Chapter XVII: The Cargo

"Where are we, Captain Yin?" Kin–Fo asked after the danger was all over.

"I hardly know," replied the captain, who had quite recovered his jovial looks.

"Are we in the Gulf of Pe–Chi–Li?"

"Not unlikely."

"Or do you think we have been driven into the Gulf of Leao–Tong?"

"Very probably."

"Where, then, are we going to land?"

"Just where the wind takes us."

"When?"

"That's more than I can tell you."

Kin–Fo was beginning to lose his temper. "A true Chinaman always knows his whereabouts," he said, quoting a Chinese proverb.

"Ah! That means on land, not at sea!" answered the captain, grinning from ear to ear.

"I don't see anything to laugh at," said Kin–Fo impatiently.

"Nor do I see anything to cry at," retorted Yin.

It might be true that there was nothing really alarming in the situation, but it was quite obvious that the captain did not know where he was; without a compass he had no means of judging in what direction his ship had been driven by the tempest, during which the wind had been blowing from such different quarters, and while, with her sails furled and her helm useless, she had been the mere plaything of the hurricane.

But whether the junk had been carried into one gulf or the other, there could be no hesitation now about the necessity of putting her head to the west; ultimately, land must be sighted in that direction. Had it been in his power, the captain would forthwith have hoisted sail and followed the sun, which was once more shining, though only faintly; but there was not a breath of wind; the typhoon had been succeeded by a dead calm; not a ripple played upon the smooth undulations that just lifted up the vessel and allowed her to sink again without moving her a foot forward. A heavy vapor hung over the sea, and the general aspect was in striking contrast to the commotion of the previous night. It was one of those calms locally known as "white calms."

"And how long is this going to last?" said Kin–Fo.

"No telling," replied the captain with perfect composure; "at this season of the year calms sometimes continue for weeks."

"Weeks!" repeated Kin–Fo; "do you suppose I am to stay here for weeks?"

"No help for it, my dear sir, unless by good luck we can manage to get taken in tow."

"Confound the junk! What a fool I was to be caught coming on board!"

"Will you allow me to offer you two little bits of advice? Be like other folks, and don't grumble at the weather which you can't alter; and, secondly, do as I am going to do; go to bed and get some comfortable sleep."

And with a philosophy that was worthy of Wang himself, the captain retired to his cabin, leaving only a few men on deck.

For the next quarter of an hour Kin–Fo paced backward and forward, drumming his fingers upon his folded arms; then, casting a glance at the desolate scene around, he made up his mind to go to his cabin, and left the deck without saying a word to Craig and Fry, who had been lounging meanwhile against the taffrail, not speaking a word to each other, but no doubt holding mutual intercourse by silent sympathy. They had heard all that passed between Kin–Fo and the captain, but to say the truth, they really were not concerned at the delay which was giving so much annoyance to the young man; if they were losing anything in time, they were gaining in security, for as long as Kin–Fo was on board the Sam–Yep, was he not free from any chance of being attacked by Lao–Shen? Moreover, the period of their engagement and consequently of their responsibility was close at hand; two days more and a whole band of Tai–pings might assail him, and it would not be their duty to risk a hair of their heads to protect him. Practical Yankees as they were, they were devoted to the client of the Centenarian so long as he represented the sum of 200,000 dollars; they would be utterly indifferent when that interest lapsed.

Under these circumstances there was nothing to prevent them from sitting down to their luncheon with a capital appetite. The food was excellent; they partook of the same dishes, consumed the same quantities of bread and the same number of slices of meat; they drank Bidulph's health in the same number of glasses of wine, and afterward smoked precisely the same number of cigarettes. If not by birth, they were Siamese twins in taste and habit.

The day passed on without incident or accident; there was still the "woolly" sky; still the smooth sea; and nothing to disturb the general monotony.

Toward four o'clock in the afternoon, poor Soun made his appearance on deck. He reeled, he staggered as if he were drunk, though probably he had never in all his life been so abstemious before. His complexion was blue and green, verging to yellow; probably when he got on shore again it would be as usual, orange; when he was angry he would flush into crimson, and thus in a very short period his countenance would have exhibited all the colors of the rainbow.

Keeping his eyes half–closed, and not daring to look beyond the bulwarks, he stumbled up to Craig and Fry, and said, "Are we nearly there?"

"No," they answered.

"Not nearly?"

"No."

"Ai ai ya!" he moaned, and flung himself down at the foot of the mast, wriggling as if in convulsions, which made his miserable little queue shake like a puppy's tail.

Earlier in the day Captain Yin had given orders, very prudently, for the hatchways to be opened that the sun might dry up the water that during the typhoon had been shipped into the hold. Craig and Fry had been promenading the deck, repeatedly pausing and looking down through the middle hatchway, until at last, prompted by curiosity, they agreed to go below.

Except just where the light was admitted from above, the hold was very dark; but after a short time the eye grew accustomed to the obscurity, and it was quite possible to distinguish the way in which the singular cargo had been stowed. The hold was not divided, as in most junks, into partitions, but was open from end to end, and the whole of it appropriated to this strange consignment, the crew having to find their berths forward. Piled up one upon another, and arrayed on both sides, were the seventy–five coffins bound for Foo–Ning, all fastened quite securely so as to prevent any oscillation that might imperil the ship, a passage being left along the middle, the end of which, remote from the hatchway, was sunk in gloom.

Craig and Fry walked silently and softly, as though they were treading the floor of a mausoleum. There was something of awe mingling with their curiosity. The coffins were of all sizes, a small proportion of them being costly and elaborate, the generality perfectly plain. Of the emigrants whom necessity drives across the Pacific, it is very few that make a fortune or realize a competency in the diggings of California, or in the mines of Nevada and Colorado; nearly all die as impoverished as they went out; but all, whatever their wealth or poverty, are without exception and with equal care brought back to their native land.

About ten of the coffins were made of valuable wood adorned with all the richness that Chinese fancy could devise; but the rest were merely four planks with ends, put together in the roughest manner and painted yellow; every one of them bore the name and address of its tenant, and as Craig and Fry passed along they kept on reading such names as Lien–Foo of Yun–Ping–Fu, Nan–Loon of Foo–Ning, and remarked that there seemed no confusion; every corpse could be conveyed to its destination to await in field, in orchard, or in plain, its ultimate interment in Chinese soil.

"Well packed!" whispered Craig.

"Well packed!" whispered Fry.

They spoke calmly as they would about a consignment of ordinary goods from San Francisco or New York.

Having proceeded to the farther end of the passage where it was most gloomy, they turned and looked along the avenue of that temporary cemetery toward the light; they were on the point of returning, when a slight sound attracted their attention. "A rat!" they said.

"I should think a rat would prefer a cargo of rice," said Craig.

"Or of maize," added Fry.

The noise continued. It was like a scratching with nails or claws. It was on the starboard side, and came from about the level of their heads; consequently from the upper tier of coffins.

The men hissed as they would to scare away a rat. Still the scratching went on. They listened with bated breath. Evidently the sound came from inside one of the coffins.

"Some Chinaman buried before he was dead," said Craig.

"And just come to life again," continued Fry.

They went close up to the coffin, and laid their hands upon it; it did not admit of a doubt that there was movement within. "This means mischief!" they muttered.

The same idea had simultaneously occurred to them both, that a new danger was threatening the client in their charge.

Raising their hands, they could feel that the lid of the coffin was being gently lifted up. With the most perfect composure they waited to see what would follow next. They did not make a movement. It was too dark for them to distinguish anything plainly, but they were not mistaken in thinking they saw a coffin lid slowly opening on the larboard side.

A whisper was next heard. A whisper followed in reply.

"Is that you, Cono?"

"Is that you, Fa–Kien?"

"Is it to be to–night?"

"Yes, to–night."

"Before the moon rises?"

"Yes, in the second watch."

"Do the others know?"

"They have all been told."

"I shall be glad to get out of this."

"Ay, so shall we all."

"Thirty–six hours in a coffin is no joke!"

"You are right."

"But Lao–Shen ordered it."

"Hush, hush! What's that?"

The last exclamation was caused by Craig and Fry making an involuntary movement at the mention of Lao–Shen; but they did not speak nor move again.

There was a slight pause, after which the coffin–lids gently closed themselves again, and there was complete silence.

Stealthily on hands and knees, Craig and Fry made their way back through the hatchway on to the deck, and in a moment were locked in their own cabin, where they could converse without risk of being overheard.

"Dead men who talk—" began Craig.

"Are not dead yet," concluded Fry.

The mere mentioning of Lao–Shen's name under these somewhat ghastly circumstances had been enough to reveal the whole truth. It was evident that the Tai–ping had employed some agents who had found their way on board, and it did not admit of much doubt that they had only succeeded by the connivance of the captain. The coffins had been disembarked from the American ships, and had, had to remain for a day or two to await the arrival of the Sam–Yep, and during that time a number of them had been broken open, the corpses removed, and their places supplied by the confederates of Lao–Shen. How it had transpired that Kin–Fo was among the passengers of the Sam–Yep was a mystery they could not explain; but they recollected that they had noticed suspicious characters on board from the time of embarkation, and acknowledged that it would be a thing discreditable to themselves if, after all, the office they represented should lose the two hundred thousand dollars at stake.

They were not the men to lose their presence of mind; they were facing a grave and unexpected emergency; there was not much time in which to form their plans; the deed was to be done before the second watch; there was not much scope for deliberation; there was only one conclusion to be arrived at— before the second watch Kin–Fo must be away from the junk.

How the escape was to be made was a question more easy to ask than to answer. The only boat belonging to the ship was a cumbrous craft that it would take the whole crew to lower to the water, and if the captain were an accomplice in the plot, the crew could not be enlisted to lend a helping hand. The project of using the boat had to be abandoned.

Seven o'clock, and the captain was still in his cabin. Was it not likely he was only waiting in solitude until the appointed time had passed, and the deed was done? The junk was floating adrift; there was no watch, why should there be? A sailor, all alone, was slumbering in the bows. If only the appliances were at hand, the opportunity for escape was complete. Had they been anxious to get away from a fire–ship, they scarcely could have been more excited. A thought struck them; there was not a moment to spare to discuss it; it must be put into execution now, at once.

Opening the door of Kin–Fo's cabin, they touched him gently; he was fast asleep; they touched him again.

"What do you want with me?" he said.

They told him as concisely as they could all the facts; he did not seem at all alarmed; he pondered a moment, and asked, "Why not throw the rascals overboard?"

"That is quite out of the question," they replied. "There are too many against us."

"Then are we to do nothing?" said Kin–Fo.

"Do as we tell you," answered Craig; "we have made our plans."

"Let me hear," said Kin–Fo, in some surprise.

"Take this dress; ask no questions; put it on, and be ready!"

The men opened a parcel they had brought with them. It contained four sets of the swimming apparatus just invented by Captain Boyton. They gave a set to Kin–Fo, saying, "We have more for ourselves, and one for Soun."

"Go and fetch Soun," he bade them.

And Soun was brought in, looking as if he were suffering from an attack of paralysis.

"You are to put this on," said his master.

But Soun was incapable of helping himself, and while he kept on moaning, "Ai ai ya," the others contrived to drag him into the waterproof attire.

Eight o'clock, and they were all equipped; they looked like four great seals just going to plunge into the frozen waters, although it must be owned that Soun was almost too flabby in his condition to be compared to so lithe a creature.

The junk continued to float in absolute stillness upon the unruffled sea; Craig and Fry opened one of the portholes of the cabin, and quietly dropped Soun down without more ado. Kin–Fo cautiously followed; Craig and Fry only stayed to make sure that they had provided themselves with all the necessary appurtenances, and plunged in after them.

So quiet were all their movements that no one on board was aware that four of the passengers had quitted the Sam–Yep.