“A fine place for defense,” commented Jack, looking about him.
“If we keep down, they may not even discover us,” said Mr. Temple.
The front wall of the little radio room was composed of stout wooden panelling to half a man’s height from the floor with glass above. Mr. Temple, Bob and Jack knelt or crouched behind this protective screen, their heads showing just above it, as they looked along the deck toward the forecastle where the crew was housed. The forecastle door was closed.
On the narrow deck below were two immense hatches opening into the hold where when the trawler was legitimately employed, fish would be packed. But “Black George” used that big hold in which to pack Chinese coolies. Beyond the hatches rose a stout derrick, and beyond that the forecastle. Behind the bridge and the radio room, or aft in the trawler, lay the engine room. That way the view was cut off by the blank wall of the radio room against which stood the instruments which Frank was now trying to use.
“Listen,” whispered Jack. “Frank’s talking.”
All three withdrew their gaze from the deck and glanced around.
“He’s got the Sub Chaser,” whispered Bob, gleefully. “Say, this is too easy. Why, we’ll have help here before the Chinese ever realize what has happened. Hear that. Old Frank’s giving the Sub Chaser our bearings right now, just as Murphy gave them to him.”
A slight scratching sound caused Jack to face about in alarm. The door from the bridge stood slightly ajar, as they had left it on entrance. He listened. Someone was creeping up the ladder. Now he was on the bridge, creeping on hands and knees toward the door. Jack nudged Bob who was next to him, and laid a hand on his lips. They as well as Mr. Temple who was farthest away were all crouched so low to avoid being seen from the deck that they themselves could not look out.
In the silence Frank’s voice rang clearly:
“Prisoners, I tell you. Yes, that’s our position. What’s that? I can’t hear you. Hurry. This is ticklish. We’ve got their radio room, yes. They haven’t discovered us yet. But when they do, they’ll cut off our juice. We’ll hold out, all right. But come your fastest.”
The creeping sound outside had ceased. Jack could bear the anxiety no longer. He raised his head cautiously. Nobody in sight as the deck came into view. The door of the forecastle still was closed. He rose a trifle higher to bring the bridge into view. Then he yelled as the door was dashed inward against him, knocking him to the floor.