption. It very seldom pours out lava enough to endanger the natives who live along the shore at its base, but it smokes and burns all the time, and once in a while it throws off great clouds of ashes that drift to other islands scores of miles away.”
“I should like to see it!”
“I thought you might, and I also thought that the possibility of meeting with some strange adventure there would not make you unwilling to go with us. We don't want you to think that we would have you run into danger on our account, for whatever danger there is we shall share it, but we should be delighted to have you along, for from all that we have learned we know you to be courageous and clever.”
“Thanks to those who have praised me to you. I don't pretend to be hero—but no matter; if I go I'll try to behave myself. But you use the word 'we'”
“Yes, my niece is traveling with me. She is Harry's only child, and as her mother died before we set out on our journey, she has the most powerful reasons for wishing to find her father.”
“I should think so,”
“There is not only her affection for her father to be considered, but property also.”
“Indeed!”
“With his wife's death a great fortune passed to Harry's control. As long as he lives nothing can be done with it. The estate is tied up. If he lives and can't be persuaded to come home and manage it, then we must take some sort of legal measures to get it out of his hands.”
“Naturally.”
“Now, Maud, knowing nothing of business and law, doesn't regard the property side of this matter at all. She wants her father to come home, and. that's all that troubles her. For my own part, believing that Harry never could settle down to a quiet, country gentleman's life, I feel more the importance of finding him alive or dead, so that we may know what to do. But these are family. matters that will hardly interest you. The main point is, would you like to visit Walloa with us, going as my guest and free to leave us any time you wish?”
“Yes, I should like to go.”
“I'm glad to hear it. Any time you tire of the trip, say so frankly, and we'll put you off at the nearest civilized port.”
“You needn't fear that I shall back out, Mr. Gillette.”
“I don't. Can you start at once?”
“To-day?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it will take a little time to get my baggage in order and write two or three letters”
“You can manage all that by evening, can't you?”
“Oh, yes! In half that time.”
“Then if it's agreeable to you I'll send for your traps at three o'clock and call about the same hour to conduct you to the Princess, my yacht, that is lying in the harbor.”
“I think I saw her when we came in this morning. Is she a single-funnel boat, painted black, with brownish deck house, and flying the royal ensign?”
“Yes, She's a member of the Royal Yacht Club. Will you be ready at three?”
“Without fail.”
“Good-day till then. If you write your tutor, tell him I shall try to take care of you.”
Frank bowed, but he said to himself after Mr. Gillette had departed:
“Guess tutor thinks I can take care of myself, and if things go as usual I'll be taking care of the Gillette family before I'm through with 'em.”
CHAPTER VII.
The High Priest of the Fire Worshipers.
Promptly at three o'clock Mr. Gillette's card came up again to “his lordship.” Frank was ready, and without delay they set out for the water front. They were carried most of the distance in a double-seated palanquin supported on the shoulders of four men.
On the way Mr. Gillette said:
“You will find Maud impatient to see you.”
“That is very kind of her.”
“Perhaps you wouldn't think so if you knew all.”
“Oh! I took it as a compliment.”
“Well, she has great enough ideas about you, but in spite of that she has been anxious to get away and has fretted a good deal about the delay in Canton.”
“Is she aware of your new clew?”
“She knows that I expect to find a trace of her father on Walloa.”
“No wonder she's anxious to start.”
“True, but I dread the meeting for her if we find him.”
“Why”
“Because of my fear that Harry has become a barbarian. Maud knows nothing of that.”
“Oh!”
“As I may be mistaken, I think it would be well to say nothing of our fears.”
“Very well.”
“We ought not to alarm her needlessly, and if we find our fears justified, perhaps we can manage to keep the worst of the truth from her.”
“I'll remember to be careful.”
Maud Gillette was waiting for them on deck when they were rowed out to the Princess in one of the small boats that belonged to the yacht. She proved to be a full-grown girl, rather serious in her manner, as was to be expected under the circumstances, but very pleasant and altogether an agreeable companion
She greeted Frank warmly, and before they had been long together they were exchanging anecdotes of travel freely.
Mr. Gillette joined in the conversation, seeking always to get Frank to relate his adventures, but without much success, for the boy, with manly modesty, always made himself out a pretty commonplace sort of hero.
Nevertheless the time passed quickly. The yacht was put under way almost as soon as Mr. Gillette and Frank came aboard, and by the next morning they were upon the open sea.
Then for many days the Princess held her course steadily to the eastward, occasionally sighting land on either side, but pausing only two or three times just long enough to take in coal.
There was variety of weather and incident, but nothing occurred to delay the journey. After about three weeks of almost steady sailing they hove in sight of Papeete, the capital town of the Tahite Islands.
As the Princess steamed into port Mr. Gillette stood on deck looking southward through a glass.
“I think,” he said, “that I can distinguish a faint smoke off there that comes from Walloa, but the skipper thinks she lies farther away.”
This remark led to some conversation about the exact location of Walloa, and Frank brought a chart from the skipper's room to consult.
Mr. Gillette, Maud, and Frank were still discussing it when the anchor was dropped, and a port official came aboard to ask formal questions.
“We carry no cargo except our own provisions,” said the yacht owner, “and we have stopped here simply for coal. We are bound for Walloa.”
“Walloa!” exclaimed the official in evident surprise.
“Yes, We were just trying to shape our course on the chart.”
“Humph! Your course won't give you any difficulty, for the location of the island is well known, but when it comes to landing there—well, you'll find that's another story.”
“Why”
“The residents of Walloa don't welcome whites very cordially.”
“So!”
“Only recently a party of scientists came to grief there.”
“What happened?”
“Well, you see, these scientific sharps, they were going over to Walloa to observe the workings of the volcano. They hadn't the slightest intention of disturbing the fire worshippers who live there”
“Maud,” interrupted Mr. Gillette, “will you please go to the cabin and see if you can find my eyeglasses?”
“Mayn't I stay to hear, uncle?”
“I need my glasses, dear. Please find them.”
The young lady looked disappointed, but tripped away to the cabin, evidently with the intention of hurrying back. The moment she was gone Mr. Gillette took a pair of eyeglasses from a pocket and said, with a dry smile:
“She won't find them. I don't want her to hear anything about the fire worshipers, but I should like to know all you can tell me.”
“There isn't much that I can tell,” responded the port official. “The islanders have kept their own secrets amazingly well for several years, and have succeeded in keeping all visitors away. That they have managed so well is quite likely due to the superior sense of their present chief, a white man.”
Frank and Mr. Gillette exchanged significant glances.
“Who is this white man?” asked the latter, with shaking voice.
“Oh, nobody knows. It was only a year or two ago that his presence on Walloa was discovered. It appears that he has made a regular savage of himself, and we understand that he's a kind of high priest or something.”
“You mean that he is himself a fire worshiper?”
“Rather that or that he pretends to be. Anyhow, he controls the islanders absolutely, and since his coming no whites have been allowed to land. The heathen regard Walloa, you know, as a sacred mountain, because it belches forth fire night and day.”
“I've heard something of the kind.”
“If I were in your place I wouldn't try to make a landing. You'll have trouble.”
“What happened to the scientists you spoke of?”
“They got on share before they were observed. Then the savages discovered them and made an attack. The whites retreated, and found that meantime another party of blacks had gone out to the ship and tried to scuttle her. They did manage to set fire to the ship, and the flames were extinguished with great difficulty. In short, the scientists narrowly escaped with their lives, and, more by good luck than anything else, held their ship together long enough to reach this port again.”
“I couldn't find your glasses, uncle,” said Maud, coming up at this moment.
“Never mind, my dear. They were in my pocket. Thank you for your information, sir. We shall be on our guard.”
“What is it about the fire worshipers, uncle?”
“Merely that they are suspicious of whites. I think we shall manage to convince them that we mean no unfriendliness.”
“What if papa should be a prisoner among them!”
“We must hope for the best. If he is a prisoner we'll rescue him. God grant that he is a prisoner and not the high priest!” Mr. Gillette added under breath.
Following the port official to the companion ladder, he asked:
“Did the scientists report seeing the white man?”
“One or two thought they caught a glimpse of him.”
“What was he like?”
“I could hardly tell you. They said he had a big beard and that his clothing was all tatters, as if he'd worn a civilized suit to rags and until there wasn't much left of it.”
Mr. Gillette's face was very grave as he returned to where Frank and Maud were conversing.
“I'd like your advice on a point, Frank,” he said, and went immediately to the cabin.
Frank followed him and until the Princess had taken on all the coal her bunkers would hold the two remained in earnest consultation. The upshot of the talk may be told in Mr. Gillette's final words:
“That high priest may not be my brother, but I shan't rest satisfied until I have explored Walloa and found out.”
And Frank added:
“There must be no farther thought of leaving me in Papeete. Having come thus far, I'm not going to back out, no matter what the danger.”
By this time it was nearly evening, but so anxious was Mr. Gillette to learn the truth about the white man on Walloa that the anchor was raised at once and the Princess steamed away southward.
Frank observed that Maud was pale and thoughtful, but it did not occur to him that this was more than natural. He did not know until it was too late for the knowledge to be of any use that as soon as Mr. Gillette and Frank had retired to the cabin she had run forward and attracted the attention of the departing port official.
He was then but a little way from the yacht, and being something of a gallant, he had promptly responded to her signal by returning. Then, by smiles and coaxing, she wheedled him into telling her all he knew about the white high priest of the fire worshipers.
Maud was sadly depressed by the information, vague though it was. The fact that the official admitted that her uncle wished to keep her in ignorance of it added to her fears. If her uncle was not certain that her father had turned heathen, why had he been so careful to send her away and prevent her from hearing the official's story?
The unhappy girl, from disbelieving the terrible suspicion about her father, came soon to think that it must be true, and then she felt that her uncle was not acting fairly with her in not admitting her to his confidence. Wild thoughts of treachery on the part of her uncle haunted her bewildered mind.
What if it was his purpose to have her father murdered in order that the property might come into his own hands?
These were fearful thoughts, and Maud was ashamed to own them, but in her excited condition they could not be suppressed, and they led her at last to resolve upon acting in her own way regardless of what her uncle and Frank Merriwell might do.
This was a sad mistake on Maud's part and it had frightful consequences, but, everything considered, it was a natural mistake, and when Mr. Gillette understood the circumstances he took all blame upon himself.
Before daybreak of the following morning the anchor was let go, and the skipper aroused Mr. Gillette, saying:
“We're as near Walloa as I dare to go, sir.”
Frank was aroused at the same time, and he was on deck before Mr. Gillette. Maud came out several minutes after the latter appeared.
In the gloom of early morning they could see the island not more than half a mile away. There was no telling then whether the dark mass of land was wooded or bare, but from the highest point there came a dull-red glow to show that the great volcano was at work.
As is always the case in the tropics, light came with remarkable suddenness.
Almost before they were aware of it, the party on the Princess could distinguish not only trees and stretches of open land, but moving figures that were presently made out to be human beings.
Through the glass they could be seen gathering in a crowd near the shore. It was evident they were excited by the presence of the yacht and that they were preparing for some kind of action.
“Let me take the glass a moment, please, uncle,” said Maud.
“Wait!” he answered, rather gruffly, keeping the glass to his eye. “Frank!” he exclaimed shortly afterward, “we must go on shore at once.”
He put the glass in its case and strode aft to where sailors were making ready to lower a boat from the davits.
Maud looked after him regretfully. She was more than ever convinced of his unfairness.
In an undertone Mr. Gillette said to Frank:
“I have seen the high priest. It is my brother!”
Frank made no reply to this, but after another glance at the shore he remarked:
“I wouldn't be in a hurry, Mr. Gillette. I think they're coming out to us, and probably they mean to attack us.”
Again Mr. Gillette raised the glass to his eye.
“Yes,” he said. “They're shoving out a boat—two boats, and pretty much all the blacks are getting in. Hello!”
“What now”?
“The high priest was looking this way through a spyglass! Well, why not? Harry might have taken any number of such things with him. Ah! he's leaving the shore after some words to the men in the boats. He's gone under cover of the trees. Well, they're coming out to us. Will it be fight?”
“It looks so,” answered Frank, who was also looking through a glass.
Unknown to them, Maud had obtained a glass from the skipper's room and she was looking also. She, too, had seen the white high priest and she recognized him!
CHAPTER VIII.
In the Volcano's Crater.
Mr. Gillette ground his teeth together at Frank's last remark.
“I don't want unnecessary bloodshed,” he muttered. “Perhaps it would be better to hoist anchor and steam away until nightfall. Then we might make a landing unobserved.”
“I can't think you really mean that, Mr. Gillette,” responded Frank. “If the savages are bold enough to make an open fight of it, what wouldn't they do if we should come at them in the dark? See through it now, I say, and we'll get along without bloodshed, too, I'm thinking.”
“How will you manage it? Not with that.”
Mr. Gillette referred to Frank's revolver, which the boy had produced, and which he was examining to see whether its charges were in condition for use.
“Yes, with this. You'll see.”
For several minutes, then, they watched in silence. The two boatloads of savages came nearer and nearer, and when they were within a hundred yards of the Princess they set up a shouting and wild gesturing that could not be mistaken. Their waving arms, implied as: plainly as if English words had been spoken, that the yacht must be put about. The rude weapons they brandished and the cries they uttered showed that, trusting to their superior numbers—for there was not less than forty men in each boat—they expected to overcome all resistance and set the yacht afire!
“The fiends!” cried Mr. Gillette. ”They are driven mad by their heathen religion.”
“That's about it,” Frank responded as he aimed his revolver at one of the savages. “If there was any sign that they came on a peaceable errand I wouldn't do this, but they mean business, so here goes.”
He fired. The report was followed by shrill cries of contempt from the savages. They cared not for bullets. Excited by their high priest into believing that their sacred mountain was in danger, they were willing to die in defense of it.
But Frank's bullet was not meant to inflict death. It took its well-directed course to the middle of the boat just at the water line, boring a hole in the thin wood, through which the sea began to spurt at once. His first shot was followed by several others in quick succession, each bullet puncturing the shell and letting in more water.
The boat was so heavily loaded that the leaks were serious at once, and the savages were thrown into confusion. Whereas they would not have been frightened back by shots that wounded or killed, they were alarmed now because they saw that they could not reach the yacht before their craft would fill and sink.
“Now for the other,” remarked Frank, coolly reloading his weapon.
Just then there was a loud report near at hand. The skipper, observing Frank's scheme, had quickly loaded the little brass cannon on the yacht's deck with solid shot and fired it at the other boat without waiting to ask for Mr. Gillette's orders. The skipper was a good shot. He had served in the British navy to good advantage, and while he sought to wreck the enemy's craft, he was not as particular as Frank had been about sparing life.
The cannon shot crashed into the side of the second boat, wounded two men, at least, and tore so huge a hole in the bottom that the boat filled almost instantly.
“Hurrah!” cried Gillette. “Good shot, skipper! Don't let one of the black rascals come within reach of the yacht! Shoot the first one who tries to swim in this direction!”
“No need of that order,” said Frank.
“Why not, boy?”
“Because, Mister Man, your genuine fire worshiper is scared of water. It's doubtful if any of those unfortunate fellows can swim. They wouldn't venture out in boats if they weren't persuaded by their priests that the boats are safe. Now that the boats are wrecked, you'll find their craze at an end.”
“It looks so, by Jove!”
“Yes! See! They are in shallow water. Both boats have filled! The savages are not trying to head this way, but they are floundering around to get foothold on the bottom, so that they can wade ashore. No more fight in them, Mr. Gillette!”
“That's so! Frank, you're a good one! Every savage whose legs are long enough to reach bottom is on the retreat.”
So it proved. In a few minutes the sea near the yacht was deserted by the enemy, and a little later all were seen scrambling out of the low surf on shore and making for an open space, where they huddled together in evident fright. Seen through the glass, 1t was perfectly evident that such as had not been drowned were done with fighting.
Frank suggested that he and Mr. Gillette go to land and endeavor to get word with the white high priest.
“He's probably a raving maniac,” said Mr. Gillette, “and won't come with us, even if he lets us get near him.”
“I know how to handle a lariat,“ responded Frank “Suppose we go to land, and if we get near him we can capture him and bring him off. Then perhaps he can be made to listen to reason.'
Mr. Gillette approved of this idea, and soon they were being rowed toward shore. The natives, seeing them coming, retreated into the forest, but not in the direction in which the high priest had disappeared.
The yacht's boat got to land without incident, and Frank and the Englishman stepped ashore. They found that the mountain rose rather abruptly from the water, and they began the ascent, searching everywhere for the white man.
Meantime Maud, as soon as her uncle was seen to land and disappear with Frank in the forest, had ordered the skipper to set her ashore.
He was unwilling to obey, but she was emphatic in her demand, and for the double reason that she was accustomed to having her own way and that the owner of the yacht had given no orders to the contrary, the skipper at length complied.
Mr. Gillette had not dreamed that his niece would venture from the yacht.
Four sailors rowed her. She directed them to a point at some distance from where Frank and her uncle landed, for through the skipper's glass she had seen the white high priest standing in an open space for a moment, gazing through a spyglass at the yacht.
The sailors would have gone on shore with her, but she ordered them to remain where they were.
They obeyed, and off she set alone. She had not gone far within the forest when she came upon the man she sought, sunburned, bearded, ragged, but standing erect with an air of proud defiance.
“Father!” she cried, reaching her hands toward him.
“Maud! My child!” he answered, with a slight quiver in his voice. “I knew you!”
“And I knew you! Oh! why do you stay here? Come home, father. Mother is”
Her tears prevented her from finishing the sad sentence.
The father had not advanced to greet her. He stood very still, thinking, his eyes watching his weeping daughter greedily.
“She is dead?” he said at last.
“Yes,” sobbed Maud, “and I want you so much, papa dear!”
“Your uncle is with you?” he said, abruptly.
“Yes, and he wants you to come home!—I'm sure he does! He could not mean you harm! I did think last night”
She paused, ashamed to own her dreadful suspicions.
“Hah!” he cried, savagely. “He wants me! Wouldn't harm me, eh? Rubbish! He's a bad man. He would snatch me from my religion, the only true religion—sacred, everlasting fire!”
His voice rose to a shrill scream. He was in a frenzy of excitement.
Maud, terribly alarmed and shocked at the discovery of his condition, tried to soothe him. He listened to her pleading for a moment, and then, melting suddenly, took her hand caressingly.
“Come, my child,'” he said. “Let me show you where I live and where the gods dwell.”
“No, no, dear father,” she answered. “Come with me to the boat.”
“Upon the water? Never!”
His excitement threatened to return, but a wily expression stole into his eyes as he controlled himself.
“I will go with you,” he said, calmly, “but first for a last sacrifice to the gods who have protected me here. Then we will go together. Come, daughter.”
He spoke so gently that Maud allowed herself to be led along. She believed that the one way to hold him to his promise was to humor him. Little did she imagine what he meant by his “last sacrifice!”
“You won't be long?” she asked as they trudged rapidly through the forest, ever ascending the mountain.
“No,” he answered, “not long; but let's hurry.”
He increased his pace almost to a run. Maud found it difficult to keep up. He fairly dragged her up the steep ascent. Vegetation grew thinner rapidly, and at last all turf ceased. They were upon lava beds so fresh that not even grass had taken root there.
“Ah!” she panted, “I cannot go so fast.”
As she spoke she saw a lurid column of smoke rising from the summit before her, but still a considerable distance away.
It gave her a new and terrible fear. Was that the home of her father's heathen gods?
“You must hurry,” responded her father, savagely.
“I cannot,” she pleaded, sinking down. “Oh! father, please return. Let us not go farther.”
“False one!” he shrieked, “it is the will of the gods! Do you not understand? Years of my life I denied their power. Now I serve them well, but they demand a final sacrifice before I can dwell in their home with them. The gods call for you! We will go to them together. Come!”
Maud shrieked and sought to tear herself from her insane father's clutch. With a howl of wrath he stooped and took her in his arms. His strength was as terrible as his purpose. Her struggles were as vain as a babe's.
As if her weight were nothing, he leaped with her over the rough lava bed, straight toward the towering walls of Walloa's crater, from within which the volcanic fire was sending forth flame and smoke and hot ashes.
It was then, just then, as the white high priest of the fire worshipers was picking up his own daughter to carry her living sacrifice to the volcano, that Frank and Gillette emerged from the forest upon the lava bed, a long distance below. They saw the scene, and understood it instantly.
“Merciful Heaven!” gasped Gillette. “It's Maud and he means to kill her!”
Frank said not a word. It was no time for considering the situation or shrinking from its horror. He leaped forward, running with all his might up the steep slope toward the crater.
Gillette followed as best he could, but being older and heavier, he was soon outstripped by his youthful companion.
Powerful though the madman was, the burden he carried soon told upon him.
His breath came hard and perspiration rolled down his cheeks.
“Father!” cried Maud, observing that his footsteps lagged a bit, “have mercy! Pity me!”
“The gods demand it!” he snarled, shifting his burden and starting on again.
A faint cry reached their ears. Maud looked back, and so did her father.
They saw Frank coming after them. He had shouted in the hope of causing the maniac to halt.
It was a mistaken move.
The high priest plunged on up the crater with renewed energy.
“Ah! he is so far behind,” moaned Maud. “He will never overtake us!”
Maud was right Frank did not overtake them, but he sped on, gaining at every step.
He disappeared with his burden presently around a pile of rocks at the very summit.
A moment later Frank passed the spot.
He found himself then in the very center of the volcano.
The maniac had a long start and the dreadful goal was near at hand.
The floor of lava extended in a solid, irregular floor to the centre of the vast hollow, where there was an abrupt sink, out of which smoke and flames were belching fiercely.
The high priest was running toward that sink.
Frank kept on desperately, though he saw that he could not reach the edge of the fire before the maniac.
The latter halted on the very brink, where the red flames almost licked his face, poised the shrieking girl above his head a moment, and then hurled her into the raging fire.
That moment's pause, when he poised Maud for the throw, was Frank's one desperate opportunity to save her.
As she left her father's hands the lariat shot from Frank's.
It was a cast for life!
True as a rifle bullet the cord caught her around the waist, the noose held, and Frank's feet slid over the lava as her weight dragged him on.
The maniac, true to his word that he and his daughter would “go together,” leaped after her into the volcano.
Frank dug his heels into the hot crust and pulled frantically hand over hand at the straining cord.
Quickly the imperiled girl came to the surface and was dragged to Frank's feet, where with bare hands he slapped out the flames that had begun to devour her garments.
As he did so, from below the surface came the blood-curdling shrieks of the high priest as the flames destroyed him.
Maud did not hear her father's death cry. She had fainted.
In a moment Frank picked her up and bore her to the outer edge of the crater, where he met Mr. Gillette toiling up They speedily discovered that the girl was not dead, and after a time succeeded in reviving her.
Her face and hands were slightly scorched, but beyond that, she sustained no injury save the nervous shock, from which she was a long time in recovering.
Frank and Mr. Gillette carried her to the shore, and when they reached the yacht, which they did without encountering the disheartened savages, Maud was sufficiently herself to tell what had happened.
There was much to be said, but it need not be repeated here. Mr. Gillette's search was over, and to Frank Merriwell he admitted that he owed escape from an awful tragedy.
“Frank Merriwell Home Again; or, The Mystery of Ethel Driscoll,” by the author of “Frank Merriwell,” will be published in the next number (39) of the Tip Top Library.
[THE END.]
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1945, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 78 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse