Julian pulled open the cupboard, but it was empty. Bill dived at the bunk, snatched off the thin coverlet and began to crush parts of it between his hands, so that had a piece of paper been under the cotton cover it would have rustled. As he did so, he cried to Julian, ‘The mattress! That’d be the most likely place she’d hide a letter.’
Tearing the sheets and single blanket away, Julian hauled the canvas-covered mattress from the bunk. Bill produced a penknife and swiftly ripped open one of its ends, then he said, ‘Here, you carry on with this. Mustn’t let the pilot go off without us. He’ll not know we’re in here. I’ll go tell him and ask how long we got. Be back in a few minutes.’
He dashed from the cabin, swinging to the door behind him. Julian was kneeling on the floor, thrusting his hands in among the mattress’s horsehair stuffing. There was nothing in the end Bill had opened, and he had gone off with his penknife; so Julian could not slit open the other end. Frantically, he pulled the horsehair out by the handful. It took him ten or twelve minutes before he was satisfied that no piece of paper had been hidden in it. Quickly he searched the sides of the empty bunk, the top of the cupboard and the ventilator, but with no luck.
Bill had not returned. By then the ship had been under way for at least twenty-five minutes, and was wallowing through a heavy sea. Lurching to the cabin door, Julian grasped the handle and turned it. But the door did not open. He tried it again, again and again. Only then did it suddenly dawn on him that the door must be locked.
At that, chaotic thoughts tumbled through his mind. Only Bill Urata could have locked it. The pilot boat must have put off, within five or ten minutes of passing the harbour mouth. It couldn’t live in a sea like this. Bill must have locked him in deliberately and gone off in her. The account of Merri’s being brought to Osaka in the Matabura had been nothing but a pack of well-thought-out lies. But perhaps she had. This must be one of Urata’s ships for them to have let Bill come on board when she was at the actual moment of sailing—or perhaps Hayashi’s. It looked now as if that was the same thing. It might well be that the Uratas managed Hayashi’s shipping line for him. Tilly Sang had been right. Bill Urata was Hayashi’s man and had put on a clever act to win the confidence of his master’s enemies, so that he could sabotage any attempt to get Merri back. And he, Julian, had been fool enough to walk into Bill’s trap.
Frantically he tried to open the cabin window, but it would not budge; so it was either stuck or had been secured in some way outside. And it was made of heavy plate glass. There was not even a chair in the narrow cabin: nothing with which he could smash it. He pounded on the window with his fists, then on the walls, while shouting to be let out. But a high wind was blowing and spray from the waves now slapping on the deck outside; so he failed to attract anyone’s attention.
Heaping the bedclothes and scattered bits of mattress on to the bunk, he sat down on them with his head between his hands. Over an hour drifted past during which he could do nothing but berate himself in abject misery. He was roused by the clatter of a bucket outside. Jumping up, he again shouted and pounded on the window. A seaman heard him, came to the window and stared through it at him with a puzzled look, then unlocked the door.
Angrily Julian demanded to be taken to the Captain, but the man clearly did not understand English. After searching his mind Julian found enough Japanese words to convey his meaning. The man made signs to him to stay where he was and went off along the heaving deck. Five minutes later he returned with a thick-set middle-aged man, in rough but somewhat better clothes. Frowning at Julian he said:
‘Me Captain…. Kano Dosen…. You stowaway.’ Then, pointing at the ruined mattress, he added angrily, ‘What for? What for?’
Ignoring the question, Julian indignantly protested that he was not a stowaway but had been locked in.
The Captain tried the handle of the door and said, ‘Accident. He go snap, snap.’ Forbearing to argue, Julian demanded that the ship should return to Osaka. With a scowl the Captain replied, ‘No possible. No possible.’
In vain Julian argued, pleaded, threatened. Then, seeing that his efforts were useless, he asked, ‘How soon shall we reach a port?’
The reply he received was shattering. ‘Days sixteen. Bad weathers twenty. Make no stop. Ship go Honolulu.’
Chapter XII
Trapped in the Matabura
Julian was utterly aghast. At worst he had expected to be carried off to Korea, Formosa or back to Hong Kong; but Honolulu! And to be cooped up for over a fortnight in this miserable little tramp! Again he pleaded with the burly Captain to put the ship about and land him at Osaka, threatened him with an action for kidnapping if he refused, and finally offered him a year’s pay to turn in towards the coast and land him anywhere from a boat. Captain Kano Dosen could not be moved.
In his very limited English he maintained that Julian’s having been carried off to sea was entirely his own fault. Dosen said that as he had been up on the bridge when the pilot boat put off he had supposed that when young Mr. Urata had left Julian had left with him. The ship, it transpired, was one of the Urata line, otherwise they would not have been allowed to come on board when she was actually on the point of sailing. And Bill had telephoned the previous evening to say that he wished to see one of the cabins before she sailed, but had arrived an hour later than he had said he would. Why Bill Urata should have left without Julian, Dosen could not explain. He could only suggest that it was owing to some misunderstanding between them. Presumably, Urata had expected to find Julian already in the boat, but it had had to leave without him because, owing to the bad weather, to have delayed longer to look for him would have endangered its return to harbour.
Although such an explanation was conceivably possible, Julian did not believe it for one moment. Had that been the case Bill could, on getting ashore, within a very short time have radioed the ship to return to harbour; but he had not. In addition, Dosen denied all knowledge of Mr. and Mrs. Ling and their daughter. His refusal to admit that he had brought such a family from Hong Kong to Osaka convinced Julian more firmly than ever that the Uratas were hand in glove with Hayashi, and had deliberately shanghaied him; so that he would be out of the way when the Kuan-yin arrived and by some trick Hayashi could get possession of it without handing over Merri.
After twenty minutes of futile argument the Captain summoned the steward, whom he ordered to find another mattress to replace the one Julian had ripped to pieces and make him as comfortable as possible with soap, towels and borrowed gear, including oilskins for the voyage. Then he told Julian that he could stay where he was or, if he preferred, accompany him to his quarters.
Julian elected to do the latter, and staggered along the heaving deck to a stuffy day cabin where, having turned on a television set, Dosen left him.
All through the long afternoon the weather worsened. Julian was a good sailor but, after attempting to share the horrid fare of which the Captain’s evening meal consisted, he could hold out no longer and a bout of violent seasickness added to his misery. By seven o’clock he was stretched out on the hard mattress in his cabin feeling absolutely ghastly; and, as the small steamer pitched and rolled while battling her way through huge seas that constantly crashed on the deck outside, he had to cling to the side of the bunk to prevent himself from being thrown out.
During the night he was twice sick again, but at last fell asleep. When he woke it was daylight, and, although the ship was still heaving, the sea was much calmer. For a while he lay there again deploring the wretched situation into which Bill Urata had tricked him. All hope of redeeming Merri through the cupidity of Hayashi to possess the Kuan-yin was gone. Her only chance of survival now lay in Tilly Sang’s agreeing to come to Kyoto. Since she was so convinced that Hayashi meant to kill her if she did, the chances that she would sacrifice herself for her daughter seemed slender. And, while Julian would willingly have undergone the extreme discomfort and privation that for the next two or three weeks were to be his portion could that ha
ve in any way helped Merri, to know that he must face them without its doing so galled him unbearably.
After a time it suddenly impinged on his mind that, although the ship was still lifting and falling, her engines had stopped and she was no longer moving forward. Owing to his parlous state the previous evening, he had ignored the cotton pyjamas that had been found for him and thrown himself down on the bunk fully dressed. Getting up, he went to the door of the cabin, opened it and looked out. To his surprise he saw that the ship was at anchor and lying about a mile off a wooded promontory.
Instantly new hope flared in his mind. The coast off which they were lying could only be Japan. Evidently the previous night’s storm had been so severe that Captain Dosen had decided that he must run for shelter to the nearest bay. The morning was fine and the ship still tossing only owing to a heavy swell that was the aftermath of the storm. But now the tempest had subsided it seemed certain that at any moment Dosen would start the ship’s engines again and resume his voyage to Honolulu.
For a few minutes Julian’s mind was racked with awful indecision. If, as the Captain claimed, he had known nothing of Bill Urata’s intention to ship him to Honolulu, he had only to ask for a boat to be got out to put him ashore. But if Dosen was in the plot he would certainly not agree to do that. Instead, Julian realised grimly, directly he made his request he would forcibly be conducted back to his cabin and locked in there. And the only alternative to asking for a boat was to endeavour to swim ashore.
A small harbour off which the Matabura lay did not look more than a mile away, but Julian knew that such estimates of distance across water could prove disastrously deceptive. He was a good swimmer, but even a mile when fully dressed would tax his strength to the utmost. Yet to ask the Captain for a boat was to run a very grave risk of his hope of getting back to Kyoto ending in dismal failure, and failure meant not only his having to submit to a wretched voyage to Honolulu, but that Merri’s life might be forfeited by it. He knew then that he must risk his own.
Stepping back into the cabin, he took off his shoes, then his coat and wrapped them in it. Tearing strips from a towel he tied the bundle to the small of his back, then stepped out on to the deck. After a quick glance round to make certain that no-one was about, he climbed the rail, hovered there for a moment, took a deep breath and dived overboard.
His dive was a good one; so he hit the water with hardly a splash, but the height from which he had gone in was such that he went down, down, down until he thought he would never stop. By thrusting fiercely against the water he at last began to come up, but by the time he surfaced his lungs were nearly bursting. As he shook the water from his eyes, he could no longer see the shore; but he struck out resolutely with a good steady stroke.
He had been swimming for about five minutes when he heard a shout behind him. Looking back, he saw that a deck hand had spotted him and was gesticulating wildly. Ignoring the man’s shouts, he swam on; but when next he looked over his shoulder he saw that several men were clustered about a boat and making ready to lower it. The sight filled him with alarm, as it was evident that they meant to come after him. However, the boat was chocked up inboard and still had its canvas cover on; so he tried to comfort himself with the thought that it would be quite a time before they could get it into the water.
For a quarter of an hour he made steady progress; but each time the swell carried him high enough to glimpse the harbour it seemed no nearer, and the distance he still had to swim more frightening. By then the boat had been lowered and was about to be cast off. Knowing that the crew would soon be rowing all-out in pursuit of him, he was greatly tempted to increase his pace, but resisted the impulse from dread that he would tire more quickly and perhaps drown before either he could reach the shore or the boat could come up with him.
The ten minutes that followed were an agony. Even maintaining a steady pace now caused him to draw each breath with a gasp that seared his lungs. The clothes he was wearing increasingly impeded his movements and the sodden bundle on his back acted as a drag on him. Only one thing served to encourage him. The headland to the south of the little town kept its position; so he knew that no current was sweeping him seaward, and that if he had not greatly overestimated the distance from the ship to the harbour he must by now be well over half-way to it. The awful question was could he continue swimming for long enough to reach land and before the boat caught up with him? He would have given a year’s income to be able, by turning on his back and floating for a while, to rest himself. But he dare not. The thought of being captured and carried off again was too unbearable.
A shout from behind told him that the boat could not be far away; but at the moment he heard it the swell carried him up so he saw that the pier of the harbour was now not far off and that well outside it a small fishing junk was just hoisting her concertina sail. If only he could attract the attention of the men in her they might save him from his pursuers.
With aching muscles and pain-pierced lungs he made a desperate effort and covered the next hundred yards at a slightly increased pace. By then he was swallowing a lot of water and the boat was within ten yards of him; but the sailing junk was coming in his direction and one of the men in her began to shout and wave.
Another agonising three minutes passed. He was almost at the end of his tether. Then the two boats bore down on him almost simultaneously. A man in the junk threw him a rope. He grabbed it and with his remaining strength endeavoured to haul himself along it. But next moment the boat from the ship was almost on top of him. He was seised by the shoulders and dragged up into her.
Sprawled across one of the thwarts, he was too winded even to make a cry of protest or shout an appeal to the men in the junk to save him. While he fought to get back his breath he savoured all the bitterness of defeat. He had risked drowning in vain and must, after all, make the voyage to Honolulu with the heartbreaking knowledge that little Merri was lost to him forever.
Closing his eyes, he choked up some water. When he opened them again he saw Dosen’s rugged face above his own. Bending lower, the Captain hissed at him, ‘Great foolish! You mad! Mad; mad! Have you wish drown?’
‘Oh, go to hell!’ Julian wheezed weakly.
‘Hell yes, you near go.’ Dosen shook his head. ‘I think you sleep. Good time you wakie. See ship make lie up from storm. Say me boat please. I give. Why no? Boat take you shore. To make swim is mad; mad!’
Julian could hardly believe his ears. If he could, the Captain had not been lying to him on the previous afternoon; so he had had his gruelling swim and risked his life quite unnecessarily. Then, as he struggled up into a sitting position, he saw that the little junk was now alongside, her concertina sail lowered and her crew of three men regarding him with evident curiosity.
Perhaps, he thought, that explained Dosen’s attitude. The Captain had expected that he would put up a fight rather than be taken unresisting back to the ship. Had he done so the fishermen would have witnessed it and, perhaps, reported the affair or, anyhow, could have been later called as witnesses against him. He might be on the level; but it was equally probable that the arrival of the junk had decided him against risking having to face a charge, that could be proved, of using violence to abduct a British subject.
Either way, all that mattered to Julian was that he had secured his freedom. Dosen, with the usual deep formal bows, made no objection to his transferring to the junk and a quarter of an hour later the fishermen put him ashore in the small harbour.
None of the three spoke a word of English, but as no attempt had been made to deprive Julian of his wallet he still had plenty of money on him. Producing some sodden notes, he rewarded the lean, grinning little men handsomely; then, indicating his sodden clothes, he pointed towards the town. The oldest of the men showed that he understood and led him through the main street to a small hotel.
Its bright-eyed little proprietor, like so many Japanese owing to the Occupation, spoke a strange brand of Americanese, and could not do enough for
his unexpected guest. Fortified by a long draught of saki, Julian undressed while a bed-roll was laid out for him on the floor and padded coverlets provided to keep him warm. As he had slept for a good part of the night he felt tired only from his long swim, and that tiredness soon wore off; so he was able to enjoy a hearty breakfast of fresh crabmeat while his clothes were being dried. When he had finished he enquired of the landlord where he was and the quickest means of getting back to Kyoto.
It transpired that the Matabura had taken shelter between two small islands that lay just inside the jutting headland west of the entrance to the Gulf of Isewan. The Gulf almost formed an inland lake forty miles long and, in places, twenty broad, that ran up to the great port of Nagoya. Toba was the name of the little town at which Julian had landed, and by rail Kyoto was some seventy miles distant. A local train would take him to the larger town of Tsu, which was twenty miles up the Gulf, and from there he would be able to get a faster train for the longer part of his journey.
Not having realised that he had dived overboard as early as a little before seven o’clock, he was surprised to learn that it was still not yet nine; and a train was due to leave Toba at 9.30. His clothes had been quickly dried, so he decided to catch the train if he could. While he dressed the little landlord obligingly got out his car, then ran him the short distance to the station.
Unlike the expresses, the train was of pre-war vintage and consisted of only three coaches with hard seats; but Julian was so delighted to have regained his freedom that he thought nothing of its discomfort and responded as well as he could with his small stock of Japanese to the smiling advances of his fellow passengers. Although evidently greatly intrigued by this foreigner, who appeared to be rich yet was wearing such sadly crumpled clothes, they politely hid their curiosity while offering him fruit, rice balls and sweets from the packages they had brought with them.
Bill for the Use of a Body Page 15