Meanwhile, the party had adopted Mr. Temple's suggestion and retired to his cabin. The conversation now was directed by the older man into a consideration of the possibilities. If they were to make an attempt to capture the ship, he declared, it was vitally necessary to their plans to know something of the composition of the crew and the physical aspect of the vessel itself.
Frank, Mr. Temple believed, seemed to have won Matt Murphy's regard to some extent by his breezy manner. To him, therefore, was delegated the delicate task of sounding Murphy in an effort to learn how strongly he was attached to "Black George."
"Be careful, however, not to give him any indication of what we have in mind," warned Mr. Temple. "If you report that you saw any sign in Murphy's words or manner that we could construe favorably, why then, I'll have a talk with the man if possible."
It was Mr. Temple's thought that he might appeal to the cupidity of Matt Murphy by the offer of a substantial reward and to his fear by letting him know how close upon his leader's trail were the officers of the government.
Like many well-laid plans, however, this was to come to naught. All that day the barometer acted queerly and Matt Murphy kept the deck. And at nightfall, after a growing mugginess that made it almost unbearably hot below deck, the sky which had been growing steely, as they could see from their cabin portholes, became entirely overcast. Soon the entire patch of sky visible from the portholes was black as ink, and had it not been for the switching on of the lights by a Chinese attendant sent down by Matt Murphy it would have been similarly black in the cabin.
"Isn't a storm in this part of the ocean at this time of year unusual, Dad?" asked Bob. "I understood never a storm occurred along the California Coast between June and late September."
"Yes, Bob, it is unusual," answered his father, occupied in reading a sea story which he had found on a shelf of books in the salon. "Listen.
What's that?"
CHAPTER XII
A STORM AT SEA
A sound as of a vast drum being beaten, a drum bigger and more sonorous than anything ever conceived of, suddenly filled the salon. The walls seemed to quiver. So great was the noise, so shattering, that all put their hands to their ears, as if their very eardrums were threatened.
The boys and Mr. Temple who were alone, looked at each other in alarm.
The next moment the trawler, which until then had been riding on even keel, heeled far over, so far, indeed, that it seemed as if she could not right herself. Caught off guard the boys were tossed against the doors of their cabins and bruised badly by the impact. Then slowly, like a swimmer coming to the surface after a dive, the ship righted herself only to begin a tossing motion that was frightful.
"First the rain," shouted Mr. Temple, who by clutching the table had maintained his equilibrium, "and now the wind. That's all."
The door of the companionway was thrust back rudely, admitting a cascade of water that washed across the floor and the reeling form of Matt Murphy. His head hung low and there was that in his attitude which told Frank, the most sensitive of the boys, that he was in trouble. Frank sprang to his assistance.
"Good boy," said Murphy, thickly. "Shut the door or the whole Pacific Ocean will be in here."
Frank slammed the watertight door and then turned to Murphy. His companions also had gathered around. Murphy grasped the table with his left hand. The right arm hung useless.
"Me arm's broke I guess," he said. "Git that doctor out o' the Big Boss's room. Calls himself a doctor, anyhow."
Frank hastened to pound on the door of "Black George's" cabin. At first there was no answer. Then a weak voice began to curse, the sounds barely audible to Frank above the roar of the storm.
He was uncertain what to do and turned to appeal to Murphy. The latter, reeling and clutching the table, interpreted his action aright.
"Open the door," he said.
Frank complied.
On a tumbled berth lay the form of "Black George," with head bandaged, recumbent, relaxed, breathing heavily. In a corner on the floor, as if tossed there by the action of the ship, half lay, half crouched a little fat man with gray hair and ragged gray mustache. As Frank opened the door he looked up, through bleared eyes, ceased mumbling and stared in fright.
"Don't take me, Mr. Devil. Please don't take me," he pleaded piteously.
Frank was thrust aside by Matt Murphy, who had come to investigate.
Despite his broken arm, which must have been giving him great pain, the latter advanced to the cowering form in the corner.
"Why, you're not even drunk," he said, after a moment's scrutiny. "I believe you're just scared. Come. Out wit' ye."
Seizing the other's collar with his sound arm Murphy started to drag him into the salon. It was the boy's first sight of the man taking care of "Black George." Since they had come aboard he had not left the cabin to their knowledge. Chinese servants had taken his food to him. For that matter, they had seen nobody in authority except Matt Murphy. First mate? Second mate? Engineer? If the vessel owned them, at least they had not been seen.
Now the frightened little fat man grasped Murphy by a leg and almost pulled him to the floor. He babbled incoherently. Murphy tugged at him a moment, then tossed him back into his corner in disgust and started to withdraw. His eyes fell on the still form of "Black George." He stooped over him, raised his eyelids, let them fall, and with an oath of disgust quit the cabin for the main salon, slamming the door behind him.
Dispiritedly, he slumped against the table.
"Master down an' out wit' drugs," he said. "That's what comes av association' wit' these Chinee people. You get to be a dopefiend. An'
doctor so scared he's av no use. Uh."
Frank advanced.
"Look here, Mr. Murphy," he said. "If your arm's hurt, let us examine it. Bob here is a pretty good hand at rough surgical work. He took a course in first-aid, so he could help out in football accidents at school."
Murphy looked up hopefully.
"That so? Well, have a luk, lad. Here"-addressing Frank-"ye'll find bandages an' splints an' iodine in that cabinet in my cabin. Go an' git 'em. An' bring me that bottle o' licker ye'll find there, too. I nade somethin' to put sperrit in me this night."
One long pull he took at the bottle of liquor, then ordered Frank to take it away, after Mr. Temple had declined his offer of a drink.
"One's enough," he said. "I've got work to do an' must kape my head. Now lad"-extending his arm and addressing Bob-"go ahead."
Murphy was without a coat, and Bob's first move was to cut away the left sleeve of his flannel shirt. Deftly Bob worked, aided now and then by his companions, while Murphy sat without a groan throughout the whole operation. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. At the end, however, his arm was neatly and stoutly bound in splints and lashed across his chest.
"That's wan I owe you, boys," he said, when the operation was completed.
"Matt Murphy don't forgit. Now I'll be on me way to the bridge, or that Chinee at the wheel will be droppin' away from the wind an' there'll be the Divil to pay."
As he rose to his feet and started for the door, Frank intervened.
"Won't you let me come up to have a look around, Mr. Murphy?" he begged.
"I will not," said Matt Murphy, violently. "Don't ye know why I kept ye below all day? 'Tis because the Chinees have it in for ye for half-killin' Wong Ho. There's only two I kin trust an' them's the wans as cooks for ye an' serves the food. Stay where ye are an' be safe."
With that he opened the door, reeled back before the force of the wind and the swirling gray hail of rain, then lowered his head and charged through, pulling the door to behind him.
"So that explains why we've been kept below here," said Mr. Temple thoughtfully. "Well, the prospect if we fall into the hands of the Chinese crew doesn't look pleasant."
"I've heard," said Jack, "that the Chinese idolize certain leaders, and will go to any lengths to obtain revenge for injury to them."
Mr. Temple nodded.
"Nevertheless," he said, hopefully, "this man Murphy seems a pretty good sort, rough as he is. He'll do his best to protect us."
"Yes," declared Frank, "it seemed to me tonight that he was beginning to regret being a party to our captivity. He doesn't want us to fall into the hands of the Chinamen. And he's disgusted, too, with his employer.
Maybe, we'll get him on our side yet."