Frank Merriwell in the South Seas

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 disgrace2”

“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 Canton2”

“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 customs2”

“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 business2”

“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 Canton2”

“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, Cap2”

“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 reasons2”

“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 food2”

“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.”