Raxworthy felt inclined to agree with his companion on that point. If the junk were sunk—and a six-pounder shell accurately placed would do the trick neatly and easily—they wouldn’t stand a dog’s chance, bound hand and foot as they were. Not that that mattered compared with the greater issue. Even if their limbs were free they were imprisoned in a stuffy box-like compartment below the water-line.
“Look here,” exclaimed the midshipman, raising his voice to make himself heard above the terrific din on deck, “we may just as well get rid of these lashings—just in case.”
Working in pitch-black darkness the midshipman succeeded in freeing the doctor from his bonds. Then, with hands at liberty, the latter quickly performed a like service to his companion.
By this time Raxworthy began to have doubts concerning the appearance of a destroyer. By various ominous sounds he knew that the junk was being hit again and again by small-arms projectiles—probably rifle and machine-gun bullets. A destroyer would have kept beyond range of such weapons and settled the argument with a warning shell across the junk’s bows and then, if that failed to bring about the desired effect, she would send the junk’s masts by the board. If that didn’t make the pirate surrender, sterner measures would be taken.
But the craft engaging the junk did none of these things. She was within easy musketry range. Raxworthy was aware of this, because he could hear above the shouts of defiance the ever-increasing cries and groans of the wounded.
“They’re going it hot and strong,” observed the doctor.
“We’re safe enough here.”
“From bullets—yes; but how about it if the junk’s sent to the bottom?”
“She isn’t yet,” replied Raxworthy. “She doesn’t appear to be leaking. We’d hear the water pouring in if she were.”
“All the same, I’d rather be on deck. Never did like being shut up in the dark. Why, I don’t know. Probably I had a fright when I was a child. . . . What are you doing?”
“Having a grope round just to get my bearings,” replied the midshipman. “Ough!”
“What is it?”
“Bumped my head on the same place as I got that whack.”
“One would,” rejoined the doctor. “It’s the perversity of things. If you bark your shin, for example, you’ll probably knock it half a dozen times in as many days. Go slow.”
“This seems to be a sort of bo’sun’s store,” declared Raxworthy. “There are coils of rope and—good!—here’s an axe.”
“You don’t propose to set about me with it, do you?”
“So far, the possibility hasn’t occurred to me.”
“I hope it won’t; but why this jubilation over a chopper?”
The midshipman made no reply. He hardly knew why, but grasping the helve of the axe seemed to give him renewed confidence. In the back of his mind he had an idea that the axe would come in useful.
The two prisoners listened in silence to the din of conflict without. Raxworthy felt convinced that the pirate junk was in action with a rival gang, and the two unwieldy vessels were closing. Probably the newcomers were getting the best of it, and were about to decide the day by carrying the junk by boarding.
If so, how would the change of fortune affect the two prisoners?
Suddenly Raxworthy’s thoughts were interrupted by a terrific roar accompanied by a deafening concussion. The for’ard bulkhead of the flat seemed to bulge inward. The deck heaved under them.
Then, amid the crash of shattering timber, the junk—or what was left of her, turned completely upside down.
The pirates, faced with massacre at the hands of their rivals, had blown up the magazine.
Although the ammunition in the magazine had been greatly depleted during the fight, the explosion was sufficient to destroy every man on deck who had so far escaped death by the bullet. It was not, however, sufficiently powerful to blow the junk to smithereens. The force of the detonation was localized, with the result that the junk was rent asunder amidships.
The bow portion remained floating and only just awash, while twenty feet or so of the stern remained bottom upwards and was prevented from sinking by air trapped in what was once the “run aft” of the junk.
And in this confined space, partly stupefied by the concussion, were Raxworthy and his companion in misfortune.
The midshipman had been in more than one tight corner, but the stark horror and uncertainty of the situation froze the blood in his veins. He knew that the junk—or what remained of her—had capsized and that the doctor and he had survived the explosion. But whether their prison was still afloat or slowly sinking to the bed of the sea, he knew not. He imagined what would happen if it were sinking. Sooner or later the as yet watertight planks would collapse under the enormous pressure. Death would come swiftly when it did, but before it did there was that agonizing suspense, waiting in utter darkness for the end.
After a little while the midshipman grew calmer. He became aware of the “lift” of his prison. Obviously the upturned portion of the junk still remained afloat.
Then his sense of hearing reasserted itself; the concussion had temporarily deafened him.
He heard voices. He strained his ears to listen.
Some craft nearby were being propelled by oars. Boats from the victorious junk were looking for survivors, not with the object of saving life, but that of making assurance doubly sure, according to piratical standards. The men in the boats were talking loudly in Chinese. That dispelled Raxworthy’s faint hopes that the destroyer of the pirate junk was a British or a Japanese warship.
“Good heavens! What’s happened?” ejaculated his companion.
“Ssh!” cautioned the midshipman. “We’re all serene so far. Don’t make a noise, or we’ll be out of the frying-pan into the fire.”
“What do you mean?”
“The rival gang’s rowing round to see what’s worth saving,” explained Raxworthy. “If they don’t trouble to break a hole in this chunk of wreckage it’ll keep afloat. They’ll push off soon, I expect; and then we can cut our way out. It’s lucky I found that axe.”
The two conversed in low tones, occasionally pausing to listen to noises from without.
Once one of the victorious pirates prodded the keel with an oar. The noise sounded almost deafening in the confined space. Then, after an animated discussion amongst her crew, the boat rowed away.
Raxworthy had lost all count of time; but at the end of what he judged to be two hours, hearing no ominous sounds outside, he decided that the time for action was at hand.
He realized that they would have to proceed cautiously. If the wreckage were kept afloat by the air trapped in the compartment in which they were imprisoned, the moment the planking was cut through the remains of the junk would sink—and sink before they had time to enlarge the hole sufficiently for them to make their way through.
He hadn’t the faintest idea where the new water-line was. If the wreckage were almost awash the position would be pretty hopeless, since it would be a superhuman task to hack through the massive kelson and keel of the junk, which was now the highest part left of her.
Another disturbing thought flashed across the midshipman’s mind. Supposing the liberated Ah-Foo had got into touch with a British destroyer—and the latter had steamed hard in pursuit of the pirate junk? She’d probably sight the large piece of floating wreckage and would shell it as a danger to navigation. The risks of enemy action Raxworthy was prepared to face. It was part of his profession; but he drew the line at being blown to pieces by a unit of the Royal Navy!