CHAPTER XXII
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT
PHIL and Sydney were on deck early in the morning. The fog had continued during the afternoon and night, and Captain Bailey had skilfully shaped the “Sylvia’s” course through the Formosa Channel. The night had been uneventful; no vessel had been sighted. The Americans continued their watches on deck, still distrusting a conspiracy between Impey and his friends to get control of the yacht.
But one incident had marred the happiness of their miraculous escape from the Japanese scouts. Takishima had been found in the wireless room by O’Neil and Marley, attempting to wreck the plant, and before he had been discovered and marched back docilely to his stateroom, he had managed to put the wireless of the yacht temporarily out of commission. With the able assistance of Randall, who was luckily a skilful electrician and whose aid was enthusiastically given, the wireless gear would soon again be in working order. The avenue of escape from Takishima’s cabin through Impey’s was thereafter sealed by removing Impey to a cabin at the other end of the saloon.
“We’re now off Hongkong,” Phil exclaimed as he saw the penciled position on the chart. “In two days we shall be nearing Singapore, and then for the success or failure of our plans.”
Sydney’s face beamed with pleasure, but a cloud crossed it as he thought of poor, dejected, disappointed Takishima in his cabin below.
“I wish we might win Taki over,” he said charitably. “He takes defeat so bitterly.”
Phil remained silently thoughtful.
“I believe I see the way,” he replied after a lapse of a few minutes. “When he sees that his fleet has failed and that there is no chance for our seizure, then he may be more amenable to common sense. The Japanese fighting class represented now in the army and navy, the Samurai of old, have a very lofty sense of honor. Taki would without a personal thought sink or blow up this vessel if he believed by so doing he could aid his government in its plans. That is why it was necessary to constrain him. If we had not discovered him in the wireless room yesterday just after the fog shut down, the thing upon which our plan principally depends would have been wrecked beyond repair; for during only a few minutes his destructive work was marvelous, and he knew the most important things to destroy. Fortunately there were spare parts in the storeroom and Randall, who seems to be an all around handy man, is doing wonders to repair the damage. Hereafter Taki must be watched more closely.
“From now on we must keep a watch on Impey, too,” Phil continued, a happy smile on his face. “He asked me only a moment ago if I thought we could call up Manila yet. He counts on our wirelessing the admiral and expects he will sail at once to an appointed rendezvous, and that we will then intercept the Chinese ships and lead them to this rendezvous. He asked me if that was not my plan. When he knows our real intention he will be mad enough to attempt anything.”
“And what did you say?” Sydney asked, catching Phil’s joyful spirit.
“I said how clever he was to have guessed it; and then added I hoped we should have the wireless working very soon.”
The day passed pleasantly enough on board the yacht; the fog had cleared away, eaten up by the sun, long before noon. A few curls of smoke had been sighted, but no vessel crossed their track close enough to show even the top of its funnel.
O’Neil and Marley had formed a strong liking for Randall, who had shown himself willing to atone for past misdeeds.
“You see, O’Neil,” he had exclaimed in the strictest confidence while they were both working to repair the damage caused by Takishima’s few minutes of liberty, “when a fellow gets down on his luck in a foreign country, his sense of right and wrong suffers a blight. He can’t recognize the difference until it’s pointed out to him. I thought it was fine to vilify my country and countrymen, baiting the Japanese bull, as it were. I got good pay for it, and it all went home to my mother.” Here he lowered his voice, and a wistful look came into his eyes. “She didn’t know that the money was tainted, and besides,” he added softly, “there wasn’t any money coming from anywhere else, and she was very much in need of it.”
O’Neil put out a strong, honest hand and placed it on Randall’s shoulder.
“It ain’t for the likes of me to blame you, son,” he said, an imperceptible trace of moisture in his eye that made him wink. “I don’t say you didn’t do wrong, for you did, and you knew it, but when a man is sorry and honestly says so, and besides has a lonely mother to take care of, then I’m for saying no more about it.”
Randall derived no small comfort from the sailor’s words.
“By the way,” the boatswain’s mate suddenly asked, “where’s that Filipino who nearly caused a free fight in the theatre?”
Randall grinned.
“Turned up missing the night we sailed,” he replied. “I think he swam ashore. There was some talk of going to Manila, and I believe he’s wanted there by the government for some crime, an outlaw probably; he looks the part.”
“Who instigated the theatre row?” O’Neil asked.
“Our chief, Impey. That man can do anything he tries to do,” Randall began, when O’Neil interrupted.
“Anything deceitful and underhanded, you mean,” the sailor exclaimed, with fire in his eyes. “I’d give a month’s pay to be allowed to throttle him.”
“There, that’s finished,” Randall exclaimed as he rose from the tuning device. He put on the head-gear and listened earnestly, moving the pointer back and forward in an endeavor to detect something which would tell him that the receiving circuit was complete. He pushed the buzzer with his finger and remained silent for several minutes afterward. “Just a faint tinkle,” he said finally. “Some one’s talking in Hongkong, probably, but it’s too faint to read.”
O’Neil went to report that all was in shape, while Randall locked up the room and put the key in his pocket.
The “Sylvia” was now near the latitude of Manila, and the lads and O’Neil could hardly resist the temptation to call up the admiral’s ship. Impey hung about them all evening, frequently asking them when they intended giving the admiral a report on the condition of affairs, for at midnight Manila would be only two hundred and fifty miles to the eastward, well within the sending range of the “Sylvia’s” wireless. But the lads would not enlighten him, and at last he became desperate.
“I might as well inform you now as any time,” Phil exclaimed after many appeals, “that I am not going to tell the admiral until the Chinese squadron is anchored where neither nation can find it.”
Impey could not believe his ears. Had the lad gone mad? What was his meaning?
“The Chinese squadron,” Phil added, “is going to sink metaphorically into the earth until all misunderstandings are over, and then like the Phœnix it will rise from its ashes and go to China, where it belongs.”
“But China doesn’t want it. She fears it on account of the internal disorders, and is anxious to be rid of the ships and their cost,” Impey exclaimed.
“Well, she’ll have to keep it until she can find some one anxious to buy,” Phil replied, tantalizingly calm despite the nervous irritability of his listener. “The United States doesn’t really want it, and Japan doesn’t, either; so why force a sale on a nation that is unwilling to buy?”
Impey threw up his hands in angry disgust.
“Do you mean that you have gone back on your compact with me?” he cried in much heat. “After taking my yacht, offered you for this purpose?”
“Mr. Impey,” Phil answered calmly, “I have made you no promise. There is no agreement between you and me; there could be none. You offered the yacht; you outlined a plan. I listened only. On the other hand,” he added, his voice rising in his earnestness, “you promised that you would not interfere with my plans, and you have broken your word. Remember there is a key to your cabin, and as I said before, Marley can look out for two prisoners as readily as one.”
The spy saw that it would only do himself harm to follow further his quarrel with Phil. The lad was obdurate. Impey saw all his work in Japan, stretching over a year, going for naught. It was bitter to contemplate the result, but there seemed no visible relief.
The two days following were entirely uneventful. As Singapore was approached a feeling of dread came over both lads. Suppose, after all, the Chinese squadron should evade them. The “Sylvia” had been unsuccessful in its attempts to talk with them by wireless.
“If their wireless gear is working, they won’t answer,” O’Neil told Phil the evening of the fifth day out, while they were approaching Singapore Straits.
It was just breaking day when the white clustered buildings of the city of Singapore loomed up out of the tropical darkness. As day slowly drew on, the vast shipping in the harbor took shape. The lads and O’Neil eagerly watched while the harbor, like a bud opening to the sun, became slowly revealed to their eager eyes.
“There’s not a man-of-war there!” Phil exclaimed in keen disappointment. “What had we best do—wait here, or intercept them farther down the Straits of Malacca?”
“Excuse me, sir, for making a suggestion,” O’Neil said quietly in Phil’s ear. “I think Mr. Impey would be safer locked up. I don’t like his actions. He approached both Randall and Wells in a roundabout way to sound them out if they’d help him, and he’s been very thick with the dago engineer. It ain’t hard to get a hot bearing on these turbines, I hear. Stop the oil flow and it burns up in five minutes.”
Phil did not hesitate in his decision a moment. He had been awaiting only a corroboration of his own belief as to what should be done with Impey. A disablement at this time would be disastrous. The Chinese squadron might be delayed some days, and meanwhile Japan’s port scouts might appear at any time. Phil had more than feared that they might already be on the scene, awaiting in the straits.
“Will you attend to it, O’Neil,” Phil said at once, “and look into the engineer’s intentions, too?”
Phil held O’Neil in high regard for his ability in handling men. He would soon find out if the engineer were worthy of trust, and if not, O’Neil had a way of intimidation that seemed to take with the rascals he encountered.
The “Sylvia” sped by Singapore and out into the Straits of Malacca. The Americans were eating their noon meal when the joyful news was received that the Chinese squadron was in sight ahead.
The midshipmen, as they stood on the bridge of the yacht, gazing in admiration at these mighty fortresses with their small watchdog destroyers hovering solicitously near, could not repress a thrill of wonder and relief; wonder at their majesty and power, and relief that this priceless prize was not to be the cause of a useless struggle at arms by two friendly nations.
The “Sylvia” approached the Chinese squadron at an incredible speed, and it was only a short time after the Americans had reached the deck before the yacht had gone by the squadron whose dragon flags waved proudly in the bright tropical sunshine, and had turned and glided up to the side of the leading ship.
Signals by the international code had been exchanged, and the Chinese flag-ships had stopped to communicate with the yacht.
A boat was quickly lowered from the “Sylvia” and lay manned at the gangway.
Phil, before entering the boat, went to Takishima’s cabin. He told the crestfallen lieutenant his entire plan and appealed to his fairness to join him and Sydney in this humane enterprise. But Takishima remained unshaken.
“Perry,” he exclaimed earnestly, “my father is a Samurai, and if he had failed as I have, he would have committed hara-kiri ere this; but the modern spirit has made me a coward. Three times I have taken my short dagger to end my worthless life, but each time I have tricked myself into believing that yet I might serve my Emperor. Now all hope is over.”
Phil showed a grave face as he heard these solemn words, and before Takishima could read his intentions had snatched up the sharp dirk from the bunk.
“You must leave me my honor,” his old classmate cried, reaching out appealingly for his dagger, which Phil had quickly passed to the faithful Marley outside.
Phil was in a fever of dread lest the super-sensitive Japanese should put an end to his life, and asked O’Neil to guard him, and then entering the waiting boat he, Sydney and Impey were soon on their way to visit Admiral Ting, the Chinese commander of the squadron. Impey had been released and taken along, for Phil believed that there might be some question raised in regard to the authenticity of the letter from the Wai-Wu-Pu.
They were cordially received at the gangway of the flag-ship by Admiral Ting himself, and escorted to his cabin.
Phil promptly handed him the letter from the Wai-Wu-Pu and as he read in silence, the midshipmen were prepared to see a look of surprised annoyance on his face.
“I knew when we sailed from Suez that my ships were for sale,” he said bitterly, raising his eyes from the letter, “and if China cannot retain these magnificent ships, you will believe me sincere when I say that I am glad that America will own them.” Admiral Ting spoke in perfect English. “There seems nothing for me to do but obey this order. It is from the highest authority of my country and commands me to place myself immediately upon its receipt under the protection of the Americans.”
Impey’s presence had been quite overlooked by the midshipmen. The document was not challenged. There had been therefore no reason to have brought him. How much simpler and certainly with less annoyance if he had been sent to the “Alaska” as he had desired. Now the midshipmen were to seriously regret their blunder.
“Admiral Ting, will you also read this letter?” Impey said, his voice triumphant, while he glared at the discomfited lads, for they at once saw the documents were identical in appearance.
Admiral Ting received the second letter and the surprise the lads had looked for now was only too evident in his face as he read its contents.
“What does this mean? This commands me to place myself under the protection of the Japanese,” he exclaimed, much mystified.
The midshipmen were dumbfounded. A silence had fallen and each looked to the other for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
“I have another letter,” Phil said in a hopeless voice. “Our ambassador gave it to me before we sailed from Japan. It’s from your ambassador there.”
Admiral Ting broke the seal and read.
“But this cannot be called an order,” he said quietly. “It is only advice from an old and trusted friend. He advises me to put myself under the protection of the American fleet in Manila until Japan and the United States can adjust their differences. Unhappily my country is now harassed by a threatened civil war, and the Peking government fears that those opposing the dynasty may seize my ships. They little know our loyalty,” he added with tears in his eyes. “They do not trust us.”
Phil felt the success of his plans was fast slipping away. Impey appeared jubilant.
“That is what I would advise, admiral,” Impey said in an oily voice. “The American admiral will be glad to protect you.”
Phil was hot and cold in turns. To go now to Manila with the ships might mean war, and also there was strong probability of their falling into the hands of the Japanese fleet on the way.