Bert Wilson at Panama

by J. W. Duffield

At last, Togi seemed to have an inspiration. He bent over eagerly and disclosed his idea. Namoto pondered and found it good. He beckoned to an officer in a naval uniform, and gave him his instructions.

At a signal, four men advanced, and, taking Bert by the legs and shoulders, carried him through a secret passage into the grounds. As silently as so many ghosts, they followed a road that led through the estate to the river's brink. There lay the swift sea-going yacht that Togi had mentioned. Bert was carried on board, the vessel slipped its moorings, and like a wraith passed down the Bay of Limon and out to sea.

It was with a sinking heart that Bert saw the lights of Colon grow more and more indistinct, until they looked to be little more than a nebulous haze rising above the water. His first thought had been that the Japanese were taking him to Japan, for some reason of their own, and as they steamed on mile after mile this idea gained strength.

After his capture he had expected nothing better than instant death, and when he found that his captors had other plans he had a gleam of hope. Perhaps, after all, he could make his escape in some way, or get a message to the authorities. But when he was taken to the yacht hope died within him, and he almost wished he had been killed at the moment of capture. Knowing what he did, the possibility of his own life being spared brought him but little comfort. Once fairly at sea, and he felt that nothing could stop the awful catastrophe hanging over his country.

Filled with these melancholy reflections, he hardly noticed what was going on around him, and only looked up when two sturdy Japanese seamen approached him. They untied his bonds, removed the gag, and motioned him to follow them. Bert, seeing no sense in useless resistance, did as directed.

As he approached the port rail, he saw that a group of sailors gathered there were lowering some object over the side. As he reached the rail and looked down, he saw that it was a large, flat bottomed rowboat, with nothing in it except a wooden bailer shaped like an ordinary shovel.

This boat was quickly lowered until it touched the water, and then Bert saw what had previously escaped his notice—namely, that several holes, each about as large as a five-cent piece, had been bored in the bottom of the boat, and through these the water was rushing in a dozen little fountains.

Then he realized what were the intentions of his captors, and his heart, which at sight of the boat had begun to beat hopefully, seemed to turn to lead. This, then, was to be his end! With fiendish ingenuity, the Japs had prepared this death-trap for him, knowing that he would fight up to the last moment from the instinct of self preservation. The enemy of Japan should not die too easily. His agony must be prolonged. According to their calculations, the water would continue coming in faster than Bert could possibly bail it out, and eventually he would sink, and his perilous knowledge with him.

Well, at any rate, he resolved to make his enemies sorry that they had ever seen him. As the sailors came toward him with the evident intention of forcing him into the boat, he grasped a camp chair that was standing near the rail, and swinging it in a mighty circle about his head, brought it crashing down on the head of the foremost seaman. The man dropped as though struck by lightning, and for a second his comrades hesitated, looking about them for weapons.

At a crisp command from an officer, who was standing a little to one side, they came on again with a rush. Bert felled the first of his antagonists with the stout chair, and then, as they were too close upon him for further use of this weapon, dropped it and resorted to his fists. He struck out right and left with all the strength of his powerful muscles, and for a few seconds actually held his swarming assailants at bay. Three men dropped before his hammer-like blows, before he was finally forced over the railing by sheer force of numbers and hurled into the rowboat.