Dave Darrin on the Asiatic Station. Or, Winning Lieutenants' Commissions on the Admiral's Flagship

CHAPTER II – THE TRAGEDY OF THE BAY

“Why did you turn the Englishman down so hard?” asked Danny Grin, as he and Dave sat at the stern of the launch that sped down the river and then out to the naval anchorage in the bay.

“I didn’t,” Darrin replied.

“You shut off his proposal to visit us on board.”

“Dan, didn’t you notice the look that French naval officer gave Pembroke?”

“No.”

“Perhaps you noticed how stiffly the Frenchman stepped away after returning our salutes.”

“I saw that,” said Dan, “and wondered at it.”

“I think the French officer was trying to flag to us an intimation that Pembroke isn’t one who would pass inspection in naval circles.”

“No?” gasped Danny Grin, looking genuinely astonished. “It never struck me that way. He had the appearance and the manners of a gentleman.”

“So has many an international confidence man,” Dave rejoined. “I don’t know a blessed thing against Pembroke, and perhaps the Frenchman doesn’t either. Unless I can find out something definite about the Englishman, I hardly care to be the one to introduce him to our little wardroom crowd.”

“I see,” nodded Dalzell thoughtfully. “You’re right, Dave. One can’t be too careful about his introductions, nor can one very well receive callers on board ship without making them known to the other wardroom fellows.”

After the three battleships on which our young naval officers had served, the “Castoga” did seem small by comparison, although she was a gunboat of comfortable dimensions, with an ample wardroom for the number of officers carried, and with all the ordinary provisions for comfort afloat.

With a crew of one hundred and thirty sailors supplemented by a detachment of thirty marines; with a large enough crew in the engineer’s department, and with nine officers, including a surgeon and a paymaster’s clerk, in addition to three engineer officers, the “Castoga” carried a businesslike complement.

Lieutenant-Commander Tuthill was the commanding officer, with Lieutenant Warden as executive officer. The four watch officers were all ensigns.

After reporting their return to the officer of the deck, Dave and Dan went promptly to their quarters. Here, after bathing, they dressed for dinner, which was due to be served in less than half an hour.

At table, later, Dave told the tale of the robbery that afternoon. Dan added the tale of their meeting with Pembroke, and of that Englishman’s offer to loan them money.

“What kind of fellow is that Pembroke?” asked Lieutenant Warden.

Dave described the Englishman, adding, questioningly:

“Do you know him, sir, or know of him?”

“No,” replied Mr. Warden.

“I thought that Pembroke must be known to a French naval officer who passed us,” continued Darrin, and related that incident, too.

“The Frenchman’s shrug was nothing against the Englishman,” remarked Lieutenant Warden. “It might have been merely instinctive aversion, or it might mean merely that the Frenchman and the Englishman had a dispute in the past, at this or some other port. Otherwise it would be odd indeed to see a Frenchman turn the cold shoulder on an Englishman when their countrymen are standing shoulder to shoulder on the long battle lines in Europe.”

“Surely, if the French officer knew Pembroke to be a gentleman, he would have rushed up and gripped Pembroke’s hand just out of a sentimental feeling for the strong bonds of friendship between France and England in these dark days in Europe,” nodded Dan understandingly.

“Pembroke wanted to come on board, sir,” Ensign Darrin went on, “but I couldn’t help feeling that, before inviting him, I would like to know more about him.”

“Caution of that sort is never amiss,” nodded the executive officer thoughtfully. “By the way, you don’t imagine that there could have been any connection between the thieving Chinese and Mr. Pembroke, do you?”

“Why, I hadn’t thought of it in that way,” Ensign Darrin confessed. “There isn’t usually, is there, much connection between a thief who robs you and a man who offers to lend you a little money?”

“There might be easily,” said Mr. Warden.

“Our last half hour on shore was a puzzle altogether,” Dave went on, after a short pause. “First, we followed that burnt-face Chinaman. Then we ran into a crowd of Chinese who cleaned out our pockets of everything but our watches. And then we met Pembroke, at whom the French officer turned up his nose. I am now actually beginning to wonder if ‘Burnt-face,’ the thieves and Pembroke may not all be links in a chain of mystery.”

“At least Pembroke doesn’t speak or understand the Chinese language,” Dalzell broke in.

“He said he didn’t,” Dave returned. “However, if Pembroke is not a gentleman and a straightforward fellow, it is as easy to believe that he lied as that he spoke the truth.”

“Don’t bother any more about it,” advised Ensign Hale bluffly. “The money is gone. As to the rest of the story, it isn’t worth puzzling your heads over. Your adventure was all grossly material. No such things as mysteries or romances are left in the world – nothing but work.”

“Nevertheless,” smiled Ensign Darrin seriously, “I shall continue to admit myself puzzled until I have succeeded in gathering certain information that I really wish.”

“What kind of information?” asked Hale.

“For instance, I want to know if ‘Burnt-face’ has any connection with the yellow boys who went through our pockets.”

“I think that at least half likely,” replied Ensign Hale gravely.

“And then, next, I want to know,” Darrin went on, “if there is any connection between ‘Burnt-face’ and Pembroke.”

“That is much less likely,” answered Hale.

“Last of all, if Pembroke is in the least shady, I’d like to know something definite about him,” wound up Ensign Dave.

“Go to the Frenchman for that,” advised Hale.

“Thank you; I believe I shall.”

“But what does it matter, Darrin,” asked Lieutenant Warden, “whether Pembroke is all right, or not? You turned him aside from visiting this craft, so what does it matter whether the fellow is a gentleman or the reverse?”

“Because,” replied Dave Darrin, so solemnly that some of his brother officers stared, “I have a premonition that I’m going to meet Pembroke again, and under conditions where I shall be glad to know something definite about the fellow.”

At eight bells in the evening Ensign Dalzell went on duty as officer of the deck. Darrin, aroused in season from a nap, took over the watch at midnight.

“Any orders?” asked Darrin of his chum.

“None, save the usual orders for the safety and security of the ship,” Dalzell replied. Salutes were exchanged, and the former officer of the deck hurried to his quarters.

A marine sentry paced aft, another forward. Six sailormen, including two petty officers, occupied their posts about the deck and on the bridge. Two or three of the engine-room crew were on watch below. The others on board slept, for the night was clear and the gunboat at anchorage half a mile out from the mouth of the Pasig River.

After the first tour of inspection to see that all was snug, Ensign Darrin leaned against the quarter rail, looking out over the water. By this time the sky had clouded somewhat, though the barometer remained stationary, showing that no atmospheric disturbances were to be looked for at present.

The night was so still that nothing but the discipline of trained habit prevented Ensign Darrin from nodding, then falling asleep.

Even as it was, his eyelids drooped almost to the closing point as he leaned there over the rail. But he was not asleep.

After some minutes Dave opened his eyes wider, straightened up and glanced out sharply over the water, on which objects were not now so clearly visible as they had been at midnight.

“That sounded like a paddle,” Darrin told himself, then added, in a low voice:

“Sentry!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the marine, in a low voice, at the same time giving the rifle salute.

“I thought I heard a boat approaching yonder. Keep your eye open for any kind of craft coming near.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

It was Ensign Darrin who discovered a small, outrigger canoe stealing forward in the night. Two seconds later the marine also reported it. Calling the nearest sailor to him, Dave gave him brief, whispered instructions which sent the young man slipping noiselessly forward.

“Shall I hail that craft, sir?” whispered the sentry, standing stiffly beside the young officer.

“Not yet,” Dave rejoined. Both stood there, watching keenly. Few landsmen, on such a night, would have been able to make out so small a craft at such a distance. Those who follow the sea are trained to cat-like vision.

“Sentry,” whispered Dave, “do you make out a second craft, following the first?”

“Just barely sir,” replied the sentry, after a sharp look.

Unless the two small craft changed their courses speedily Darrin knew that he would have to hail them and warn them off. In these piping times of peace in the Philippines, there was nothing very suspicious in two boats coming close to a war vessel at anchor. Still, the two canoes could not be permitted to come up alongside without the occupants first giving an account of themselves.

“It looks like a race,” Dave told himself, as he continued to watch intently. “Jove, I am tempted to believe that the second canoe is trying to overtake the leader. What can it – ”

In the act of bawling an order forward, Ensign Dave Darrin felt his tongue hit the roof of his mouth. For, at this instant, the pursuing canoe ranged up alongside the first.

There was a dim flash of something, accompanied by a yell of unearthly terror.

“Light!” shouted Dave Darrin huskily.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

In a twinkling, the narrow, dazzling beam of one of the forward searchlights shot over the water.

Within three seconds it had picked up the smaller of the canoes. To the watchers from the deck of the gunboat this canoe appeared to be empty.

Then the light shifted enough to pick up the second, larger canoe, now darting shoreward under the impetus of two powerful paddlers.

“Ahoy, there, shorebound boat!” yelled Ensign Darrin lustily. “Lay to and give an account of yourselves!”

The challenged canoe moved on so rapidly as to call for the constant shifting of the searchlight’s beam.

“Lay to, there, or we fire!” bellowed Ensign Darrin over the rippling waters of Manila Bay.

But the canoe made no sign of halting.

“Sentry!”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Take aim and hold it!”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Then again Dave challenged.

“Shorebound boat, third challenge! Lay to, instantly!”

No attention being paid by the two paddlers, Ensign Darrin now gave the sharp order:

“Fire!”

That bullet must have whistled uncomfortably close to the fleeing craft, for on the instant both paddlers rose in the canoe.

“Fire!” commanded Ensign Dave, the second time.

At the sound of the marine’s shot both poised figures sprang overboard from the canoe.

“Shall I fire again, sir?” asked the marine, as the beam of the searchlight continued to play upon the waters where the divers had vanished.

“Not unless you see those men that jumped overboard from that canoe,” replied Ensign Darrin.

Though the searchlight continued to flash further across the water, nothing was seen of the men from the canoe. Indeed, at the distance, the rippling waves might easily conceal a swimmer.

“Pass the word for the boatswain’s mate!” Darrin ordered.

As that petty officer appeared, Darrin ordered him to turn out a boat crew and put one of the boats over the side.

“First investigate the nearer canoe, then the second. Bring them both in alongside. If you see any swimmers in the water, pursue and pick them up.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Still the searchlight continued to play over the waters. The “Castoga’s” small boat ranged alongside the smaller outrigger canoe, and soon had it in tow with a line astern. A minute or two after the second canoe was picked up. A short search was made for swimmers, after which, on signal, the boatswain’s mate turned and headed for the gunboat.

“Ship’s boat ahoy!” Dave called, as the boat and its tows came near.

“Ahoy the deck, sir!”

“Are both canoes empty?” Darrin inquired.

“The first one isn’t, sir,” replied the boatswain’s mate. “There’s a dead Chinaman in it. Head almost cut off; sword work, I should say, sir.”

“Bring both tows alongside,” Dave ordered, with a shiver. “I will communicate with the police.”

After ordering a wireless operator turned out, Ensign Darrin went over the side, down a sea-ladder, to the smaller of the outrigger canoes.

Huddled in a heap in the canoe, was a Chinaman who did not seem to be more than thirty years of age. His head, nearly severed from his body, had fallen forward until it hung close to the dead man’s chest. It was only by turning the head that Ensign Darrin was able to see the face, on which there still lingered a look of terror.

“A Chinese tong-fight or a gang murder,” Dave told himself, in keen disgust.

Then climbing up over the side he sent an orderly to summon the executive officer.

Less than three minutes later Lieutenant Warden, fully dressed, and wearing his sword, walked briskly out upon the quarter-deck.

The executive officer listened intently while Ensign Darrin made his report with conciseness.

“I’ll take a look at the body,” said Mr. Warden, and went down over the side. He came up again, horror written in every line of his face.

“A cowardly killing, Ensign Darrin,” declared the executive officer. “Notify the Manila police by wireless.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Call me again, if I am needed.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The instant Darrin had saluted and Mr. Warden had turned on his heel, Dave, under a light just inside the superstructure, wrote a few words which he signed in his official capacity as officer of the deck. This was sent forward to the waiting wireless operator, who sent the message to a military station on shore, whence the message was telephoned to police headquarters.

Within three minutes the wireless operator, ran aft, saluting, and reported:

“A police launch will put off immediately, and come out, sir.”

Fifteen minutes later a motor launch, flying the police ensign, ranged up alongside the “Castoga.” An American official, accompanied by four Filipino policemen, came on board.

Dave at once narrated what had happened, after which the American police official inspected both canoes and looked at the huddled yellow body.

“This will require investigation, sir,” declared the police official. “I shall tow both canoes ashore, and then the force will get busy.”

“Don’t you wish to send a wireless ashore, urging the police to look out for two swimmers who are likely to attempt to land?” suggested Dave.

“An excellent idea,” replied the police official, and wrote out a despatch which Ensign Darrin sent to the wireless operator forward.

After that the launch chugged away with the two canoes in tow.

Twenty minutes later a wireless message was received aboard the “Castoga,” and immediately the operator brought it aft.

“Native Policeman Rafeta,” Ensign Darrin read, “reports that a Chinese swimmer was observed, by him, to land. The Chinaman reported that his skiff had upset. Native policeman, not being suspicious, reports that he allowed swimmer to proceed on his way. Swimmer is to be identified by a fire-mark on the right cheek under eye.”

“Burnt-face!” gasped Ensign Dave, recoiling slightly. “Then it seems that I was not quit of that fellow when I turned my back on him on the Escolta this afternoon. In what fiendish business can ‘Burnt-face’ be engaged?”

CHAPTER III – MR. PEMBROKE BREAKS IN

On the next day the Manilla police had little of interest to add to the account of the night tragedy on Manilla Bay.

Searching the city, and especially the Chinese quarters, the police had been unable to find any yellow man answering to the description of “Burnt-face.”

Very likely many of the Chinese residents of the city knew the man who was sought, but Chinamen habitually mind their own business, even to the extent of withholding important information from the police. So within two or three days the chase was all but forgotten. The Chinese “tongs” are secret societies that commit killings in all parts of the globe where their people are to be found, and the death of an unknown Chinaman does not provoke the police anywhere to any great zeal in finding the slayer.

Then the “Castoga,” which, for reasons known only to the higher naval authorities, had been anchored half a mile from the mouth of the Pasig, was ordered to new anchorage off the naval station at Cavite.

On board, the officers had ceased to speak of the strange Chinese tragedy of the night; Dave and Dan had well-nigh ceased to think about it.

One afternoon the French gunboat “Revanche” received visitors. Ensigns Darrin, Dalzell and Hale were requested to represent the “Castoga” and did so, going over in the launch.

On board the French boat they found a sprinkling of English and Japanese naval officers. There were also a few officers from the United States Army.

Our American friends were introduced to all present whom they had not previously known. Half an hour later Darrin was inspecting the “Revanche’s” lifeboat equipment under the escort of Lieutenant Brun, of the French Navy, when a superior officer appeared on deck. It was the same officer who had appeared, on shore, to exhibit such marked disapproval of Mr. Pembroke.

“There’s an officer over there to whom I wish you would introduce me,” Dave said to the lieutenant.

“With great pleasure,” replied Brun, “as soon as our turn comes. That is Commander Bertrand, commanding the ‘Revanche.’ All the gentlemen present will be introduced to him now.”

“If you don’t mind,” Dave added, quickly, in French, “I shall be glad to wait until the last, as I should like to have a few words with your commander.”

A group had gathered around Commander Bertrand, who, all smiles and good will, played the host to perfection.

At last Lieutenant Brun led Dave over to be introduced. The introduction accomplished, Brun moved away a short distance.

After the first few polite exchanges had been made on both sides, Dave asked:

“Would you object, sir, to telling me whether you know a Mr. Pembroke, an Englishman?”

“I know that it is a well-known English name,” replied Commander Bertrand, “but personally I know no Englishman of that name.”

“Do you remember seeing Mr. Dalzell and myself with a man in front of the office of the Captain of the Port a few days ago?”

“I recall having passed you,” replied the Frenchman readily.

“That was Mr. Pembroke with whom we were talking.”

“Was it?” inquired the Frenchman politely, as he raised his eyebrows. “Then perhaps I was in error. I felt that I had seen the man before, but at that time his name was Rogers.”

“May I inquire, sir, if you know this man Rogers?”

Commander Bertrand shrugged his shoulders slightly as he asked:

“Is he a friend of yours, Monsieur Darrin?”

“No; but he had presented himself to Mr. Dalzell and me, and then had offered to do us a service.”

“I do not believe that I would trust him,” replied the Frenchman. “I cannot say, positively, that Monsieur Rogers and Monsieur Pembroke are one and the same man, but this I can assure you – that Monsieur Rogers is far from being an honest man.”

Further than that the French officer seemed disinclined to discuss the subject. After a brief chat on other topics Dave thanked the French Commander courteously and moved away. In less than two minutes, however, Dave found a chance to impart this information briefly to Danny Grin.

“Pembroke looks like a good one to dodge,” declared Ensign Dalzell.

“I don’t know,” returned Dave Darrin. “It all hinges on whether he is really the chap who once called himself Rogers. Commander Bertrand declined to be positive that they are one and the same, though for himself, he seems to believe it. However, we are not likely to see Pembroke again. He has made no effort to force himself upon us.”

Not long after that the launch called, and the “Castoga’s” visiting officers started to return to their own craft.

“There is some one waving to us,” declared Dave, staring across the water at the occupants of a small motor boat.

“Why, it looks like Captain Chapin,” returned Dalzell.

“It is Chapin, and that is his sister with him,” returned Dave. “See, she is standing up in the bow to wave her handkerchief to us.”

“Chapin ought not to allow her to stand up in the bow of such a narrow craft,” said Danny Grin. “It’s a risky pose for any one but a veteran sailor. It’s dangerous. She – ”

“By Jove!” burst from Darrin. “There she goes – overboard!”

For a rolling wave, catching the small motor boat under the bow, had rocked the little craft.

Miss Chapin was seen to stagger wildly and then plunge overboard.

“They’ve stopped!” cried Dan. “She doesn’t come up, either!”

“Boatswain’s mate!” rang out Ensign Darrin’s voice sharply to the naval launch alongside. “Put over there at once. Run astern of the motor boat’s position.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” and the naval launch swung briskly around.

“I beg your pardon, Hale, for forgetting that you are ranking officer here,” Dave apologized, keeping his gaze out over the water.

“There’s no apology needed,” returned Ensign Hale. “Our only need is to reach the spot as quickly as possible.”

The motor boat had stopped. Captain Chapin at the first realization of the incident, had leaped up, and now stood scanning the water for the first glimpse of his sister when she would rise to the surface.

So great was the excitement on the naval launch that neither Dave nor Dan really noticed it when another man aboard the motor boat rose more slowly, showing his head for the first time above the gunwale.

As the motor boat put about on her course both Captain Chapin and this other man dived overboard.

“I wonder if they see Miss Chapin yet?” muttered Dave, as the naval launch raced to the scene.

It was speedily apparent that Miss Chapin had not yet been found, for both hatless swimmers swam about uncertainly, going down head first, from time to time, as though to explore the water near the surface.

Then the naval launch plunged into the scene. From it dived three ensigns and two sailors aboard who were not engaged with the handling of the craft.

With seven expert swimmers now in the water, Miss Lucy Chapin stood an excellent chance of being found.

Hardly had the Navy men dived when Captain Chapin’s male companion swam with long overhand strokes away from the rest.

“I see her!” shouted this swimmer, and dived.

“He has her!” panted Dalzell. “Hooray!”

Instantly six swimmers turned and swam toward the rescuer, who now appeared on the surface supporting a woman’s head on his shoulder.

“Good work! Fine!” cheered Dave.

Captain Chapin was the first to reach his sister’s rescuer.

“Is Lucy dead?” cried Chapin anxiously, when he beheld his sister’s white face.

“Stunned,” replied the rescuer. “I think she must have been struck on the head by the boat as it passed her.”

Silently the other swimmers turned in behind the young woman, her rescuer and brother.

“Better bring Miss Chapin to the ‘Castoga’s’ boat, Captain,” Dave called. “It’s larger. We’ll take her directly to the gunboat and have the surgeon attend her.”

The boatswain’s mate ran the naval launch up within easy distance, and Miss Chapin was lifted aboard.