"No loafing around the ship," I called to the little yellow chap who was sitting near the spring line which held the schooner Tanner to the wharf at Honolulu. The man paid not the slightest attention to me.

"Hey, there, sonny! Move out! Beat it; make a getaway, you savvy?" I bawled in a louder tone.

Then he arose, and instead of a young fellow I was amazed to find him at least ten years older than myself—and I had been a ship's officer some years. He walked slowly to the vessel's side, and gazed up at me where I stood near the break of the poop, holding to a backstay.She was a modern, short-poop schooner. The sallow little man was not a Chinaman, nor of Kanaka breed, but a full-blooded Japanese. He was stout, strong, yellow of skin, and his black hair was too long for his country's custom, sticking out from under the rim of a brown derby that had seen its best days. His eyes were slitlike, keen little eyes, but there was nothing repulsive in them. They attracted me. For one thing, he had an open frankness, an honest and fearless look, and his face was sad.

"What you doin' on the dock, Togi?" I asked, eying him humorously.

"If your august presence will listen, I'll tell you," he answered easily.

"Sure, Michael, let her go, and don't mind my gigantic—er—august self," I sniggered.

"In the first place," he said, "I'm not sonny, being, if your honorable temper allows, a man of forty. If fine schooner says so, I go with you as far as Tokyo. There I am the humble cousin of the Honorable Baron Komuri, son of a Samurai, under the former emperor. I should like indeed to sail with you, and will——" Here he stopped a moment, hesitating.

"Go on, king, old man; don't let anything stop you from telling your yarn. Sing it out, and I'll listen if it breaks a bone."

"No, no; not king, old man; just Mister Komuri—if your presence allows me to correct. Your humble servant is but a plain man. Better be plain man than dead lion, as your excellent books say. I accept plain man, and go that way if so ship says."

"We are not going to Tokyo, but if you see the skipper he'll take you clear to Manila for a hundred or two yen. You savvy him yen. Must pay, you know."

"Ah, that is of what I wish to tell your honorable self. Allow me to make myself so humble to tell I have not the yen you ask. I have not anything——"

"Nothing doing, kiddo; on your way," I said remorselessly.

"But I sit on dock end waiting——"

"Waiting for what?"

"Waiting for two hundred yen to fly up and knock me dead. I wait and no yen fly up to strike me on the cranium. Now I go with fine ship, and work like plain man."

"You have a sense of humor, king," said I, "and sink me if I don't try to get you a job wrastling the dishes aft. How about it? Can you sling the pots—are you a number-one pot-wrastler?"

"I never wrastle; a little jujutsu sometimes when necessary for take care, but I work at anything your august self tells. If honorable commander tells me to wrastle pots, I try him so. I pretty good with sword or short knife——"

"Not so fast, king; this isn't a man-of-war; no fighting here. All the fracasing done here is done by my august self and the other mate, Mr. Bill Slade, both, as you say, honorable men, and some hustlers when it comes right down to handling cloth in a blow. What I want—honorable ship wants—is a man to give the eats aft—savvy? Bring in the hash from honorable cook in galley—see? Set dish on table, wash dish off table. You know."

"But I am soldier—son of Samurai. I do not like dishwork; but if no other way, I do mean work to get to Tokyo," he said sadly.

"You're on," I hastened to say. "You're on, king, but in the future you will be known as Koko. Savvy?"

"As Mister Komuri," he interrupted, with a look from those slits of eyes that called my attention.

"No misters aboard here but my honorable self and mate. Rules of honorable ship, you know. Sorry, but august skipper has discipline, and you are soldier. You savvy? We'll compromise on Komuri. How's that—just plain Komuri, steward, hash boy, hey?"

"Your august self, yes; to common men, Mister Komuri, yes."

"Get aboard, then," I said. "Go forward to the galley. The cook—that big Kanaka there—he'll give you the line. In the meantime I'll square it with the boss."

Mister Komuri sprang over the rail, and made his way as directed. It was easy to see that he had been in ships before, as what Japanese hasn't, since they are a race of seamen.

Our new member took hold without further orders, and I saw him not again until the land was well astern, and we were on our way to Guam, with forty-seven chink coolies below, and two lady passengers aft.

This was the second part of our run, the first being from Frisco, where we had shipped the coolies under the leadership of their gigantic foreman, who had tried to take the ship and landed in jail for his pains. The few thousand dollars we now carried in the safe aft was not worthy of anxiety in regard to protection. Our voyage promised to be uneventful.

Among our crew were two new hands we had shipped at Honolulu to help run the ship, also to take care of the Chinese we carried. Our experience with the coolies had taught us that being short-handed was not either good or safe. Our arms were now ready, being, as they were, riot guns full of buckshot, and reliable six-shooters of heavy caliber. This going out with nearly half a hundred Chinks with but three men in a watch was all right if the Chinks were good, but we had found they were not to be trusted. With the leader of the uprising in jail for murder, and his lieutenant killed, we hoped for an easy life.

We now had four men in watch, with the engineer for the ever-ready steam winch bunking in his engine house with banked fires and enough steam always ready to handle line. We were really carrying a full crew for a schooner, and the expense of the engine was extra, there being now enough men to handle her canvas easily without the aid of the winches.

One of the new men was a strange-looking fellow, who was neither dago nor Dutchman. Just what he was I don't know, except that he was crafty, watchful, and dodged all work possible. He had a way of looking at you with eyes that seemed to fathom your inmost thoughts, an affected way of appearing to understand, and his peculiar silences gave support to the look. It deceived the old man.

It deceived both Slade and myself at first, but afterward we grew more discerning, peered deeper into his meaning, and saw—nothing. He was just a petty, crafty sea lawyer who was looking for trouble to carry back to the coast, where they love to get masters and mates mixed up in courts for some violation of the shipping articles.

This fellow's name was Dodd—Alfred Dodd—and he was called Alf by his shipmates. Komuri seemed to sense danger the moment he jostled the seaman in the gangway the first day out. I heard the row from the deck, and it was short.

"Hey, Jack," yelled Dodd to the regular steward we had signed on in Frisco, "Jack, you seem to belong to the nobility now—can't hand a man a pot of coffee during the mid-watch no more, hey? Let the king do it."

"Not king; just plain Mister Komuri," purred our little helper, as he grinned.

"What's the matter?" asked Dodd. "Don't four-flush at your title, hey?"

"Aw, give us rest," said Jack, who was good-natured and liked the little yellow man, for Komuri did all his work now, and there was no comeback.

"I don't know if honorable sailor means wrong by four-flush," said Komuri quietly, "but if he does the finger of Fate will point at him."

"Wow! Fate will point at me! What der you think o' that?" sneered Dodd. "Let's hope you ain't Fate, sonny, or I might p'int my own fair hand at you in return."

"If honorable seaman will step out to the fore end of ship I'll show him just what a son of Samurai means. It will take short time."

"Sure, king; I'll go you that explanation, all right. Come right along while the watch are getting their whack. No one will notice us."

Komuri jumped like a tiger without warning. He sprang upon the fellow, and had a strangle hold of his wrist, and twisted over his neck until I thought he was getting killed. I had to stop laughing to run up and stop the fracas. Dodd was sweating with pain, and cursing furiously, absolutely helpless. It was so quickly done that I wondered at it. Of course, a strong man might grab the small fellow and jerk him out of his shoes, but that was not Dodd.

"Drop it!" I commanded, and the second steward let go at once, smiling. "Now, get below, and quit this fooling," said I, and the sailor waited for no further orders. "You can show me some of your tricks, you Japanese juggler, when we have more time," I said to the little man. "You interest me considerable. Get to the hash, and don't waste time with a fool like that."

Of course, it might be expected that a man of Komuri's parts would be gallant, for it seems always the case when a man is able and unafraid that he is sure to love with more passion than discernment. Komuri was not an exception.

Not being at the first table with the passengers, I had small opportunity to see how he treated Miss MacDonald, but from what Slade told me I was concerned. The small chap was always in attendance upon the ladies when they were on deck. He was politeness itself, and he busied himself with all kinds of little efforts to make them more comfortable than they were.

"If honorable ladies will allow, I fix the rugs in chairs," he would say, and although the weather was tropical, a rug made a softer seat when they took the air on deck, which they did nearly all daytime while we ran our westing down beneath the tropic of Cancer.

With a good full month or six weeks before us, and a fair wind on the starboard quarter all the time, we had a stretch of water to cross that put one in mind of steamers. The ship ran steadily day and night at about from eight to ten knots an hour. We seldom touched a sheet or halyard except to set it up, and the gentle heeling with the trade swell made the voyage seem like a yachting trip.

Komuri had much time to devote to the comfort of the ladies, and the elder one seemed to like him very much indeed. He told them stories of the warlike Samurai, and honor and self-respect stood out plainly in them all. It was not a bad thing, except that he always seemed to be something of a hero, and no steward either second or first should be such a thing where there are seamen around waiting for the job.

"I have always believed that you heathen were very able people," said Miss Aline, "and if you were treated properly you would be just as gentle and tractable as the European races."

"Heathen," said Komuri calmly, "are those who do not accept your own honorable views. Who knows which is right? It is a word we never use in Japan."

She looked at him a moment, and said: "You are quite incorrigible. I hope you are not really bad, after all."

"Honorable lady must see by how I do—not how I talk; she judge humble self most true. Her heart right," said the Japanese, which I thought was going some for a second steward, especially when I remembered how Slade stood, or wished to stand, in a certain quarter. I thought it best to let the humble steward see he was going far enough.

"Say, king, old man," I interrupted, "Jack wants you to get busy with the potatoes for dinner. He's waiting for the peelings."

Komuri nodded to me respectfully.

"At once, august mate, I go," he said, and went.

"Quite a superior steward, that Japanese boy," said the elder lady to me.

"Oh, he's a wonder, all right," I assented; "but his place is in the galley, and not on the quarter-deck—if I may be allowed to speak of it."

"And I do hope you will treat him kindly—not as you did the Chinese man who went bad," said Miss Aline.

"No fear of it—not the king. He wouldn't stand roughing—and don't call for it. You see, while he goes with the Chinks altogether too much for their own good, and talks altogether too much for his own, he is not a Chinaman. Oh, no; he is far removed from the coolie Chinks, as far as the skipper himself. He's just a plain little fighting man, that a good-sized mate like myself could bite in two; but I know him—just what he'd do."

"Why, what?" asked Miss Aline.

"I'd hate to tell you," I grinned.

"You may be a good seaman, but you're somewhat stupid," said Miss Aline, and I laughed outright at her humor.

"What do you think of this fine weather?" asked her aunt to change the conversation.

"It's good as it goes, but it's the hurricane season, and we can't count on it lasting all the way, you know," I said. "Maybe we'll hook right into a typhoon before——"

"Oh, you always want something rough, something bad," put in Miss Aline. "I never saw such a man. Why do you always look for trouble? Don't you find it often enough without hunting it always?"

"Sure as eggs," I said; "but I'm only telling you what I believe, what the signs show me. I'm not trying to frighten you at all."

"I think you are perfectly horrid," said the young woman.

"I hope I'm wrong, at least," I answered. But as I scanned the perfect sky I felt that indeed I was trespassing upon the feelings of the passengers too much, in spite of the fact that I had a mercury glass to observe in Slade's room.

The coolies came on deck in the daytime now, and sat in rows along the waterways, eating their rice and chewing some sort of stuff to fill in the interval between meals. They chattered a lot, and appeared not to feel abashed at their former behavior.

At these times the old man would come on deck—it being about the time he'd take the noon sight—and gaze down at them dismally. He hated Chinks, and their presence in his ship was more than he could get used to.

"What good are Chinks, anyway?" he would say.

"Somebody's got to do the work in hot countries, and you can't always get the blacks. They are just like mules, carabao buffalo, or jacks. They'll work on ten cents a day and get fat; they don't know any better," I'd tell him.

But he would shake his old, shaggy head and mutter:

"What good, what good, anyway?"

As a matter of fact, they did no harm aboard besides befouling the air of the alleyways with their eternal opium smoking. They had nothing at all to do with the men forward, and the only person who appeared to be able to hold intercourse with them was Komuri. He understood their lingo or singsong way of telling it, and he would talk to them for hours during the evening after the supper things were washed up, and Jack, the steward, had turned in.

I was a bit suspicious of this, for I don't like men of the after guard to be intimate with either the crew or the passengers. It starts something before long, and the voyage across the Pacific is a long one if nothing else. Slade commented upon the Japanese often, and he rather disliked our little second steward for his untiring efforts in behalf of the ladies. Slade was a jealous man, although he was a seaman from clew to earing, and his attentions to Miss Aline were more and more marked as the schooner sped on her course.

"Why shouldn't I get married?" he used to say to me when we had a chance to be together, which was seldom enough. "Why shouldn't I get a wife, and take up the simple life of the farmer? I've been through all the hardness of seagoing, and I'm tired of it. What is a man, after all, if he sticks to it? He gets to be a skipper of some blamed hooker that'll make him a couple of thousand a year when he is too old to enjoy spending it. Then he loses her, maybe, and then where is he? A fit subject, for the sailors' home. No, I'm going to marry that woman and get a berth ashore. You watch me."

Of course, I encouraged him all I thought necessary. I even grinned at times when I thought of the picture he would make as a husband of a woman like Miss Aline MacDonald—after he had been on the beach for a year or two.

And so we ran our westing down, and drew near the one hundred and sixtieth meridian to the northward of the Marshall Islands. Here the trade failed us for a wonder, and began to get fitful and squally. At times it would come with a rush, and then die away altogether, the squalls being accompanied by rain. A mighty swell began to heave in from the southeast diagonally across the trade swell, and it lumped up some, heaving the schooner over and rolling her down to her bearings when the wind failed to hold her.

The glass fell, and the air became sultry, the sun glowing like a ball of red copper in the hazy atmosphere. The squall clouds grew heavier, and when the sun shone between them it sent long rays, fan-shaped, through the mist.

The old man came on deck, and viewed the sea with a critical eye. It was nearly eight bells, and Slade was on watch. I came out and watched them take the sun for meridian altitude—both of them sometimes did this together—and when the bells struck off, Slade came down from the poop, and joined me on the main deck.

"What'd you make of the weather, old man?" he asked.

"Looks dirty to me; glass falling and the hot squalls coming from that quarter—whew! Look at it!"As I spoke a huge roller swept under the schooner, lifting her skyward, and then dropping her slowly down the side. It was an enormous sea—a hill of water full forty feet high—and it rolled like a living mountain, a mighty mass that made nothing of the trade swell, and told of some tremendous power behind it.

The sea ran swiftly, with a quick, live feeling. As sure as death there was awful wind somewhere in that peaceful ocean, driving with immense force and resistless power.

Slade looked askance at the topsails. As he gazed the old man sang out from aft:

"Clew up the topsails and roll them up snug. Put extra gaskets on them!"

Then came the main and mizzen along with the outer jibs, and by the time the watch had their dinner we were close reefing the mizzen and taking the bonnet out of the foresail.

Miss Aline was on deck, as the sudden motion was so extraordinary that to remain below meant to be seasick. Her aunt came up from a hasty meal, and clung to the poop rail and watched us work.

"Oh, those gallant men!" she murmured to her niece. "See how they climb like monkeys upon that awful sail. Romantic heroes! Yes, Aline, they are wonderful, and the way that officer talks to them is a revelation. Just hear him."

I was at that moment holding forth to a couple of squareheads upon the evident virtues of passing reef points properly, and I may have slipped my etiquette a bit, for my language was such that I was almost persuaded to follow it with action. But I had heard enough. I stopped. The men went on lazily, growling at the work.

"Reefing a ship in a dead calm," grumbled one, "ten minutes for the eats, and then we'll loose these here p'ints out ag'in, and take the sail to the winch."

I was too angry to hear more. Here was an old lady putting me queer with men who ought to know better than talk when they were expected to hurry. At least they should not criticize their officers.

"Get along, you Scandaluvian sons of Haman! Get those points in lively, or the squall'll break before you know it—an' I'll be the rain, thunder, and lightning!" I roared.

I refused to look at the two passengers, and went to the forward end of the poop, and looked down at the Chinks, who were seated in the waterways eating their rice and long-lick—molasses. Just what to do with these fellows seemed to me a problem. We could hardly lock them in now, and if trouble came along quickly they would be in it, right in the middle.

The old man came from below, and gazed solemnly across the misty sea, and I went to him.

"How about it?" he asked. "Hadn't we better house them Chinks now, before it's too late? They'll die of suffocation in those alleyways with the ports shut fast—I suppose you shut the ports in, didn't you?" he said.

"Sure. Everything is snugged in below. Komuri saw to it. He knows how to talk to the Mongolians—tell them they must keep the ports shut. But I don't like leaving them on deck, even if it is hot enough to roast potatoes on the deck planks. How's the glass, sir?"

"Bottom dropped out of it somehow; mercury concave and 'way down. There's some unusual disturbance knocking about this sea. There's trouble ahead—typhoon season, you know. Nothing but wind moves that awful swell. Look at that!"

A hill of water rolled majestically onward, catching us under the counter, and sending us along its great, smooth crest, then dropping us again as we had hardly steering way under the short canvas.

"I'd like to know which way it's coming—lay our course to drift out of it, or run, but who knows—who knows before it strikes? I wish you would see to the gear forward. I don't want things to get loose. And take charge. No, sir; don't let anything out of the way happen while you're on deck."

I saw the old man was getting nervous. The low pressure and the sultriness were telling on him. He knew what was coming well enough, and fretted under it. It was hard waiting, even for an old seaman like himself. Slade came on deck, and puffed carelessly at his pipe, gazing about, and then going aft to chat with the ladies. He was always ready to cheer them up. Nothing would happen—positively nothing. There was no use of their getting nervous at the heavy swell. It had often happened before—a heavy swell and no wind, 'way out here in the middle of the Pacific. No telling where the storm might be, but, of course it wouldn't be near us—oh, no.

Oleson came aft to me.

"Shall I lock in the Chinks?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered. "Lock 'em up, put a padlock on both doors, and see that they don't get loose again until this is over."

Oleson went to Komuri. The Jap listened to him, and then repeated the order, passing the word like a seaman should, without comment. The Chinks followed him into their quarters in the alleyways, and Oleson locked the doors on the outside, putting extra padlocks on them. The alleyways were upon the main deck, and shut off from the lazaret by a bulkhead.

"If honorable mate will let me open those ports inside, Chinese men will be able to breathe better—air very hot in there," said Komuri.

"All right, king; go ahead. And if she lists over and drowns them like rats in a trap you'll be the man to loose them—see?" I warned him.

"I'll take care them, me," said Komuri. "If honorable ship, she turns over, me, Komuri, will see to ports. Very hot inside there."

I turned away and watched the horizon. The haze was thickening, and the squalls were beginning to come with more force than before. A sudden spurt of wind sang hoarsely in the rigging, and a drift of spray flew upward.

The men were still at work making things snug when I heard a murmuring, a moaning, vast, filling the air, then dying away again. It was all about us, seemingly upon all sides. Then again I heard a harplike note of great volume. The horizon disappeared in the southeast, and the blue-steel bank of vapor shut off the sunlight. It grew dark and gloomy.

"She's coming along all right in a few minutes," said Slade, who came near to me and passed on to his room. He came on deck in a couple of minutes, with an oilskin coat buttoned fast about him, and he sweltered in its heat. I still stood at the weather rigging.

"Go get your rain clothes on," he said, coming to relieve me.

"Nix! Let her go as it is—better wet with salt water than sweat," I replied.

The skipper came forward. He suggested that the two passengers go below, and Jack, the steward, with Komuri to assist him, managed to get them below without protest, although it was something like ninety-six or seven in that saloon.

A white streak spread upon the sea. The squall struck, snoring away with a vigor that told of more coming. The spumedrift flew over us. Then another, and another furious blast of wind bore down upon the schooner, and she lay slowly over until her rail was submerged.

In five minutes the hurricane was roaring over us, and the Tanner lay upon her beam ends while we struggled with the mizzen, and held the wheel hard up to throw her off, the weight of the wind holding her down with a giant hand.

Yelling and struggling, all hands now tried to get that mizzen in. It was a waste of time. I saw the skipper clinging to the boom and using his knife upon the canvas, and did likewise. With a thundering roar the sail split, torn to ribbons. We could not make ourselves heard in the chaos of sound, but waved frantically our orders and helped as only good seamen can.

But the Tanner refused to go off. She lay flat out with her cross-trees in the lift of the sea, and she hung there. The forestaysail burst with a crack that we heard aft, and vanished as if it had been snow in a jet of steam. The bonneted foresail held with the wind roaring over the top of it, spilling away, but still keeping full enough to keep from slatting and bursting. It was the heaviest canvas and brand new, and all the time squall after squall bore upon the straining ship, roaring, screaming with the blast of a gun as the puffs came and went.

That wind was like a wall of something solid. To move in it was enough to tax the strength. It pressed one against what was to leeward—pressed him, held him and bore upon him like a weight of something solid. To let go meant to run the risk of being blown bodily away into the sea.

We clung along the weather rail, and hung on with both hands, watching the white smother fore and aft, but unable to look to windward for an instant against the blast. The outfly and uproar was so tremendous that all sounds were lost in it. I found myself near Slade and the old man, all three clinging to the rail, and gasping for breath. The skipper's gray head shone bare in the blast, and the white foam flecked it, and dripped from his beard, his ruddy cheeks glowing red in contrast. His teeth were set, and he was just holding on.

For a long time we three hung there, and did nothing but try to survive the fury of that hurricane. The forward part of the schooner was blotted out, and I just remember that to leeward, where I could look, the surge boiled and foamed clear up to the hatch coamings.

I thought of the women below, and knew they were safe for the time being. Then I remembered the starboard alleyway, and the ports that Komuri had left open to give the Chinks air. The alleyway was now completely submerged; the ports far below the surface of the sea, the Chinamen were caught there like rats in a trap.

The narrow space must even now be filling up, and I thought of the poor coolies struggling against that door the carpenter had so securely locked and fastened upon them. They could never break it open, for upon it we had placed our safety against another uprising, and the double, two-inch planks bolted crossways would stand more than the weight of the crowd that would be able to surge against it. The alleyway could fill entirely without any water getting below.

I grabbed Slade by the arm, and pointed at the lower deck.

"The Chinks—below—can't get out!" I roared against the hurricane.

Slade grinned a sickly grin and nodded. Then he ducked his head against the wind and bellowed back:

"Can't help it—can't go there—sure death!"

I fancied I could hear the outcries of the imprisoned men, but the deep, bass undertone of the hurricane roared away overhead and swept away the impression.

It was sickening to think of it. Fully twenty men were in that alleyway, and the four eight-inch ports were letting in four streams of sea water, for the Chinamen would not know enough to jam them full of clothes or anything they could get hold of, being little better than animals in point of intelligence.

If the schooner would only pay off she would right herself and let the openings come above the sea level; but she hung there dead, beaten down by a blast so terrific that it seemed like a solid wall of something heavy tearing upon her and crushing her life out. It took the breath away, and I found myself gasping, trying to get air to breathe, sucking in the flying drift and spray, and choking, holding one hand over my nose and mouth to keep from actually drowning in the smother.

It seemed as if we had already been hove down a full hour, and I was tiring. The schooner held doggedly broadside in the trough of the sea, which was now appalling in height, and was breaking solidly over her high rail and upturned side. We could not last much longer in the dangerous position, and I began to believe we were lost. Our hatches were closed, and no water could get below unless something gave way, but it was certain something would go before long under that strain.

I looked hopelessly at the man at the wheel, who had passed a lashing upon his waist, and was straddling the shaft, clinging to the spokes with desperation. I wondered if he still held the wheel hard up, but knew that in her present knocked-down state it would make little difference, for she would not steer without some headsail to swing her out and off that mighty sea.

I crawled along the rail, fighting my way hand over hand, passing the skipper and gaining the edge of the poop. I yelled to Douglas, who was the man straddling the wheel shaft, but he only shook his head and ducked from the squalls.

While I bawled for him to tell me what helm she carried, I was aware of a figure crawling from the companionway to the after cabin. It came creeping up just under me, up the almost perpendicular deck, and it looked like a big monkey until it came right into me, and then I recognized Komuri, our little steward.

Komuri was yellow, a pasty yellow, and his wrinkled face looked old and haggard. He was only partly dressed, and he clawed the rail frantically for a hand hold. He looked the worst-scared Jap I had ever seen or dreamed of. He climbed close to me.

"Men locked in—all die—ports open," he screeched in my ear.

"I know—can't help it—door under water—no tools," I yelled in reply, and he howled something that ended in a screech that was unintelligible, for over it all sounded that deep, bass roar, thundering, booming, vibrating into chaos all sounds.

I watched him, and he climbed past me, making his way forward with amazing speed, considering he was crawling along a wall which had been the deck. He made the break of the poop, and disappeared, going in the direction of the forward house, although how he ever expected to get there was beyond reason.

Something made me follow him, and soon Slade and myself were at the edge of the poop, and gazing down at the partly submerged door of the starboard alleyway. While we looked, Komuri came climbing along the rail of the ship, disappearing now and then under the solid water that swept her, but, to our amazement, still keeping hold of the pins, and gaining slowly toward us.

In one hand he held Oleson's ax, and he was coming toward us, coming to do a piece of work we had already given up as impossible.

No word was spoken as Komuri struggled up to where we clung and gasped for breath, half drowned in the rush of water.

I passed the end of a line about him after a fashion, and he dropped off to starboard down the steep slant, and instantly went under as a huge sea fell over the schooner.

We held the line. Then we saw him again, and he was hacking away at the door, chopping at the lock and staple while he swung scrambling with his feet against the planks. Slade thoughtfully dropped down other lines, and made them fast.

I could see little of what was going on. The seas were breaking over us now with tremendous volume, and it seemed only a question of a few minutes before the schooner must go down, anyhow, for she couldn't lie on her beam ends very long without something giving way.

The work of getting at those Chinks appeared to me now a useless labor. We would all be where there was no caste, no coolies, in a short time. And yet such is the habit of a seaman, he works on against certain failure at times, when ordinary folk would accept the verdict and quit.

I held Komuri until my arms were nearly paralyzed, and I was fainting with exertion and lack of air. The first thing I knew of what he had done was when a Chink came climbing monkey fashion up one of the lines, followed by another and another, their yellow faces pasty and drawn, and their pigtails streaming after them. They clung along the weather side, and lashed themselves fast to whatever they could find. I saw the dark figures of a couple fade away in the smother to leeward, and knew they had gone to where all Chinks go sooner or later, but the rest came up and clung for life there in the strident breath of the typhoon, and the booming roar drowned out even their shrieks and yelps.

I tried to haul Komuri up again, but could not. I howled for Slade to help me, but he was separated by a row of Chinks, and couldn't reach me. I hammered the nearest Chinaman over the head in frantic desperation to make him haul line and save the little Jap, but the fellow only ducked the blows, which were too weak to hurt much.

Komuri, exhausted, could not climb back. He could no longer help himself; and he was trusting to me to get him up from the white smother beneath that was drowning him. The madness of my weakness came over me. I had been a bucko mate with ready hand, and could take them by and large as they came from the dock to the forecastle, but here I was weakening, holding to a line at the end of which was the bravest little man I had even seen, the gamest little fighter—Komuri, son of Samurai, the fighting class of the Japanese.

And Komuri was going to his death because I couldn't help him. On and on I struggled with the line, bellowing curses, but I could get little or no line over the pin, and I was growing surely weaker and weaker.

Then I stopped, and tried to see if there was any chance to help, any chance to save the little hero. I saw Komuri dangling in the foam, his face upturned to me, and a smile upon his yellow, wrinkled visage. He waved feebly to me, and I knew he was signaling for me to haul him up—and was wondering why I didn't.

"Oh, my God, you poor little devil!" I howled. "It's too bad—too bad!"

A gigantic sea crashed over the schooner, a mountain of water. I passed the line about my waist, and snatched a turn to keep from being washed away. That was the last I remembered for some time.

When I regained my senses I was lying on the deck, and Slade was dragging me by the arm toward the cabin doors. The roar of the hurricane still boomed over us—the wild rush of the sea—but it came from aft now, and I knew they had at last got her off the wind, and were running her either to hell or safety.

Ten minutes later I was struggling up the companionway again to the deck, where the old man was now conning her, and watching her run seventeen knots an hour before a series of hurricane squalls that simply lifted her almost bodily out of the sea.

I saw we had passed the center of the cyclone, for we had the wind almost directly opposite from where it was when we lay knocked down. I got to the shelter of the mizzen, and from there watched the men at the wheel hold her as she ran. Some one had loosed a bit of canvas forward, but it had blown away, and the ribbon streamers stretched and cracked until they vanished in the blast.

"How'd you do it?" I yelled to Slade, who clung in the lee.

"Squalls let up sudden—hit the center—she righted, and then ran off when we hit the other side of it!" howled the mate.

"Where's Komuri?" I howled.

"Don't know—must have gone to leeward. Some Chinks gone, too—you came near going."

That was all I could get from Slade. But I knew all that was necessary. Komuri had gone to the port of missing ships. He had died as a Samurai should, facing his end fearlessly, fighting to the last for others in the hope to save them, the ones he had tried to help by giving them air and leaving their ports open when they should have been closed. He had known his responsibility, and had done what we had failed to do.

There were three Chinamen missing, but our own men were safe. They had got under the side of the engine house, where they were protected from both the sea and wind. They clung there until the vessel righted, and then turned to with a will to save the ship.

We ran the Tanner all that day and the following night, keeping her before a mighty sea that almost overran us. She steered well once she got off before it, and after we got canvas on her forward she was safe enough. It had been a close squeak for all hands, and we breathed easier as she ran out of the disturbance and came again upon her course. A week later we ran her in behind the reef of Guam, and came to anchor off the town of AgaÑa, where we were to discharge part of our cargo and the Chinese.

In behind the barrier we ran her without further incident, and as the wind fell we rolled up the canvas and let her drift into fifteen fathoms before letting go the hook.

The ladies came on deck for the first time since the typhoon, and gazed happily at the beautiful island crowned with green, tropical foliage—a welcome relief to the eye that had seen only the blue water for so long. They were to leave us here, and we were to go on to Manila, coming later to take them back upon the return voyage. It would give them three months on Guam.

"Where is our little Jap, Kamuri—we haven't seen him for a week?" asked Miss Aline. "He was nice about getting our things together—we really must have him help us ashore."

"Hasn't Slade told you?" I said.

"No. What do you mean?" she asked in surprise.

"Komuri is dead—lost in the typhoon—he saved the Chinks," I answered.

Both women gasped their surprise.

"I am so sorry!" exclaimed the younger.

"And he was so good," said her aunt. "I wondered why Mr. Slade hadn't spoken of him before. I suppose it's because Mr. Slade feels that he is now to be your guardian and must protect you from all ill news—oh, I forgot—you hadn't heard. Yes, Mr. Slade is the man. He saved Aline's life, you know, and they are to be married after we get back. Strange he didn't tell you."

I thought so, too. Slade was a sly dog—and he had used my collars, also, in his wooing. I was—well, I was ready to congratulate any man who could make up his mind to marry.

But I turned away so abruptly that I thought I had to apologize to Slade afterward, to keep from getting in a row with him. But Slade understood, and squeezed my hand."There's some of that port left over below," he said, and he led the way down.

He filled two glasses to the brim, handing me one.

"To your health—and that of Miss Aline," I said stiffly, feeling that there was something to say, or do.

"No," said Slade slowly, thoughtfully, "to the best man."

"Sure—to me, the best man at the wedding?" I said, in feigned surprise.

"Oh, no," corrected the mate. "Not at all—although you are not so bad, old chap." He raised his eyes and looked straight into mine. "We drink to the best man in the ship—who was in the ship—to Komuri."

And we drained our glasses.