"How much do you think?"
At this Peterson shrugged his shoulders.
"No can tell dat—maype a thousand dollars."
There was a pause, and Shamhaven drew a long breath.
"One thing is certain," he resumed. "I don't intend to go to a Japanese prison, or an American prison either, if I can help it, and if we cut loose here in a strange country we are bound to need more or less money with which to get along. Without money a fellow can't do a thing in a strange country."
"We git money—chust you vait," said Peterson.
At last the Columbia came into sight of the shipping of Nagasaki. But it was now dark, and a heavy fog was hanging over the harbor, so it was impossible to make the proper landing before the next day. They came to anchor and the necessary lights were hung out.
"This is our chance," said Shamhaven. "It is now or never!"
He had heard that Peterson and himself were to be made close prisoners directly after supper. He watched his chance and when nobody was looking motioned his confederate to leave the forecastle and steal silently toward the stern of the ship. Each carried a block of wood, to which was attached a bit of iron, to make it sink from sight.
"Now then!" whispered Shamhaven, and threw the block he carried overboard. It struck the water with a loud splash, and the block carried by Peterson immediately followed.