Upon sailing out into the open water the little squadron encountered calm weather and a smooth sea, and as they had taken the outside course it was late at night before the Black Current was left behind. The phosphorescent light danced and played, while the air grew warm and balmy; though Shibusawa since leaving sight of land ventured not so high as a port-hole to enjoy the delights of a summer night on the Eastern seas. In fact, the first relaxation from the excitement of getting off, the swaying of the ship, the warmth of the boilers, and the closeness of the atmosphere combined to make him drowsy, and he crawled forward and hid himself away between great rolls of canvas, where he went fast asleep.

Nor did he after he had awakened attempt to stir from his hiding-place until hunger and thirst had driven him out. Then he came, blindly searching for the one who had undertaken for an advance consideration to “stow” and feed him and his companion until the ship landed at Shanghai, its proposed destination. And when he finally did after much confusion find his provider he was surprised and mortified at the treatment meted him.

“Take that, Indian, and mind y’u that ‘mum is the word’,” said the churlish stoker, as he tossed him an old tin half filled with cold stew, earlier in the day purloined from the mess.

Shibusawa said nothing and took the food, though not without a look of resentment. He did not understand the words, but from the fellow’s gruff manner suspected something of his meaning. Those last words, “mum is the word,” impressed him, and intuitively he felt they in some way related to manner. This he afterwards so thoroughly impressed upon Okyo’s mind that he, doubtful slave, learned no more “European,” but made that much serve his every purpose.

Had Shibusawa been more politic, and accepted the situation as a necessary consequence of his uncongenial surroundings, he might have escaped further insult, but that characteristic look of his gave the big, sooty stoker further occasion to “show off,” whereat he pounced upon him with his big bony hand in such manner as to send his now bewildered charge sprawling over the loose coals, saying, gruffly:

“Ahoy wid y’u! I’ll teach y’u to scud y’r gang. I’ll take a reef in y’r jib, y’u blubberene!”

Shibusawa made no attempt to resist the attack, but consoled himself in the belief that there were others to be found in this strange civilisation that were less impolite. He tried to relish the food, though he could not bear its smell, much less its taste. It was different cooking from any he had ever eaten, and the seasoning—well, it was no worse than the ingredients, which he suspected to be mostly flesh of some kind or another.

“Can these strange people be cannibals? Yes, they must be, else whence did they obtain this greasy stuff?” queried he, as he thought of his own fate.

Shibusawa, however, had not started off entirely unprepared, but upon leaving home had thrust into the folds of his girdle a few handfuls of loose rice and a small skin of fresh water. Now that he was hungry for food that he could eat and water that he could drink he withdrew into a lonely corner and helped himself sparingly. In the matter of clothing he was more fortunate, for early upon his advent he had succeeded in bargaining for a pair of blue overalls and jumper, besides cowhide shoes and a sailor’s cap. For Okyo, he had as yet procured only a shirt and the shoes—the remainder being promised upon their arrival at Shanghai. Thus the day passed, though it was not later than four o’clock when it began suddenly to grow dark.

The air was becoming oppressive and the pressure rapidly dropping. Presently the ship’s men began hurrying here and there under enforced orders, and everywhere about there seemed a hushed, anxious feeling. The barometer now registered 27,077 and the captain took his place on the bridge. The stokers’ shovels rang from below with the rhythm of their merry “he-ho,” and the black clouds of smoke rolled aft in her wake. The boatswain’s hardy voice rose high above the rattling of cordage and the planking of hatchways. The half-hour bell solemnly tolled, and a pall-like stillness settled over all as the storm-centre lowered around them.

A hush, a whirl, a roar—and the suspense was over. The storm had burst, and the typhoon was on. The head-on bell sounded and the grimy funnels belched clouds of sparks, and the ponderous ship hurled a foaming surf and furrowed the angry sea like a demon waging a last defence. The fire flashed and the heavens roared and rumbled, while every man braced himself at his post. Sea after sea lashed and drove upon her decks. Her cabins creaked and her beams trembled. The breathless lurches, the awful plunges, the terrific pounding, all told of her mighty battle for life and of the uncertainty of man’s contention with the mad fury of the elements.

In the midst of the awful storm Shibusawa became deathly sick, and made a desperate effort to gain the upper deck. Several times he had been discovered and as often beaten back, but the want of fresh air and the uncertainty of his position each time impelled him to further effort. At last he succeeded in reaching the open hatchway, and watching his chance slipped by and clambered upon the open deck. Here the wind caught him up and hurled him along the slippery plank and headlong aft, where he lodged in a tangled mass of dÉbris. A lone boatswain caught him from going overboard, and in the hurry and excitement lashed him to a life raft which had been swept up by the last wave. The hardy fellow had barely covered his own safety when another high sea caught the ship abaft her starboard bow and swept over her deck like a monstrous tidal wave.

“Man overboard!” cried the boatswain, as Shibusawa and his life raft disappeared behind the tumbling, heaving, jagged mountain, that rolled, and moaned, and foamed in the distance.

His voice was lost in the din of wind and rain that swept down from the bridge above.

“All under deck and make fast your hatchway!” shouted the captain, as the quartermaster tugged at the helm’s tangled gear.

“We must throw her into the trough of the sea, mate, else we are lost,” continued he, as the disabled apparatus failed to steer, and a swelling, growling sea came speeding on.

A crash, a splash, and a shiver—and the big ship lay as if stunned, and debating whether after all life is worth the trial. Then slowly she began to rise, and the terrible suspense was over. Caged and fearful men were now assured of her determination to survive, and they loved and praised and trusted her. There was no longer any doubt, but every soul would have pledged his life that she would win the battle. Rising again she rolled to starboard, as if bantering her oncoming assailant for the second trial. This one, larger, though calmer than the first, took her amidship and heaved her over on her port side; then as if unmindful rolled on and over the submerged ship. Not a man lost his courage as she sank and sank, and seemed to go farther and farther toward the ghoulish bottom, but with each faint feeling there came a responsive voice that rang with certainty:

“She’ll win, boys; just give her time.”

Presently she sank no more, but rested, as if satisfied to venture no farther. Then she raised a little, then more, and still more, until at last she leaped upon the surface and bounded about like a cork on the water. She had won, and the third wave pushed her down, and dropped her broadside into the trough of the sea. There she lay, and tossed at the water’s will until the morning of the second day, when the typhoon had passed and the seas were again calm.

Shibusawa’s disappearance was lamented by none but two. When cast adrift he was so blinded by the spray and drenched with water that he could neither see nor hear. Fortunately his frail raft did not capsize but remained right side up, and he clung fast with a tenacity possessed only by one who is in the very jaws of horrible death. He was a good swimmer and accustomed to the water, else he might not have fared even so well as not to have been washed away.

All night long he drifted in the darkness, not knowing where he was or just how he came to be there. He knew nothing of such conditions and had never heard of a similar circumstance, yet instinct told him how best to make use of the slender means at hand; necessity moved him to do so. The wind blew and the seas lashed. He did not cry out, nor did he lose courage, for he had resolved to meet his fate like a man. Day came and passed and he was still alone. Toward night the wind had gone down, and he could relax his hold and ease his tired arms and numb limbs. He quenched his thirst a bit from the skin of water, which he still carried, and then ate sparingly of the rice in his pocket. As the gloom began to turn into darkness he for the last time stretched himself and looked around, but could see nothing except perilous waters. For many long hours he nerved himself to the task, and not until the sun rose the next morning did he succumb to the terrible exhaustion. Then he sank down and saw no more, but dreamed of Kinsan and of the rescue that soon would save him from a watery grave.

It was about three o’clock of that afternoon when the Fair Puget, a lumber schooner from Puget Sound, hove into sight on her return trip from Shanghai, where she had recently discharged a cargo of timber. The trim little ship was sailing under a fair wind and the veteran captain, Thomas N. Thompson, was at the wheel.

“Come here, Jack,” said he to his lone mate, as he knocked the ashes from a rusty box-elder pipe, which he jammed into his grey trousers hip pocket. “Try the glasses on yon bit of drift, Jack, and see if y’u c’n make out the like of it.”

Jack took the long, brass-trimmed, rust-stained glasses and adjusted them to his widely set eyes, threw his shoulders back and his middle forward, and squinted with first one eye, then the other. Presently he lowered the glasses and with much deliberation drew from his washed-out overalls pocket a long plug of navy, from which he calmly bit a huge quid. He then raised the glasses a second time, taking great pains as he did so to re-adjust and fit them to the importance of the occasion. After several times shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he lowered the glasses and placed his arms akimbo and said in an offhand manner:

“I don’t see nothin’. I guess it’s a log’r two adrift. Glad we don’t have to reef in—she’s makin’ a deuced good eight knots now, and I don’t see no let up ahe’d.”

“S’p’osin’ you give me a spell here’t the wheel, Jack, and let me take a squint on’t. Somehow I feel it in my bones—feel’t there’s something more’n drift in that bunch,” said Tom N., as he was familiarly called over at the Blakely Mills, where he had been getting charters since the first cargo left its port.

“All right, cap’n. You’re the judge, and I’m not objectin’, so long as we don’t have to heave to. It ’u’d be a tarnation pity to spile this beautiful head on—you know we’re already short on time. That whirler was a corker, wan’t she, cap’n?” said the easygoing fellow, as he spattered the deck with fresh tobacco juice and toyed with the wheel, which stood loosely wound at his side.

“Jack,” said the captain, presently, with a feeling of great satisfaction, “there’s something besides ‘still life’ in that heap, if I’m not mightily mistaken. See that school of shark round there?”

“Are y’u sure them’s not dog fish, cap’n?” queried the pretending mate, who was still anxious to make good use of a favourable wind, if not to avoid hauling in the sails.

“Yep; they’re shark, sure enough,” continued the captain, now more certain than ever. “I guess we’ll have to haul to, mate. It won’t do to pass somethin’ in distress—not so long as Tom N. is the poop sheik of a gig sloop. Not on your life, mate! And who knows but one of us’ll be the very next to man a like un’?”

“Well, I s’pose it’s the order, then?” said Jack, gloomily. “I’ll bet, though, it’s nothin’ more’n a ‘Jap,’ even if we do heave to.”

Jack lost no time in putting the men to work, and, as usual, when he went at it in earnest the thing was soon done. The little three-master was brought to, not far distant from the floating drift, which now plainly disclosed the form of a man. The excitement began to grow intense, and Jack’s ponderous voice could have been heard for miles around as he and two trustys jumped into the lifeboat and yelled:

“Swing to the davits and let go your blocks!” Thereafter no time was lost in getting the shipwrecked man on board, and in applying the necessary restoratives; though it was some time before Shibusawa fully recovered consciousness, and when he did so they were again under full sail for Port Blakely, Washington.