If he only knew what time the boatswain would make his attempt! It was ten in the morning now—he had noticed the cabin clock—and the boatswain might wait till night, not knowing of the shore expedition. How long could he manage to hold the party ashore? If there only was some other, safer plan! Plan! What was it Ruth tried to tell him? Had she also a plan?
Such were Martin's troubled thoughts during the moment of his leisure. They were black bodings, and they almost killed the cheerful spark that had been born in his heart during the tilt of wits in the cabin. The menacing peace of the deck occupied all his mind. He barely noticed the mountain looming blackly beyond the ship's bows, and on either side.
Smoke was pouring out of the galley smoke-stack. The rattle of pots against iron came to his ears. Yip was preparing another meal; the Japs, Martin reflected, were not denying their stomachs. Probably making up for the enforced starvation they had lately suffered.
He wondered if the men imprisoned in the hold had been given food, or whether they were being starved, like the boatswain, because of Dr. Ichi's whim. Beneath the Japanese gentleman's velvet exterior existed a merciless humor. He delighted in cruelty, and Martin sensed that, for some reason, he bore a sly and implacable hatred toward the entire company of the Cohasset.
Martin wondered just what position Ichi filled in Carew's following. In the cabin, his manner toward Carew had been of a man toward an equal, rather than a subordinate to a leader. Martin wondered if the yellow crew were at bottom Carew's men or Ichi's. They jumped to Ichi's orders; there, at the rail, Carew's mate was actually fawning upon Ichi's words. Ichi was plainly the owners' man.
Yip stuck his head out of the galley door, looked aft, and then withdrew from sight. Immediately after there issued from the galley the shrill caterwauling of a Chinese song, and a renewed rattle of pots.
Martin listened resentfully. Charley Bo Yip's cheerful acceptance of change of masters angered him. He had been quite friendly with Yip during the passage, and he knew the Chinaman was a veteran of the Chinese revolution and a professed enemy of all Japanese. Yet here he was working for these same Japanese, apparently content with events, and serenely indifferent to the fate of his shipmates. During the scene in the cabin, Martin had divined from Ichi's bearing toward Yip that the thugs from the Dawn regarded the Chinaman—or rather, disregarded him—contemptuously, as one of a despised and slavish race, born to serve obediently and menially. Which he was, thought Martin disgustedly.
During this short period of his musing, Martin's eyes were not idle. He suddenly was aware of the cause for Ichi's delay.
From the recesses forward appeared Moto and another man, coming aft. Moto carried a lantern in each hand, and the fellow who followed him bore a watch-tackle on his shoulder. As they passed the galley, Yip's song ceased, and the Chinaman also stepped out on deck and ambled aft.
Martin wasted no glance on the cook. He watched with interest the Japs. The burdens they bore were to aid in the exploration of the caves, he knew. At the sight of the lanterns, a dim plan for future action germinated in his mind.