BUT suddenly, without a word being said, Takishima slowly lowered his gun and placed it back in its holster, and then hastily left the group, walking silently aft.
“Look out he doesn’t commit suicide or jump overboard, Syd!” Phil exclaimed with a sigh of relief, as he made his way swiftly to the bridge.
“Which way are you going?” he inquired anxiously.
“Pretty nearly straight back,” Captain Bailey replied quickly. “She’ll look for us farther along on our old course. If the fog holds for another hour she’ll never see us again. I am going to run close down inside the islands, and when we see the northern island of the Philippines then we can shape our course wherever you like.”
The midshipman nodded approvingly. Captain Bailey knew what he was about. Phil talked a short time longer, telling of how they had turned the tables on the unsuspecting Japanese lieutenant, and then went aft to look up Takishima and endeavor to console him. He came upon him sitting disconsolate in a chair abaft the mainmast; Sydney stood near, but from appearances there had been no communication between the two former friends. Phil was on the point of joining them when he saw that O’Neil and Marley were waiting to speak to him, so he stopped.
“What’s the trouble, O’Neil?” he asked anxiously. “No strike below, I hope; if there is we’ll all have to go down and shovel coal. If we are caught now we can be truly called pirates. Did you ever want to be a pirate, Marley?” he asked jestingly.
The sailor turned red and stammered out something which Phil did not see the necessity of understanding whether his answer were yes or no.
“Bill and I have been thinking, sir, how we might improve on the looks of this here yacht,” O’Neil answered importantly.
Phil caught the idea at once.
“Bully for you, O’Neil!” he exclaimed admiringly. “You can do anything except cut down her speed; but what do you propose?”
The sailor cast his eye knowingly about him.
“Well, sir,” he replied thoughtfully, “she’s black now; a coat of white paint wouldn’t be amiss, and a little fancy painting on the smoke-stacks and mast might hide the fact that she’s a yacht. All this bright brass can be painted too. If you say the word,” he added, “me and Bill with those pen-pushers of Mr. Impey’s can start in at once.”
“Go right ahead,” Phil said offhand. “I am sure Mr. Impey is willing, and if he happens not to be we won’t ask him.”
O’Neil saluted, and he and Marley went off to find material and men to help carry out his designs, while Phil continued on down the deck to where Takishima was seated.
He laid his hand affectionately upon the lieutenant’s shoulder.
“I can’t tell you, Taki, how sorry I am that we had to play this trick on you,” he said in a low earnest voice, “but it’s better that we should be simply not friends than real enemies.”
Takishima raised a haggard face to that of the midshipman. Phil saw that his humiliation was great, and his heart smote him.
“I shall be the laughing stock of our navy,” Takishima complained bitterly. “I have disgraced the Emperor’s uniform. My father will disown me when he hears.”
“Taki,” Phil exclaimed earnestly, “if my plans are successful, you will receive the thanks of your Emperor and retain the admiration of your brother officers in the navy, for we shall show them how terribly they have blundered in misunderstanding the friendly intentions of my country.”
But Takishima’s mortification was too fresh to be appeased by such an optimistic view of his present predicament. Following the midshipmen to Yokohama, he had witnessed their escape in the yacht. He had been sent on his own request upon this important mission—to overtake and bring back the yacht which he knew would endeavor to thwart Captain Inaba’s purpose. He had not taken proper precautions. He had discounted the daring of his former classmates and they had turned the trick upon him and were carrying him away against his will while the fast “Hatsuke” was somewhere in the fog, searching vainly for the swiftly escaping yacht.
“If you had not come on board,” Phil continued earnestly, “it was my intention to communicate with our admiral in Manila; tell him of Captain Inaba’s mission and await his instructions as to where we should meet him, for I am sure he would endeavor to prevent the Chinese squadron from being seized. By Japan’s holding up all cablegrams from Captain Rodgers and our ambassador and refusing to deliver those arriving for them, Washington must now suspect that your country intends to take some action which might jeopardize the balance of power in the Orient. Impey has kept the Washington authorities informed through his agents in the United States. My wireless message will clear up the situation, and our admiral will at once put to sea to seize the Chinese ships himself to prevent their falling into other hands.
“That is Impey’s desire, and the reason why he has given us the yacht. He and those for whom he is only an agent do not desire to see Japan grow stronger. They wish to destroy her influence in Manchuria and in all China; to seal up her natural energies in the island kingdom. America is vastly rich in resources, and for many years to come will not care to more than break ground in China. Meanwhile those who pretend to be your friends are striving to blind Japan into believing that America covets her territory and power in the far East, and thus tempt her to waste her energies and wealth in a fruitless war with my country.”
Takishima had listened impatiently at first, but as Phil drove home one self-evident truth after another, the young naval man at length listened eagerly, understanding growing in his troubled face.
“Perry, I believe my country has been fooled,” he exclaimed suddenly. “We have listened to a voice that we should have known can never be disinterested. Do you know,” he asked earnestly, “who in Japan has been urging us to obtain the Chinese ships?”
“Impey, of course,” Phil answered.
“Yes, but his urging has been done in a different way,” Takishima continued. “He has furnished the stories of what the United States was doing and at the same time has subtly advised us to buy the ships if we really wanted them. He has been the auctioneer, knocking them down to the highest bidder.”
“To both bidders,” Phil corrected with a grim smile.
“The man who is back of it in Japan,” Takishima went on, not noticing the interruption, “is Baron Kosuba, the owner and president of the Koko Kisen Khaisha, the biggest steamship company in Japan. It is he who has advanced the securities in payment for the Chinese ships, and it was he who persuaded the Minister of State to refuse the Emperor’s audience to your captain.”
“He must have had some very good reasons,” Phil declared, “to wish to precipitate a war.”
Takishima shrugged his shoulders.
“Perry, we trained military and naval men are but infants in diplomacy compared to these multi-millionaires. Gold was Baron Kosuba’s reason, and to him that was sufficient. What does he care for the sufferings of the people? A war in which Japan was victorious would mean that we would be masters of the Pacific, and the Koko Kisen Khaisha would send her steamers everywhere. It would mean millions of dollars to the baron.
“But what do you now propose to do?” Takishima asked eagerly, after several minutes of silence, while the two gazed out upon the thick enveloping fog.
Phil shook his head.
“I can’t tell you now, Taki,” he replied in a very friendly tone. “It’s too far off yet. We’ve many dangers to pass before we can be in touch with Manila; but,” he suddenly asked earnestly, “will you give me your word as a Japanese fighting man that you will not do us damage of any kind?”
Takishima started perceptibly, while the color mounted to his sallow cheeks. He had been, even at that moment, revolving in his mind how he could bring the yacht’s mission to a disastrous end. It was in his thoughts to endeavor to sink her by opening some sea valve, even though he lost his own life in so doing.
Phil’s keen eye noted the hesitancy in Takishima’s face.
“If not, Taki, as much as I would regret it,” he said calmly, “we would lock you in your stateroom and put a sentry over it to prevent your getting out.”
Takishima remained in deep thought for several minutes.
“I cannot give you my word,” he said finally. “I might not be able to keep it.”
“I am sorry,” was all Phil said as he walked away to give the disagreeable orders for Takishima’s confinement.
During the next two days the two American sailors with Randall and Wells and all the Chinese deck hands were busy changing the outside appearance of the yacht. When it was all finished the two midshipmen surveyed the effect in wonder; the “Sylvia” had been quite obliterated, and in her place there was a white gunboat. The shape of the deck houses had been concealed with painted canvas, with cleverly painted open gun ports and guns protruding. Fighting tops had been built on the masts and the top of the lofty spars had been sacrificed. In every respect, even to the bow and stern guns which they had discovered hidden away in the hold of the vessel, the “Sylvia” was now the counterpart of one of the small gunboats owned by many nations for tropical service.
The lads were loud in their praise for the sailors’ handicraft, and Bill Marley received his share with his usual silent smile of pleasure.
Takishima, after refusing the offer made to him, went to his stateroom, and Phil, true to his word, after again endeavoring to extract a promise from the obdurate Japanese, turned the key in the lock and gave it over to the keeping of Marley, who was to be the jailer.
Impey kept to himself. The midshipmen did not encourage more friendly relations, and he was apparently man of the world enough to see that they did not desire him at their councils.
The fog still held, and the “Sylvia” was making her best speed through the almost calm water. Phil and Sydney had thrown themselves down in steamer chairs on the after-deck, while O’Neil and Impey’s assistants were casually conversing near by but out of ear-shot.
“Captain Inaba and his ships must be nearly down to Formosa by this time,” Phil said thoughtfully. “And if so he will soon be trying to get the Chinese squadron by wireless.”
“By to-morrow night if the Chinese ships are near Singapore, he might possibly get them,” Sydney replied after a few minutes of thought upon the distances. “To-morrow we shall be within talking distance of the shore stations in Luzon.”
Phil nodded his agreement with his companion’s calculations.
“But if I can be sure that I am far enough ahead of Captain Inaba,” Phil declared earnestly, “I shall not try to call up our admiral, but steer for Singapore Straits direct.”
Sydney looked up in astonishment.
“I have been thinking over this plan for some time, Syd,” he continued quickly. “You see, if we wire our admiral and he starts out with the fleet he might run afoul of Captain Inaba.”
“But how can you be sure as to where Captain Inaba and the Japanese fleet are?” Sydney asked, much mystified.
“Only by running some risks, endeavoring to sight them and count the ships, and find out the speed they are making,” Phil replied; “and if by bad luck we are chased by a vessel faster than we are, then maybe O’Neil’s work may help us to make them think that we are only a harmless gunboat, after all.”
Sydney opened his eyes in astonishment.
“That certainly sounds like a very dangerous plan,” he said, shaking his head doubtfully, “but go on.”
“If we are sure to arrive ahead of the Japanese fleet, then,” Phil hurried on, “I shall find Admiral Ting and his ships, show him the letter from the Wai-Wu-Pu and this letter the ambassador gave us. After he reads those he should be willing to follow us and elude Captain Inaba’s vessels.”
“Where then will you take him?” Sydney asked, for he saw that Manila could not be in Phil’s plan.
“If we convoyed them to Manila we would put the American admiral into a very embarrassing position,” Phil continued. “I have thought over it for a long time, Syd, and I don’t see why it is not possible. If we can do it we would make a tremendous hit, a scoop, as the newspapers say.” Phil stopped, gazing attentively into the fog while Sydney waited breathlessly for him to continue.
“Go on, Phil,” Sydney demanded impatiently. “What is your plan?”
But Phil did not have an opportunity to answer. A great black shape suddenly appeared out of the fog on their starboard hand. Every one was on his feet in an instant; the emergency was so sudden and entirely unexpected. The loud bellow of a whistle sounded across the water. For a moment Phil’s heart was in his throat. It looked as if the monster steamer would ram the frail yacht amidships. Only the “Sylvia’s” great speed saved her, and the big merchantman passed close under the yacht’s stern, and disappeared as suddenly into the fog.
“O’Neil, come down into the wireless room,” Phil called, a tremor of nervousness still in his voice.
The sailor quickly obeyed, and together they went down to the little room where O’Neil and Marley had sent out their remarkable message for help.
“See if you can get that steamer,” Phil exclaimed, “and ask them if they sighted any steamers to-day or yesterday. She has come from Hongkong, probably, and is on her way to Yokohama. Don’t tell them who we are, of course,” he added quickly; “say we’re Japanese.”
O’Neil nodded his head and at once began to make the “call,” periodically throwing out the sending switch and listening through the wireless head-piece.
“Got her, sir,” he whispered, clicking his key rapidly as he sent the message.
Then he again threw out the sending key, and drawing a pencil from his pocket, began to write rapidly, the words coming in on the aerial in dots and dashes. The two midshipmen, for Sydney had joined them, glanced excitedly over the sailor’s shoulder.
“Royal mail steamer, ‘Bombay,’ from London, via Singapore and Hongkong. What ship is that?”
“Japanese gunboat ‘Neko,’” Phil exclaimed quickly, after reading the received message; “and now ask if she has sighted anything.”
“I did ask her, and that’s her answer,” O’Neil replied, throwing in his sending circuit and spelling out what Phil had given him. “You see, sir, these fellows want to know to whom they are giving information.”
“Passed Chinese squadron at Colombo one week ago. Saw great deal of smoke yesterday to the northward. Has war been declared yet?”
“Don’t seem to be necessary to ask with whom,” Sydney exclaimed. “Apparently our affairs are being talked of out in the world.”
“What shall I answer?” O’Neil asked.
“Tell them yes, and that Turkey has won the first victory on the sea,” Phil directed calmly, a twinkle in his eyes. “They make me tired!” he exclaimed angrily. “It looks as if they were only too anxious to see Japan and the United States at each other’s throats.”
O’Neil sent the message with a gleeful smile on his face and then quickly penciled the answer:
“Please repeat. Why Turkey? You don’t mean the United States, do you?”
“Say ‘hardly,’ and then ‘good-bye,’ and let them guess until they reach Yokohama,” Phil said savagely.
“I’ll change our course about a point,” he said thoughtfully. “By to-morrow, if it’s clear, we should see the smoke of the Japanese fleet.”