THE menace of an approaching typhoon brooded over Hong Kong Harbour. Since daybreak the weather had been sultry and oppressive; now, about noon, squalls which squalls which brought with them a fine drizzling rain were sweeping at intervals across the water, blotting out the shipping. For

hours the Peak, with its many white European residences, which usually show up so distinctly against its green background, had been completely obscured. Up at the observatory the first warning storm signal had been hoisted by the authorities; but, owing to the squalls, that, or any subsequent ones which might replace it, could only occasionally be seen by the anxious watchers on board the ships.

The large cargo steamer Dulnain, which was due to sail at noon for Java, was lying in the harbour with derricks down, all ready for sea. She had finished discharging her cargo about three hours before, and was in ballast trim; already one of the two anchors with which she had been moored had been hove up and secured. Her captain, however, was in a quandary. From the reading of his own barometer, from the warning signal, and, in addition, from information supplied to him by the harbour authorities when he had been

ashore about an hour before, he was aware that somewhere between the Bashee Islands far to the east, where it had been bred, and Hong Kong there was proceeding in a westerly direction an intense revolving storm. He knew that this colossal disturbance, covering many hundreds of square miles, was coming on like a gigantic cart-wheel at the rate of about two hundred miles a day, and that quite possibly the wind, which was rotating round its centre, would be attaining a strength of at least a hundred miles an hour. Clearly it was a thing to be avoided, but the point was that the centre of it was not due in the vicinity of the China coast for a matter of thirty-six hours, and the latest information which he had received was that it would probably strike in somewhere to the north. Now he was bound to the south, and if he got away at once he would save at least a couple of days' delay, and possibly run into fine. weather within twelve hours. The real crux of the matter was whether the storm would actually strike in to the north, or whether it would come straight on, or, worst of all, even go farther south. As he stood in the chart-room on the bridge consulting with his chief officer, he earnestly wished that he had some further information.

"Look here, Simpson," he said to the officer, "the harbour-master expected another cable from the observatory in the Philippines about noon. The ship's sampan is still alongside; slip ashore just as you are in your oilskin coat and rubber boots, run up to the harbour office, and, with this wind, you can be back with any message they have in less than half an hour."

"Very good, sir," replied the chief, and proceeded along the deck to the gangway ladder, at the foot of which, as the captain had said, the sampan was still lying. This craft was owned and commanded by a lady-one of a very numerous tribe which attends to the deep-sea shipping in Hong Kong Harbour, half of whose members answer to the name of Sampan Mary, and it was her permanent home, as the cooking-pots and other domestic utensils which usually lumbered its deck showed. She was dressed in tunic and trousers made of a black silk-like material, and wore a huge mushroom-shaped hat, and as the chief officer descended the gangway ladder she was busy with her crew, which was composed of her sons and daughters of various ages, putting a close reef in the sampan's main-sail. The deck had already been cleared of everything movable.

"I want you to take me ashore, Mary," said the chief officer. "I am only going up to the harbour-master's office, and will come straight back."

"No bloody fear," replied

Mary civilly, but not ceasing work for a moment. "Typhoon come-me go.”

"Where are you going to! asked the chief.

"Other side,” replied Mary, waving her hand in the direction of the Kowloon shore. "Look see, all sampan go other side."

The reefing operation being completed, Mary took the helm. and the youthful crew, under her direction, hoisted the sail. One of them pushed the bow off with a boat-hook, the sail filled on the port tack, and with a cheerful wave of her dirty paw Mary disappeared into the mist of another squall. The chief officer gazed about to see if there was any other means of getting ashore, but any sampan which passed within hail took no notice: as Mary had said, they were all going to the other side. He returned to the bridge, and reported his failure to captain.

of

"I was rather afraid that," said the latter. "Ever since that big typhoon a few years ago when, through some misunderstanding, unknown thousands of them were drowned, they have been jumpy and nervous. Before that they would hang on until the last minute; now as soon as the warning signal is hoisted they begin to panic to get away across to the other side. There is a large shallow bay over there where they pack themselves in and lie in absolute safety. All the same, it is high time that we did some

thing. The centre of this typhoon may not be due for some time, but there will be some devilish weather before very long. What to do? That's the problem."

The captain's mind was very undecided, and indecision was a thing which he loathed. A crisis which called for immediate action never found him wanting: the correct order seemed to spring to his lips instantaneously. The solving of this problem, which he had ample time to think over, was a different matter. Two opposing courses lay open to him-either to seek shelter in one of the numerous anchorages around Hong Kong and remain there in safety until the storm had passed, or to proceed boldly to sea and steam as fast as his ship could go to the south, hoping to get clear before the worst of the storm would reach him. In his indecision he almost wished that he could lay his reason for those two courses before a competent authority, and abide by what that authority decided. This was, of course, impossible, but just then a solution which had something in it of that nature presented itself.

trade for twenty-five years, and besides he has been lying closer inshore and may have got later information. In any case we can't stay here. Heave aweigh, Simpson. If he goes to sea we will follow him; if not, we will run in for shelter behind Stone-cutters."

Before the Apear boat could be got under way another, and fiercer, squall came howling up the harbour, completely blotting her out from view, but presently a deep-throated bellow from her steam whistle, farther east, seemed to indicate that she was bound to sea. The captain of the Dulnain, as soon as his anchor was aweigh, cautiously proceeded to follow. As he felt his way slowly toward the Ly-mun, the narrow channel which is the eastern entrance to Hong Kong, he became aware that the surface of the water in his vicinity was alive with moving craft. Ghostly shapes of junks and sampans would loom through the rain, all on the port tack, running as hard as they could for shelter; while the whistles and syrens of deep-sea steamers showed that they also were under way and making for Kowloon, the back of Stone-cutters Island, or one of the small bays farther to the west. Evidently he had not made his move a moment too soon.

The weather became clearer, and by the time that the Dulnain was entering the Lymun the rain had ceased, although another black squall could be seen working up from

the south-west. About a mile ahead was the Apear boat taking advantage of the clear spell, and steaming full speed towards the open sea. The captain looked back; that part of the harbour which he could see had been transformed. That morning any one looking down from the Peak would have seen the face of its waters covered with craft of all kinds-sampans, junks, coasting and deepsea steamers, the channels through them which were kept clear for sea-going craft looking almost like lanes which have been cut through the tall reeds in a lake. Now all those vessels had gone-seeking safety. The face of the harbour, usually one of the most crowded in the world, was as deserted as a Highland loch in winter.

The clear spell did not last very long. Squall succeeded squall after they got outside, and the weather became rapidly worse, for the Dulnain had to get a good offing before she could start to make her southing, and while doing this she was of necessity steering almost straight toward the approaching typhoon. Fortunately during this time she had a following wind and sea, and made rapid progress. It is only near the centre of these tropical storms that the wind blows in concentric circles; at their outer edges there seems to be a considerable indraft and the wind blows more toward the centre, thus making it fatally easy for any vessel to rush to her destruction. So threatening did the hor

become that the captain was decidedly relieved when, having run his distance, he was able to alter the Dulnain's course toward the south. He had had many anxious moments. The idea that he was steering straight toward the approaching disturbance, even for a short time, was rather unnerving; it was almost like having to walk a certain distance along a railway line toward an approaching train, and he was glad to be able to turn away and steer at right angles to its probable course. With the wind more abeam, the Dulnain did not make such good progress, but every mile which she did make was in the right direction. Those on board spent a bad night. At daybreak it was still blowing half a gale, but the farther south they got the better the weather became, and the barometer was rising fast. By noon the wind and sea were moderate, and the sky had cleared; by eight o'clock in the evening there was almost a dead calm.

That evening about nine o'clock the captain, clad in his pyjamas, was sitting in his cabin smoking. He had shaved, had a hot bath, and afterwards had dined well; now he had that delightful feeling of comfort which comes to one who has backed his judgment, taken a risk, and seen it come off. He had been through rather a bad time; for two days and a night he had not had his clothes off or been in bed, but now he considered that his

vessel was safe. By his action in coming to sea he had saved at least two days, a saving which doubtless his owners would appreciate, and, moreover, he was now in fine weather, whereas the vessels which had remained in Hong Kong would probably be still using their engines to prevent them from dragging as they strained at their anchors, for the sheltering places there mainly protected them against the heavy seas. They would be feeling almost the full effect of the wind, especially those which were, like the Dulnain, in ballast trim, standing up like

great balloons, and with little grip of the water.

How well his cheroot was drawing! He was lingering over the last few puffs with an eye all the time on his cosy bed. He had just been up on the bridge, written up his night order-book, and seen that the vessel was on a safe course. There was nothing to prevent him turning in and having a really good night's sleep. His cheroot being finished, he stretched himself luxuriously, switched off the light, and clambered into his bunk. In a few minutes he was sleeping like a log.

The

At midnight the second officer, yawning heavily, ascended the bridge ladder for the purpose of keeping the middle watch. As he reached the bridge he noticed that the vessel was rolling slightly to an unseen swell, and he gazed around suspiciously, for drizzling rain was driving under the awning which had been stretched that afternoon. sky, which had been quite clear at eight o'clock, was now overcast, and lightning was playing about low down on the horizon. The third officer gave him the course, and he took over the bridge while the former went into the chartroom to write up the bridge log-book. After a good look round to satisfy himself that there was nothing in the way, the second officer also went to

"You mean the rain? replied the third, looking up from the log-book. "It came on about half an hour ago. Read the barometer for me like a good chap."

The reason for this request was that the mercurial barometer, the reading of which he had to enter in the log, was hanging close to the chartroom door against which the second officer was leaning, and the latter, automatically raising his hand to the adjusting screw of the vernier, was proceeding to read it when an astonished exclamation escaped him.

"Here, what the devil is this ? he cried.