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Digital Image Processing
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DOI: 10.1201/9781003217428
Typeset in Palatino
by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India
Contents
Preface����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ix
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v
vi Contents
Index...................................................................................................................... 191
Preface
ix
Authors
xi
xii Authors
"You've been at sea a jolly sight longer than I have, I should say,"
continued Villiers. "So it seems like teaching my grandmother to tell
you how to handle men. Meet them half-way. If you've a grievance
and they have one, there's always the Consular Courts to appeal to.
That's better than jumping round the deck with sheath-knives and
revolvers."
Villiers went for'ard. In five minutes he had "talked over" the crew.
They, too, were willing to carry on as before, on the understanding
that a competent cook was shipped at the next port they touched.
Jack, proud of his moral victory, shook hands with the Yankee
skipper and the two mates, and returned to the Titania.
"Fifty dollars, Pete, if you swim for it," almost implored the Yankee,
finding as he thought an easy solution to the present difficulty.
Pete's head shook until his teeth almost rattled in his capacious
jaws.
CHAPTER XIII
Advice and Bluff
"I say, sir," interrupted Dick Beverley. "Look at that moth. Rather
late for this time of year, isn't it?"
"Never mind the moth," said his house-master. "You'll see plenty of
varieties of moths during the next few months," he sighed, envious
of the high-spirited youth. "Now, say in French: 'Will you kindly tell
me the way to the police-station'. Good; 'poste' has two different
meanings: 'post-office' and 'police-station', according to gender. Now
say the same sentence in Italian. H'm, yes, passable. You have that
written slip of directions the Head gave you? And your Italian
passport: you're keeping that in a different pocket to your notes?
And don't address strangers on Continental railways. If in doubt ask
someone in uniform. All railway officials are in uniform on the other
side of the Channel, you know."
Dick again nodded, but his attention was centred on the animated
harbour as viewed from the lounge of the hotel.
"That is so," agreed the pedantic Mr. Jaques; "and above all, be
discreet. Remember what I told you about 'silence'. I was given to
understand, during a brief interview with your brother, that absolute
discretion is necessary—not only for your own welfare but for the
people you are about to join. Remember also to keep your French
paper money in a different compartment of your pocket-book from
your Italian notes, and examine your change carefully. There is a lot
of bad money about in those countries, I believe."
"You had better let me have that catapult," observed the house-
master. "I cannot conceive why you should want to take a thing like
that away with you, especially as the possession of a catapult is an
offence against the rules of the school."
Ten minutes later Mr. Jaques and Dick parted company on board
the cross-Channel steamer, the former to return with a feeling that
he had carried out a duty conscientiously, the latter realizing at last
that he was actually on the threshold of a big adventure.
"Your name's Beverley, isn't it?" inquired the stranger. Dick had
noticed him in the foyer of the hotel.
"Yes," he replied shortly. "He can see that by reading the labels on
my luggage," he added mentally.
"I know your father," continued the stranger. "My name's Wilson."
"Really," rejoined Dick. "You didn't speak to him in the hotel, did
you?"
"No," was the answer, after a moment's hesitation. "I saw you were
both talking very earnestly, and naturally one doesn't like to butt in
on the eve of parting."
"Of course you are," he said. "And you are going farther than the
Mediterranean, I believe."
"No? Then I'll have to give an eye to you," continued Mr. Wilson.
"Rather a long journey without having anyone to talk to."
"Don't think I'd take it on if I were you, Mr. Wilson," said Dick in a
well-simulated, confidential tone. "You see, I'm let out before I
ought to be. I only came out of the sanny yesterday."
"If I'd taken old Jaques' advice about keeping silence I'd have had
to have been awfully rude," he soliloquized. "As it is, I've put the
wind up him. Wonder who he is? And he said he knows my father,
too. That's rich!"
He did not see Mr. Wilson again, save for a glimpse of his back at
the Gare du Nord, during the journey to the south of Italy. "Mr.
Wilson", or to give him his real name, Herr Kaspar von Giespert,
thought fit to alter his proposed route, for instead of proceeding via
Brindisi he booked to Marseilles, hoping to catch a Messageries boat
to Singapore.
It was a pure coincidence that von Giespert and Dick were fellow-
passengers on the Folkestone-Boulogne boat, but Mr. Jaques' over-
cautious exhortation had given the Hun a clue. Happening to hear
the word Titania, von Giespert pricked up his ears. He decided to
sound the open-faced British boy; he might have succeeded but for
an initial false move in assuming that Jaques was Dick's parent.
Von Giespert was cooling his heels at the southern French seaport
days after Dick Beverley joined the yacht Titania at Taranto.
CHAPTER XIV
Sunk in Collision
It was a dark, windless night. The Titania, under power, was gliding
through the tranquil waters of the Red Sea. The port watch had just
been relieved, and Bobby Beverley, having "handed over" to Jack
Villiers, lingered on the deck to have a yarn with his particular chum.
Already the port of Hodeida was left on the port quarter. Ahead lay
the reefs surrounding the dangerous Hanish Islands. Two miles
astern could be discerned the red, green, and white lights of a
vessel that was obviously overhauling the Titania hand over fist.
"After knocking about at sea without lights for three years," said
Beverley, "it does seem a bit awkward to find yourself up against
'em. Something like that prisoner in the Bastille who asked to be
shut up again after he was released. Question of use, I suppose."
At that distance only a red and a white light were visible, but by
the aid of his binoculars Villiers saw the gleam of the starboard light.
How it occurred was a mystery, but the fact remained that the
overtaking liner and the vessel that had just passed the Titania were
in collision. It was one of those instances that have taken place and
will take place in the future—unaccountable yet none the less
disastrous. In clear weather and in a perfectly calm sea two
steamers crashed into each other.
Above the noise of grinding steel and the hiss of escaping steam
came a clamorous panic-stricken yell from hundreds of throats.
But the Old Man was at that moment bounding up the companion-
ladder, a conspicuous figure in his white drill uniform.
One of the colliding vessels was a liner. She was badly damaged
for'ard and was deep down by the bows. The other, a chartered
Belgian steamer conveying Mussulman pilgrims to Jiddah, the port of
the Holy City of Mecca, had already sunk, having been cut
completely in two by the impact.
"Have those boats swung inboard again, Mr. Villiers," he ordered.
"We'll lay right alongside that fellow. There'll be time before she
goes."
Even under normal conditions it would have been no easy task, but
the difficulties were increased tenfold, for while the colliding vessels
remained locked together, nearly a hundred frantic Mussulmans had
succeeded in clambering over the liner's shattered bows to find but a
temporary refuge on her decks. These, in addition to a very
cosmopolitan assortment of passengers, were already out of hand,
despite the firm efforts of the liner's officers and crew to maintain
discipline. There was a wild stampede for the boats—Arabs and
Europeans mingled in a suicidal and homicidal rush, with the result
that by the time the Titania was within hailing distance one boat
only had been successfully lowered. The rest had either capsized or
were hanging vertically from the davits. Those of the passengers
who yet remained on board were either made of sterner stuff or else
they had been tamed by the sight of the fate that had befallen the
frenzied mob. As for the officers and crew of the foundering vessel,
they were doing their best to try and preserve order, but the sudden
addition of a swarm of pilgrims rendered their task almost
superhuman.
The French liner Cité d'Arras was on the point of disappearing. With
the Titania's searchlights flashed upon the scene, her stricken hull
looked as though it were fashioned of silver. Her stern was high out
of the water, and, after the Titania had pushed off, she had
developed a terrific list to starboard.
A hush fell upon the crowd on the Titania's deck. All eyes were
directed upon the sinking vessel, even the Mussulmans abandoning
their hitherto impassive attitude to gaze upon the scene.
Steam was still issuing in dense clouds from her boiler-rooms; jets
of water expelled by compressed air leapt high above her listing
masts as the eddying, foaming water encroached upon her decks.
Literally forcing his way along the crowded deck, Bobby Beverley
went below to make up arrears of sleep. At the foot of the
companion-ladder he encountered Claverhouse, on whom the task of
providing accommodation 'tween decks for the women and children
rescued from the Cité d'Arras had fallen.
"Do you know your young brother's been in the ditch?" inquired
Alec.
"What silly game have you been up to?" inquired Beverley Major
sternly.
"Only got a bit wet," replied Beverley Minor. "Nothing much; I'll
soon get your cabin straight, Bob."
"Pushed in?"
"You young ass!" ejaculated his brother. "I suppose you know the
water's teeming with sharks?"
"Time enough for you to have been bitten in two," rejoined Bobby.
"All right, carry on and wipe up the mess. I want to turn in."
"I want you to tell me exactly how he got into the ditch," declared
Bobby.
"You know that much, then?" rejoined Trevear. "Non, non. Taisez-
vous; c'est defendu de puller mon hair (that was an aside addressed
to his charges, who, finding themselves ignored, reasserted their
presence by tugging vigorously at the ex-airman's closely-cropped
hair). All right, then; s'pose I'm no longer bound to secrecy. While
we were lying alongside the Frenchman, young Dick spotted
someone in the water—one of the Arab crowd. Before I knew what
he was up to—I thought he was going to sling the fellow a coil of
rope—he took a turn round his waist with the end of a line and
jumped overboard. Pete and I hiked him back in double quick time,
'cause the Arab fellow was trying to drag him under. Yes, we got the
pair of 'em just as a brute of a shark turned on his back and showed
his ugly jaws. Gave me a bit of a turn, and I fancy young Dick had
the wind up after it was all over. That youngster's got some pluck,
old son."
"Dick," he said softly. "You're a silly young ass, but I'm proud of
you."
It was broad daylight when Bobby Beverley awoke to find Pete
standing by his bunk with a cup of tea. Already the air was
insufferably hot, in spite of the fact that the port-hole was wide open
and an electric fan running. Without, the sun beat fiercely down, its
hot rays glancing obliquely from the mirror-like surface of the water.
On deck the tramp of many feet showed that the survivors of the
catastrophe were giving signs of activity.
Looking at the clock, Bobby saw that he had but twenty minutes
before going on deck to take over his watch. A plunge into a bath of
tepid water, shaving and dressing, occupied half the allotted time;
then, making a hurried breakfast, the watch-keeping officer went on
deck.
The moment the anchor was dropped and the yacht lost way the
Titania was surrounded by a fleet of small boats. Into them the
rescued people were placed and taken ashore, not before an
impromptu meeting had been held on deck and a vote of thanks
delivered in broken English by a tall, corpulent Frenchman who was
about to take up a Consular appointment in China.
"No," replied the lad. "For one thing, I didn't notice him until he
had left the Titania and was sitting in the boat. For another, I didn't
want to."
"Why not?" asked Bobby. When Dick took a dislike to anyone there
was usually a sound reason.
The schoolboy told how "Mr. Wilson" had tried to pump him.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Jack Villiers, who was with Bobby at this time.
"Pity you hadn't let us know half an hour ago. That's old Borgen for
a million. He's on his way to join the Zug."
"And what would you have done?" inquired Dick, forming a mental
picture of burly Jack Villiers and "Mr. Wilson" fighting à l'outrance on
the deck of the good ship Titania.
"Done?" echoed Villiers. "I owe him one for sand-bagging me—or
getting his minions to do so, which comes to practically the same
thing. I'd have kept him under the influence of morphia for the next
twenty-four hours and taken him to sea with us. Then we'd see how
the rival crush got on without a figurehead. We'll have to inform the
skipper."
"'Tany rate he's boxed up in Massowah for a week or ten days and
he's lost all his kit. That's rather put the lid on his activities for a bit.
But since he owes us something for saving his life I hope he won't
bear us a grudge on that account."
It was a long, tedious stretch across the Arabian Sea, for more
than 2500 miles lay between the yacht and the port of Colombo. For
the most part there was little wind. When there was any it was
generally too much ahead to give the vessel a useful slant, for it was
the time of the north-east monsoon. Consequently, the heavy oil-
engines were kept running almost continuously.
Towards the latter end of the run Harborough rarely left the deck.
He slept in the chart-house, going below for his meals and returning
with the utmost haste. His usual coolness was noticeably absent. He
was restless and uncommunicative, often pacing the deck for hours
with hardly a word to anyone.
At length, shortly after daybreak, he touched Villiers on the
shoulder and pointed to a rugged mountain-top just showing above
the horizon.
CHAPTER XVI
The Wrong Island
"I was debating," replied Harborough. "I want to, and yet I don't
want to. Fact is, I can't make up my mind."
"You wish to satisfy yourself that our rivals are slogging away on
the wrong spot?"
"Exactly," replied the baronet. "I suppose it's rather childish, but
somehow I want to enjoy the spectacle of seeing the Zug's crew
figuratively tumble into the pit they suppose they've dug for others.
On the other hand, we are anxious to get to work, and on that
account perhaps it would be as well to slip past Ni Telang
unobserved and carry on to Nua Leha. It will take us some time, I
fancy, to locate the wreck."
"We could make a trip in one of our boats," replied Beverley. "You
couldn't, Villiers, old son; they know you already. We could pitch up
a yarn that we are on a fishing expedition and have got blown away
from our ship. For that purpose we would be Yanks from the U.S.
yacht Narrunga. No doubt friend Strauss would bluff us, but he
daren't refuse to let us land for fresh water."
Keeping to the new course, the Titania passed a good ten miles
from the island of Ni Telang. At that distance, although the peaks
were plainly visible in the clear atmosphere, the low-lying land and
the surrounding barrier of coral reefs were below the horizon. There
was a strong temptation to ascertain whether the Zug had already
arrived, but, once a decision was arrived at, Harborough put the
question firmly from his mind.
All hands, including Pete, who was now entirely "in the know",
were tremendously excited as the distance between the Titania and
her goal decreased.
Yet the island appeared to rise above the blue horizon with
provoking slowness. By noon it was just possible to discern three
jagged peaks that rose to a height of two thousand five hundred
feet above the sea-level, the intervening valleys being a good
thousand feet lower. To the northward the ground sloped gradually
until it vanished in the haze of mingled sea and sky.
By four o'clock the white line marking the surf upon the outer reef
was visible. By the aid of glasses it could be seen that the lower
portion of the island was much-wooded, coco-nut palms
predominating. The upper land was well covered with grass, but the
higher peaks were bare and rugged, indicating their volcanic origin.
He swept the island with his binoculars, and then turned abruptly
upon Bobby Beverley.
To enter the lagoon and dispute the right of possession with the
rival expedition would almost certainly end in bloodshed, and this
Harborough was loth to provoke. Nor was he willing to come to
terms with them. On the other hand, he was not going to give up his
chances and those of his fellow-adventurers. Something had to be
done and that quickly, for in another five minutes the Titania would
be visible from the Zug's decks.
Quickly fore and aft canvas was set, and, close-hauled on the port
tack, the Titania skirted the western side of the island. It was soon
evident that her presence was observed, for with true Hunnish
effrontery the Zug gave a long blast on her syren and hoisted the
German colours.
But when the Titania held on, Strauss began to puzzle his brains. If
this were the island he could not understand why the Englishmen
should admit defeat so tamely. Something was wrong somewhere.