Boy Scouts in the Philippines Part 29

"There is not a bit of use," Ned replied. "The man is a crook, and is not acting for the government here."

"Then why these vessels?" asked Frank. "He must be a good deal of a wise crook if be sails about with a fleet like that."

"I rather think he is a good deal of a wise crook," Ned replied. "He's the man whom Jimmie saw mixing with the rebel chiefs."

"But look here," Frank insisted, "look at the blue coats unloading the boxes. They are in the service, for sure. This Lieutenant Carstens may be a crook, but he has a command in the United States navy, all right."

One of the men who was a.s.sisting the Lieutenant in the tally now called his attention to the prisoners and the Filipino boy standing by their side. He listened for a moment to what was said to him, then motioned for the Filipino boy to approach. The two talked for a moment in Spanish, and then the boy, evidently much against his will, was sent on board the s.h.i.+p.

In a few moments the Lieutenant turned to Ned, a smile of victory on his lips.

"Well," he said, "your career as a pirate has been brought to a sudden close."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Ned.

The question was a natural one, but was entirely unnecessary, for the boy knew what was meant--knew on what desperate chance the lives of himself and his friends rested.

"I mean," answered the Lieutenant, "that you are under arrest for piracy on the high seas. Also for deliberate murder. Also for the larceny of the _Manhattan_ from Manila."

"Very well," Ned replied, coolly, "take me back to Manila for trial. I am willing to go with you."

"We don't take pirates back to Manila for trial," was the sneering reply. "We give them a hearing and shoot them down on the spot. I'll attend to your case directly."

"You've got your nerve!" cried Frank.

The Lieutenant turned with a snarl and pointed the end of his pencil toward the two boys.

"Put them in irons," he said. "We'll give them a drum-head when we get the goods out of the _Clara_ and will shoot them at midnight."

The boys made no resistance. That would have been useless, for there were twenty to one against them.

"And," continued the officer, "send for the relatives of the natives this man Nestor murdered on Banta Isle. We'll have them for witnesses."

"They attacked me," Ned said, in a second sorry that he had spoken at all.

"They were ordered to recover the _Manhattan_, property stolen from the government," was the reply, "and you resisted them. Put a stick in his mouth, Ben, if he talks any more."

Ben, a muscular, scar-faced fellow of thirty, stepped forward and took a seat on the rock near the captives. He had the mild, soft eyes of a student of theology and the square jaw and hard hands of a prize fighter.

"You're to keep your face closed--see?" he said, nudging Ned in the side with an elbow. "You're to keep your clapper tied," he went on, "or I'll tie it up for you. And how in the name of the Seven Seas did you ever get in such a sc.r.a.pe, Ned Nestor?"

The last words were spoken very softly, but before that Ned had recognized the man as one he had known and liked on the water front in New York.

"You're in a bad box," Ben went on, "for that slob means business."

"There's just one chance for us," Ned whispered. "If the rockets are all right, and the gunboat is not too far away to see the signals!"

CHAPTER XVII.

THE FLARE OF A ROCKET.

Ben looked at Ned in astonishment.

"You never got the _Manhattan_ away, did you?" he asked.

"The boys got it away," replied Ned.

The sailor remained silent for a moment, his face turned away from the man he was supposed to be watching. When he spoke it was in a very low tone, with little movement of the lips, and with his face still turned toward the lieutenant.

"You should have gone with it," he said.

Ned did not reply. He had, at the last moment, made a rush for the boat, but had been kept away from her by the natives.

"Carstens has been after you for a long time," the sailor went on. "He got his orders at Manila."

"What was he doing on the island with the rebels?" asked Ned.

"I'm sure I don't know," was the whispered reply. "There's something mighty funny going on here. More mischief, I'm afraid. No one knows what is in the boxes that are now being unloaded."

"What does he say they are?" asked Ned.

"Supplies, to keep the chiefs good-natured."

"He brought them from Manila?"

"No, he picked them up over on the China coast."

"I thought so," Ned answered.

"Now, what is the answer to that remark," asked Ben.

"You'll get the answer directly," Ned replied. "Listen to the rattle of the alleged supplies when a box is thrown down hard!"

"I was noticing that."

"Sounds like guns?" asked Ned.

"Yes, indeed, but why should the government be supplying the dagoes with guns? We have all we can do to keep them decent when they have no arms at all."

"You sailed from Manila with Carstens?" said Ned, putting his statement in the form of a question.

"Yes, I left Manila on the _Clara_. He seemed to be all right until after we picked up the boxes on the China coast. He was a good fellow, when we left Manila, but he was confined to his cabin for a day and a night and has been ugly as sin ever since. He came out of the sickness looking a bit seedy but that ought not to cause him to turn into a red-handed brute, had it?"

"He has been acting badly, has he?" asked Ned.