At the Fall of Port Arthur: or, A Young American in the Japanese Navy

"I know what I am doing, men," he said, quickly but firmly. "He is a scoundrel and a spell in the brig will do him good. After this I reckon you'll find the grub all right."

"I no like – " began Peterson, once more.

"You shut up, Peterson, or I'll put you in the brig with Semmel," cut in the captain, and Peterson fell back with the rest, but with a brow that was dark and distrustful.

By this time Larry had returned with the handcuffs and despite the resistance he offered, Ostag Semmel was made a prisoner. Then the first and the second mates led him to the schooner's brig, – a narrow, V-shaped room in the bow of the boat, usually used for storing lanterns and oil. The smell in the closet – for it was nothing else – was far from pleasant, and a day in the brig usually made a prisoner repent and promise to do better.

"I mak trouble for dis!" growled Semmel, as the door was closed and bolted on him. "I mak trouble, yes! You got no right to do dis, no!"

"And you haven't any right to doctor the grub," answered Larry, and then he and Grandon walked away.

"That fellow is a first-class villain, to my way of reasoning," was the first mate's comment. "I believe he'd do almost anything to get square for this."

After Ostag Semmel had been placed in the brig Captain Ponsberry called all hands to him once more and related what Luke and Larry had seen. The stew was inspected, but nothing suspicious could be seen about it.

"If any of you want to try that stew you may do so," said the captain. "Of course, if Semmel didn't touch it there can be nothing in it that can hurt you." But all, even to Peterson, declined to even taste the food. It was one thing to think Semmel innocent but quite another to run the risk of being made sick or poisoned. In the end the stew was dumped overboard and Jeff prepared an entirely new dinner for all hands.

"You must keep close watch on all of the men," said the captain to Larry and Grandon, when quietness had been restored. "Semmel was the worst of the lot, but I do not like the way Peterson and one or two others are acting."

"I don't see what they can do," answered Larry.

"They might start a mutiny," came from the first mate.

"Would they dare go as far as that?"

"Sometimes sailors get strange notions, and the old Harry himself can't stop them," said Captain Ponsberry. "A thing that in itself doesn't amount to much will start them off, and they'll imagine that everything is going wrong. When I was a lad, on board the Mary Eliza, Captain Snapper, we had a mutiny just because the coffee wasn't right."

"Yes, and I can remember that they had a mutiny on the old brig Chesterfield because Captain Roe's wife brought a cross-eyed yellow cat on board," added Grandon. "Not a man would hoist a sail until that feline was put ashore. And when, two months later, the brig lost her foremast in a gale, the sailors said it was on account of that same cat, she having scratched the mast before she was taken away!"

"Well, I hope we don't have a mutiny," said Larry. "I'd like to suggest something, Captain Ponsberry," he went on, to the master of the Columbia.

"Fire ahead, Larry."

"You know we can trust Luke Striker. Why not have him report just what the other hands are doing?"

"That's an idea, and I will act on it. Yes, I'd trust Striker as quick as I'd trust you. If there is to be trouble we certainly want to know of it as soon as possible," concluded the captain.

CHAPTER VI

THE FIGHT FOR THE SHIP

The day to follow was Sunday, and contrary to expectations, it passed quietly. As there was hardly any wind, the old Columbia made slow progress, and the sailors had little or nothing to do. As was his usual habit, Larry read his Bible, and Captain Ponsberry held a short church service, which less than half the crew attended.

"It's plain to see that the men are sulky," said Tom Grandon, towards evening. "We are certain to hear something from them shortly."

Luke had been told to report anything unusual, but it was not until after dark that he sought out Captain Ponsberry.

"I ain't got much to say," said the old tar. "But to my mind Peterson, Groot, and Shamhaven are doin' a powerful lot of confabbin'. More'n that, I saw Peterson cleaning up a pistol he's got."

"Are any of the other hands armed?"

"I ain't seen no other shootin'-irons," answered Luke.

The captain had expected to interview Semmel once more, but found the fellow so surly he gave up the attempt. As the brig was so hot and uncomfortable, the master of the schooner had the door fixed so it could be left open several inches, with a chain at the bolt to keep it from going further.

At four o'clock Monday morning Peterson came on duty, followed by Shamhaven and some others. All made their way to the bow and began to talk in a low but earnest fashion. Then Peterson went below, to where Semmel was still confined in the brig.

"We are ready to move now," said he, in Russian. "What do you think?"

"Let me out and I will show you what I think," growled Ostag Semmel. "The captain is a dog – and Grandon and Russell are dogs, too!"

Peterson was prepared to unlock the chain which held the brig door and did so. Then he handed a pistol to the Russian.

"The captain and Russell are in their staterooms," said Peterson. "Only Grandon is on deck, with Vincent and with the men we can trust to help us."

"We can't trust Vincent."

"I know that."

"Where is Striker?"

"Asleep in his berth."

But on this score Carl Peterson was mistaken. Luke had pretended to go to sleep, but he was now in a corner on deck, watching with keen eyes all that was occurring. Presently he saw Semmel in company with Peterson hurry towards the bow, and he felt that the time for action had arrived.

"Hi, Mr. Grandon!" he called out, running up to the first mate.

"What is it, Striker?"

"They've released Semmel and they are arming themselves."

"You don't say!" Tom Grandon was stunned for the instant. "Tell the captain and Russell of this at once!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Rushing down the companionway, Luke entered the cabin and knocked on the door of Captain Ponsberry's stateroom.

"Wake up, captain!" he called, loudly. "Wake up! There is going to be trouble putty quick, to my way o' thinkin'!"

"What has gone wrong now?" demanded the master of the Columbia, as he hurried into his clothes and armed himself. "Where is Grandon?"

"On deck; he sent me to tell you. They have set Semmel free and some of 'em are arming themselves."

"A mutiny!" roared Captain Ponsberry. "Striker, you'll stand by me, of course?"

"That I will, sir – to the end."

"Good. I know Vincent will do the same. Do you know anything about the others?"

"I think you can count on Jeff the cook."

"What of Wilbur?"

"He's so weak-kneed I don't know what he'll do," answered Striker.

By this time Larry was out of his stateroom. With his door ajar he had heard all that had been said.

"Oh, Luke, do you think they'll try to seize the ship?" he gasped.

"Don't know what they'll do. They're a plumb crazy lot," growled the old tar. "It was a mistake to take such fellers as Semmel and Peterson and Shamhaven aboard."

"That is true, but when Devine and Larson got sick and went to the hospital at Manila I had to get somebody," answered Captain Ponsberry. He brought out several pistols. "Here, Larry, take one of these, and a cutlass, too, and you, Striker, can arm yourself likewise."

There was no time to answer, for the master of the schooner was already striding through the cabin in the direction of the companionway. An instant later came a yell from the deck, followed by heavy footsteps and then the report of a pistol.

"Drive dem to de cabin!" came in the voice of Semmel. "Drive dem along, kvick!" And then followed another yell and the sounds of half a dozen blows.

"Below there!" came in Tom Grandon's voice. "Help! help!"

"I'm coming!" called up Captain Ponsberry.

"Don't you dare to step on deck, captain!" yelled down the voice of Shamhaven. "Don't you dare to do it!" And the sailor appeared, pistol in hand, at the top of the companionway.

"Shamhaven, what does this mean?" demanded the master of the Columbia.

"It means that we have taken possession of the ship, that's what it means," came from Groot.

"Of you come up here, you maybe git killed," put in Ostag Semmel. "You stay down dare, you hear?" And then, as the captain started to mount the stairs, he threw down a belaying pin. In the semi-darkness the captain did not see the object, and it struck him on the top of the head, rendering him partly unconscious.

Larry and Luke were close behind their leader and both were alarmed to see him go down, uttering a deep groan as he did so.

"Is he killed?" questioned the young second mate.

"I don't know," was the old tar's response. "Shall we go up?"

"Keep back there!" was the call from above. "Put a step on those stairs and it will be the worse for you!"

At that moment came a cry from Cal Vincent. The boatswain had been attacked from behind and was given no chance to defend himself. Then came a roar from Jeff, who came rushing toward the companionway as if all the demons of the deep were behind him.

"Sabe me! sabe me!" he screamed. "Da is gwine to pirate de ship! Sabe me!" And then he came plunging down headlong, directly on top of Larry, Luke, and the prostrate captain.

This unexpected coming of Jeff sent the young second mate and the old tar flat on Captain Ponsberry, and for the moment there was a struggle all around. In the meantime some sailors on the deck began to drag a heavy hatch toward the stairs. Soon this was placed in position, and then those below were virtually prisoners.

"Oh my, sabe me!" groaned Jeff once more, as he managed to get on his feet in the cabin, followed by Larry and Luke. "Don't you let dem swing me from de yardarm!"

"Jeff, where are Grandon and Vincent?" demanded Larry.

"I dunno, sah – dead, I guess," answered the cook. "Oh, dis am de awfulest t'ing wot I eber heard tell ob!" he added, woefully, and wrung his hands.

The lantern in the cabin was turned up and Larry gave his attention once more to Captain Ponsberry, who was now opening his eyes.

"Oh, my head!" came with a shiver. "My head!"

"I'm glad they didn't kill you," said Larry, kindly. "Luke, help me carry him into the cabin. We'll put him on the couch."

This was done, and they did what they could to make the master of the schooner comfortable. But it was a good half-hour before Captain Ponsberry could sit up and do any rational thinking.

On deck all had become suddenly quiet. Occasionally those below could hear a footstep near the companionway, showing that one or more of the mutineers were on guard. The hatch shut off the view on deck, and the windows in the ceiling of the cabin were also boarded over from the outside.

"They have us like rats in a trap," said Larry, bitterly.

"And for all we know Vincent and Grandon are both dead," returned Luke Striker, soberly. "I must say, lad, we seem to be in a bad way and no mistake."

"Dey'll throw us overboard, I know dey will!" groaned Jeff, who was almost white with terror. "I neber see sech goin's-on in all ma life!"

To fight the mutineers further was, just then, out of the question, and Larry turned his attention again to Captain Ponsberry. At last the captain seemed fully to comprehend what had occurred. He once more moved toward the companionway, pistol in hand.

"You can't get out that way, sir," said Larry. "They have placed the fore hatch over the stairs."

"And they are armed, too," put in Luke. "Be careful, sir, or they'll shoot you down."

"And this on my own ship!" came bitterly from the master of the Columbia. "That is what I get for treating the dogs better than they deserve. Where are Grandon and Vincent?"

"Either shot down or taken prisoners. They called for help, and that was the last we heard of them."

"And are all the others in this dastardly plot?"

"I reckon they are," answered Luke. "Them foreigners, Semmel an' Peterson, must have stirred 'em up powerfully."

Still weak from the blow received, Captain Ponsberry sank down once more on the cabin couch. There was a lump as big as a walnut on the top of his head, and he had Jeff bathe it with water and then with witch-hazel, which made it a trifle more comfortable.

A short while later came a sudden wild song from the deck of the schooner, followed by a clinking of glasses.

"They are treating themselves to grog," said Luke. "I suppose, now they have the run of things, they'll drink all they want of the stuff."

"More than likely," returned the captain. "Well, it is their turn just now – perhaps before long it will be my turn!" And he smiled significantly.

CHAPTER VII

THE MUTINEERS IN POSSESSION

As my old readers know, both Captain Ponsberry and Luke Striker were Yankees to the backbone, and it galled them exceedingly to see the schooner in the hands of a number of mutineers, and especially foreigners.

"We've got to git the ship back, no two ways on it," growled the old tar. "Captain, I'm willin' to fight to the end, if ye give the word."

"And I'll fight, too," said Larry, promptly.

"Don't you go fo' to fight dem rascallions!" whined Jeff. "Yo' will all be killed suah!"

"I would like to know what has become of Grandon and Vincent," came from Captain Ponsberry. "As we stand now, we are but four to seven or eight. If we could get Grandon and Vincent to aid us we would be six against them."

"Perhaps all the hands are not in the mutiny," suggested Larry. "Why not try to sound them?"

"I was thinking of doing that."

A little later Captain Ponsberry called up the companionway. At first nobody paid any attention to him, but presently the hatch was shoved aside a few inches and Ostag Semmel looked down. Behind him was Shamhaven.

"Semmel, what does this mean?" asked the captain, as calmly as he could.

"It means dat ve haf de ship," replied the Russian, with a grin.

"You are carrying matters with a very high hand. Where are Grandon and Vincent?"

"I not tell you dat."

"We had a right to mutiny," said Shamhaven. "The grub wasn't fit to eat and was getting worse every day."

"That's a tale gotten up for the occasion, Shamhaven, and you know it. Semmel doctored the food to make you dissatisfied."

"Well, we don't think so," grumbled the sailor. "I don't think so, and Groot and the others don't either."

"Has Jack Wilbur joined you?"

"Certainly he has," was Shamhaven's ready reply, but his look belied his words.

"Ve are all pount to stick togedder," said Semmel. "You might as vell gif up – der sooner der petter for you!"

"I don't propose to give up, you rascal."

"Ton't you call me a rascals, no!" shouted Ostag Semmel. "I vos now der captains, yes, do you hear? Captain Semmel!"

"Bosh!" put in Luke Striker, in disgust. "Why ye ain't fit to be the skipper 'f a canal-boat!"

"If you try to navigate the ship you'll sink her on the rocks," put in Larry.

"You had better consider what you are doing, Shamhaven," went on the master of the Columbia. "Remember, if I regain possession of the schooner I can make it go hard with you."

"You no get dare schooner again, not much!" came from Peterson, who had just come up, followed by Jack Wilbur.

"Wilbur, are you in this?" demanded the captain. "If you are, I must confess I didn't think it of you."

"I ain't goin' to eat poor grub," answered Wilbur, lamely.

"The grub is all right and you know it. It was doctored up by Semmel, and I – "

"You stop dat talk!" roared Semmel, and then he added: "Maybe you gif in after you are goot an' hungry, hey?"

"What, do you want to starve us out?" cried Larry.

"You see – chust vait!" answered the Russian, and with this the hatch was again put in place and the conference came to an end.

Captain Ponsberry was fairly boiling with wrath, but even so he realized that prudence is often the better part of valor.

"There is no use of trying a rush to the deck," he said. "Those rascals would surely shoot us down. Just now some of them are in the humor for anything."

"Perhaps we can do something to-night," suggested Larry.

"They talk about starving us out," said Luke. "Ain't there nothin' to eat here?"

An inspection was made of the cabin pantry, which brought to light some preserves, some pickles, a pot of cheese, and a tin of fancy crackers.

"About enough for one meal," said Captain Ponsberry, grimly.

"And a pretty slim one at that," added Larry. "But I say, captain," he added, suddenly, "isn't there a door leading from the back of the pantry down into the hold?"

"There was once – but I had it nailed up years ago, for we never used it."

"If we can open that, we might get something from the hold."

"Going to eat machinery?" demanded Luke.

"No – canned goods, Luke; I know Jeff had some placed there, for he didn't have room in his store-room."

"Dat am a fac'," put in the cook. "I'se got lots ob t'ings in dat dar hold."

"Then that settles the starving question," said Captain Ponsberry. "I've got a small saw and a hammer down here somewhere. We can use them on the door."

"And that gives me another idea," went on Larry. "The hatch covering over the companionway belongs to the fore hatch. If we can reach that opening from here, why can't we steal on deck when we get the chance and try to make the mutineers prisoners?"

"Eureka!" shouted Luke. "That's the talk, Larry. Fer your years you've got a wonderfully long head on ye. We'll make 'em prisoners or chuck 'em overboard!"

"The idea is worth considering," said the captain. "But we must be careful."

A search was made and the hammer, small saw, and also a chisel were found. Then they cleaned out the pantry, took down several shelves, and thus uncovered the small door which had been nailed up.

"Don't make any noise, or they'll suspect that we are up to something," said Captain Ponsberry.

"Let Jeff rattle some dishes," said Larry, and while he and Luke worked on the door, the cook began to handle the dishes in such a rough manner that several were broken. He also tried to sing a couple of verses of his favorite song, "My Gal Susannah!" but his voice was so shaky that the effort was, artistically, a failure, although it added to the noise, which was all that was desired.

"They're pretty happy down there," said Wilbur to Shamhaven, as he listened to the sounds.

"Oh, they're putting on a front," growled Shamhaven. "They'll sing a different tune when their stomachs are empty."

"I don't know about this mutiny," went on the weak-kneed sailor, nervously.

"Oh, it's all right and you needn't to worry, Wilbur. If we stick together we'll make a couple of thousand apiece out of this game."

"But what shall we do if we fall in with a Russian warship?"

"Semmel has that all fixed. He'll expose the captain and state that the Columbia is carrying a cargo for the Japanese Government, and that he took possession in the name of the Czar. With this war on they won't ask too many questions so long as they can give the Japs a black eye."

"I see. But supposing we fall in with a Japanese warship?"

"Then Semmel is going to turn the command over to me and I'll tell them that the cargo was really meant for the Japanese Government but that Captain Ponsberry, just before we left Manila, sold out to the Russian agents and was going to Vladivostok. I'll add that we refused to go to the Russian port after signing for Nagasaki, and all of the men can back me up. That will put the captain and his friends in limbo and give us some prize money. Oh, we'll come out ahead, don't you worry," concluded Shamhaven, confidently.

The day passed slowly and the mutineers held several meetings, to settle upon just what they were going to do. But all had been drinking more than was good for them and the conferences ended in nothing but talk. Semmel was the accepted leader, but it was plain to see that Shamhaven objected strongly to playing a secondary part, and Peterson also wanted a large "finger in the pie."

As they worked with care, it was a good hour and a half before Larry and Luke managed to take down the door leading into the hold. Even when this was done they found on the other side several heavy cases of machinery almost impossible to budge.

"We can pry those out of the way," said the captain.

"A foot or so will do it," returned Larry. "Then I think I can crawl over the top."

They continued the work, and a little later the young second mate was able to squeeze his way to the top of the cargo in that vicinity.

"Be careful, Larry," warned the captain. "If a case should shift with the ship you might get a crushed leg. You had better take a candle along."

"I will, sir."

Luke was as anxious to get into the hold as the young second mate, and he too squeezed his tall, lank form through the opening. Guided by the faint light of the candle, they crawled over a number of cases of machinery and war goods until they drew close to the middle of the ship.

"Here we are!" cried Larry, in a low voice, and pointed to some cases of canned goods. "Beans, corn, tomatoes, salt pork, condensed milk – we won't starve just yet, Luke."

"An' here are some barrels o' flour," added the old tar. "No, they can't starve us nohow now."

They had brought the chisel and hammer along, and with extra caution opened some of the cases. Taking with them all the goods they could carry, they returned to the cabin.

"This is splendid!" cried Captain Ponsberry. "With this stuff on hand we can hold the cabin indefinitely."

"How is I gwine to cook?" questioned Jeff.

"Over the two lanterns, Jeff. It will be slow work, but our time is our own. Luckily there are pots and tins in the pantry."

"All right, sah."

"Of course, I am hoping that we shall not have to stay here long," went on the captain. "But it is best to be prepared."

That those on deck might not see the cooking going on, one of the staterooms was cleaned out and Jeff went to work in this. In the meantime Semmel called down the companionway once more.

"Are you gettin' hungry?" he asked.

"Tell him yes," whispered Larry.

"Why?" questioned the captain, in an equally low tone.

"Then he'll think we are getting ready to come to terms and he won't watch us so closely."

"I see." Captain Ponsberry raised his voice. "Yes, we are hungry," he called up. "What are you going to send us, something good?"

"Ve send noddings. Maybe you talk business soon, hey?" continued the rascally Russian.

"Perhaps."

"How soon?"

"Well, perhaps to-morrow morning."

"Not before dot, hey?"

"No."

"All right den; you can go on an' starve so long!" growled Ostag Semmel, and went away. A moment later he met Shamhaven.

"What did he say?" asked the latter, anxiously.

"He comes to terms to-morrow!" answered the Russian, triumphantly.

CHAPTER VIII

TURNING THE TABLES

The meal which Jeff prepared put all in the cabin in better humor, and as soon as it was over a council of war was held.

It was decided to wait until darkness had set in, and then try to gain the deck of the ship by way of the fore hatch. In the meantime the door to the companionway was to be locked and barred, so that the mutineers could not attack them very well from that direction, should a running fight ensue.

As Jeff would be of no use in a struggle he was delegated to remain in the cabin, to make as much noise as possible, singing and talking to himself, so that the mutineers might not suspect what was taking place.

Each member of the party armed himself both with a pistol and a cutlass, and Larry led the way as before, candle in hand. It was easy for Luke to follow him, but rather difficult for the captain, who was more portly.

"Reckon as how ye shouldn't have eaten so much, captain," chuckled the old tar, as he helped Captain Ponsberry through a particularly narrow place.

"True, Striker," was the answer. "But you be careful that you don't slip into some slit between the cases and go out of sight."