Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1914-Jan 1915)

THE YELLOW TRAFFIC 35 Caroline, followed by the sad forebodings of Alice, who suspected a motive underlying. "It's going to be fair weather, lads," the grizzled Captain remarked to his crew as he boarded the schooner. Then came a rush from the fo 'castle — an oath — a scuffle — and the clink-clank of iron anklets and wristlets in clamping. The smugglers ! Somehow, somewhere they had stowed themselves on board. The Caroline and her crew, her Captain and her mate, were captive. Down in the dark of the tiny cabin, where t^e intruders thrust them unceremoniously, Jim Rawley was thinking hard. He saw that his father was broken and unable to maneuver with him. He recognized, too, that more ingenuity than these rough men possessed had directed the secret manning of the Caroline and the subsequent capture. And he knew that Alice had spoken truth — thet Edward Allen, suave man of the world, was the directing power. From the frequent stops, the sounds of bales and barrels, the whispers and undertones, Jim knew that the yellow men were on board — that they would be landed by another nightfall— and by the Caroline! And here his knowledge of the desperate gang came into play. "They'll celebrate," he thought to himself; "they've got the Chings on board, and they've got enough whisky, I'll wager, to sink the schooner — there'll be a drunken lot 'fore long. I'll wait " The cabin, with its one or two murky portholes, and with a tarpaulin drawn over its skylight, gave no indication of the passing of time ; but Jim reckoned that it must be nearly nightfall when stray snatches of maudlin song came down to him — the occasional scuffle indicating the brawls that flared up and died down on a breath — the oaths — the guffaws — the loud snores of one or two readily overcome. "They'll never miss me — nor hear me," Jim muttered. "I can batter that door down in a shake — there's a weak link in these infernal irons — hey, Ted!" The sailor addressed, roused from his doze, looked up alertly. "Put your two feet here," Jim indicated the spot in his anklets most apt to give. "Now use all your muscle — and kick," he commanded — 1 ' fine ! Now the same trick to my wrist-irons. ' ' "Dad," Jim whispered, "I'm goin' to make for the wireless; they're dead drunk — the lot of 'em — Chinamen and all. I'll get to it and give Al the message — Tom '11 be with her, and they'll get the officials on the job, We'll do more yet than if this had never happened " It was a desperate chance he was taking. Jim knew that should the mob espy him, their heated blood would lead them into heaven knows what manner of brutality. The wireless was on the fore part of the deck; the crazy crew and their yellow prizes were on the aft. The rush for it was a breathless run. Jim sent the message over the wires with a feverish haste, praying God, in broken fragments of speech, that Alice would pick it up. The message, urgent, desperate, insistent, found its way over the waters to a large wireless station on the shore, where the operator repeated the message to his assistant, with a mutual exchange of glances. "Here's our chance with Allen," almost hissed the one; "he's there with the pay when a job's done neat — how '11 we work it?" "Close down the shop — for God's sake!" yelled the other — "then beat it for the Rawley house and nab the pair o' 'em, for Tom NorthrOp'll be on hand, I'll warrant." On the schooner Caroline, crouched by the wireless in the pitchy dark, Jim waited — waited — waited. The drunken crew caroused and cursed ; the Chinamen emitted long strings of lingo, guttural from the bad spirits and the triumph. Death, skulled and crossboned, hovered close over the Caroline.