CHAPTER XIIIBad News for Gerald WilsonWritten by Sub-Lieutenant William WilsonLater on in the morning, after all those things had happened about which that young ass of a cousin of mine has just told you, and after the Santa Cruz Navy and the transports had disappeared, a boat came pulling off to the ship with a note from old Gerald.'DEAR BILLUMS—The whole "caboodle" has shoved off home—haven't an idea why, but they were in such a hurry that they left behind them a grand lot of ammunition—the very thing we wanted. Old Zorilla has gone back without his black horse—never mind. There's a report that a white flag is flying over El Castellar. I'm just off to see. GERALD.'I read it out to the gun-room. Wasn't it grand for old Gerald? He'd just about swept the board.I thought I'd show the letter to the Skipper, and did so—he was jolly pleased.'Tut, tut, boy! I'll tell "Old Spats,"' he chuckled, and sent for a signalman, but had hardly spoken before one came tearing in with a 'wireless' message from theHercules—she was still at Princes' Town.'La Buena Presidenteput into San Josef two days ago, after carrying out target practice, and, under shelter of Punta Rejos, coaled from a collier. She is flying the insurgent flag.''Now we know, lad! That's the reason the Santa Cruz fleet cleared off, lad! They've heard about her. She'll be off the coast any day, and they're flying back under the guns of Los Angelos.'He sent the signalman back with his message for Captain Roger Hill.'Tut, tut, boy! I'll be able to ask your brother to dinner in a few days, I hope—that is, if he isn't too big a swell—makes me feel a worm—p'r'aps he won't come—hope he will.'He pointed his telescope towards the shore. 'Look at those black and green flags flying over the town. The Provisional Government are unpacking their bags again, I expect, and if they demand Official Recognition they'll probably get it.''I hope they will, sir,' I said, and went below. You can guess how jolly cheerful I felt, and how I blessedLa Buena Presidenteand the people who'd coaled her.I knew how awfully happy the news would make them at home, so I got permission to send a telegram to tell them that Gerald was safe. It went to theHerculesby 'wireless,' and I jolly well hoped that some one on board her would pay for it to be telegraphed to England. I did so wish that old 'Ginger' and I hadn't parted 'brass rags,' and that I could have asked him to send it.That afternoon the Captain sent for me; he'd shipped a sea-boot face, and I knew that something had gone wrong.'I've just had that signal, lad,' he said, and handed it to me.'From Captain,Hercules, to ditto,Hector.—The following signal has been received from the Admiralty: "The cruiser known asLa Buena Presidente, flying the unrecognised flag of the insurgent Provisional Government, left San Josef on the 22nd. She is to be arrested as soon as possible, and handed over to the Government at Santa Cruz. Force is to be employed if necessary. Steps are to be taken to inform the Government Authorities that she will not be allowed to afford any assistance to the insurgents."'Identical orders have been received by the Governor of Prince Rupert's Island from the Foreign Office.''That's a bit of a knock-out for your brother, I'm afraid,' he said sadly.I don't know what I answered, I'd never been so miserable in my life; this simply turned everything upside down again, and whatever Gerald did now, he could never hope to win—things were too hopelessly against him. The possession ofLa Buena Presidentewas the insurgents' only chance of success, and without her they could do nothing. I knew that Gerald was too proud to escape from the country, and he'd probably end by being killed in some rotten little action or shot against the wall, between those saluting guns, in San Sebastian. The only bright thing at all, on that miserable day, was a 'wireless' from dear old Ginger. 'Have sent your telegram home.' I wished he was here, I'd have banged him on the chest, made up that silly row on the spot, and we'd have talked over things.The Provisional Government did come aboard, later on, smiling all over, the New President's unhealthy face looking happy for the first time, and his little Secretary bobbing about as if he were on springs. They came to formally demand Recognition from the Foreign Powers, and of course the Captain passed on the demand, by 'wireless,' to theHerculesfor her to transmit to London.Neither the Captain nor any one else had the heart to tell them the bad news, so they all went ashore as cheerful as crickets, fully expecting a favourable reply.'I'll let you know as soon as the reply comes,' the Captain sent his coxswain to tell me, and I waited all the rest of that wretched day, wandering about like a lost sheep. I couldn't even turn in at night, and spent most of it on the bridge waiting for the reply to be telephoned up from the wireless room.The answer came at last, and it seemed to blotch out the last hope.'The existence of the Provisional Government cannot be recognised.''Don't send it ashore till the morning,' the Skipper muttered; 'bad news will keep. The Government are evidently anxious to make up for their slackness in allowing the insurgents to get hold of that ship in English waters, and I'm afraid no Provisional Government can expect to last long now that we have to hand her over to the Santa Cruz people.'Next morning we weighed and steamed slowly down the bay of La Laguna, past the Casino where the great fight had been, and anchored under El Castellar. The green and yellow flag was still flying over it, and they had made no attempt to cover up the hole my for'ard 9.2 gun had made in the walls. Every now and then we heard rifle shots, and saw parties of the little insurgents running about among the trees beneath the fort, so knew that Gerald was still investing it.The Captain sent for me.'I'm going ashore, boy! going to see the Commandant of that fort and you can come with me. Have to inform him about our Government's decision and aboutLa Buena Presidente. I don't like the job, boy, that I don't.'In half an hour we were alongside a small jetty, built below the fort, and had landed in white uniform, helmets, and swords. An officer and a couple of black soldiers came running down a zigzag path to meet us, the officer saluting and bowing and the two black chaps presenting arms.'El Commandante?' the Skipper said, shipping his 'tin eye,' and pointing up to the fort.'He will have much honour,' the officer bowed.'Thank goodness some one knows a bit of English,' I heard the Skipper mutter as we followed him. My aunt! but it was hot, and the Skipper was sweating like a bull as he walked up that blazing path. The stones under our feet seemed to burn through the soles of our boots, and the withered palm and cactus leaves, stuck in between the rocks, looked as if they'd never known what rain was or a breeze either—they were covered with a thick white dust.The officer didn't sweat, he looked as dry and shrivelled as the leaves themselves, and as if he hadn't had a drink or a square meal for weeks; his uniform was dirty and torn. Across the flap of his revolver holster there was a long furrow, made, probably, by a bullet, and, to judge by its appearance, within a few hours, but he gave you the impression that he'd never known anything else except war and forest fighting, and that one bullet, more or less, didn't matter.'Pretty swanky!' the Skipper grunted, taking off his helmet and wiping his forehead.'I no savvy,' the officer said, and then 'tumbled' to it and smiled for a second, his yellow leathery face looking as if it would crack.As we reached the top we passed any number of ox bones and skulls, and the smell was pretty unpleasant. It looked as if they'd been thrown over the walls. Then we passed inside the fort, through a small iron door in the thickness of the wall, not that part of the wall which our 9.2 had damaged, but round a corner, and it struck me that we had been purposely taken this way, so as not to see the hole.As we entered, we found ourselves in a great square red-tiled parade-ground. There were open thatched sheds all round two sides of it, and a dozen or more soldiers were hurriedly pouring out from under them to form a guard of honour. A couple of antiquated 'smooth bores' lay on the ground with their trunnions smashed, in the centre was a broken-down well, and the whole place was littered with rubbish, old clothes, bones, and empty ammunition boxes. We'd hardly had a look round when who should come across, from some buildings on the far side, but old Gerald, a grey-haired, sunburnt, and bent-backed officer talking very fast to him. For a second I wondered whether he was a prisoner, but then I saw my friend the 'Gnome' and several others of Gerald's officers. The 'Gnome' recognised me at once, showed his white teeth, smiled, pointed up to a flagstaff where that green and yellow flag hung, and then to a roll of green and black bunting which he was carrying under his arm, and I knew at once that Gerald was there to accept the surrender of the place, and that my bandy-legged chum was going presently to hoist the insurgent flag.Poor old Gerald! He looked so splendidly English, in his white riding-gear and polo-hat, and so proud, that I hated to meet him and tell him the awful news.He introduced the Skipper, and then me, to the weather-beaten Commandant.'I no speak the English,' he said, bowing.'We're just arranging the terms of surrender,' Gerald told the Skipper. 'You've come in the nick of time, because the Commandant won't trust himself in de Costa's hands. They are old enemies, and I cannot persuade him.'Oh! Fancy having arrived at this very moment to spoil all poor old Gerald's hopes.I saw the Skipper ship his 'sea-boot' face again, and felt certain that he was wondering whether it was possible to let things go on as they were, and not tell the news.He 'tut-tutted,' screwed in his eyeglass, took off his helmet, and ran his fingers through his long hair, as he always did when worried, and then burst out with, 'Wilson, I've bad news for you—very sorry, lad, very sorry; the fleet and the transports cleared out because that cruiser of yours,La Buena Presidente, may be here at any minute, and, very sorry, lad, but I've got to capture her and give her up to the people at Santa Cruz. Our Government won't recognise the insurgent Provisional Government, and I'm ordered to inform the Commandant. That's why I'm here now.'I could hardly bear to look at Gerald.He caught his breath for a moment, and his grand jaw tightened the least little bit as he said slowly, 'We shall have to make a fresh start, Captain Grattan.''What shall I do?' the Skipper asked him. 'You'd better explain to the Commandant.'That struck me as being too much to ask of Gerald, but he only tightened his jaws a little more, and began jabbering away in Spanish to the Commandant, whose tired, hungry-looking eyes opened out with pleasure and cunning, so that I knew that my brother had told him everything, and knew perfectly well that there would be no surrender. It wouldn't help old Gerald much now, even if he did get possession of the fort, because that cruiser, whose coming we'd been longing for so much and now so dreaded, would, after we'd handed her over to the Santa Cruz Navy, batter down its walls with the utmost ease.If I'd been Gerald I'm hanged if I would have told him the truth, and would have taken my chance with the fort. Oh! wasn't it cruel luck?'The Commandant thanks you for the information,' Gerald said, turning to the Skipper, 'and under the new circumstances will not surrender El Castellar.'We saw the Commandant speak to the officer who had met us, and he must have passed the news round, for, in a minute or two, a couple of hundred ragged half-starved soldiers surged out from under those thatched huts, swarmed round us, and began shouting out, 'Viva los Inglesas!' 'Viva la Marina Inglesa!' The brutes—they'd have cut our throats, ten minutes ago, with the greatest pleasure. I saw the 'Gnome's' hand go to his revolver, for they jolly well looked as if they wanted to cut his throat and the other officers'—he was bristling with anger.'Come along, boy, we've done enough harm here,' the Skipper said.'Hadn't we better see my brother safely out of it first, sir?' I suggested, for I didn't like the Commandant's eyes or those treacherous-looking soldiers.'Brain wave, lad! Good brain wave!—we will.'We did see him out, tramping along through the main gateway, over a drawbridge, and took him down to where his own little brown men clustered, at the edge of the forest, waiting to see the black and green flag hoisted above the fort they hated so much.[image]It was the most miserable walk I have ever hadIt was the most miserable walk I have ever had, and I could have killed the men shouting 'Viva los Inglesas!' as they lined the wall and crowded through the gateway behind us. I feel certain that, if we hadn't been there, and theHectorlying close inshore, they'd have shot Gerald and his officers in the back.I told Gerald about my having cut the fingers off that little ex-policeman, and implored him not to let him go again, and before we got to the forest we stopped to wish him good-bye. As I was going, he said: 'I know Captain Pelayo, Billums, the Captain ofLa Buena Presidente—he and old Zorilla are about the only types of the old fighting Spaniard left in the country—and he won't surrender his ship without fighting. He's got good men aboard too.'We left old Gerald there, but I turned to watch him and the 'Gnome' disappear into the gloomy forest among their little men, before I followed the Skipper—a big lump sticking in my throat.'I'd have asked your brother to come on board, lad,' he said, 'hang the arresting part of it and that warrant, and have taken him out of the country in safety, but I know he wouldn't; he isn't the kind of chap to leave his fellows in a hole.'He was about right there.The same officer who had met us took us back, and this time we were obliged to pass that hole our 9.2 had made. The pathway was almost hidden by the blocks of stone and scattered bricks which had been hurled down by the explosion, and we had to pick our way very gingerly across them, so that it was impossible not to notice the huge gap above us.The officer waved his hands and shrugged his shoulders, 'We forget—you forget—allmucho bueno.''Do you expect that ship to come here, sir?' I asked him, as we pulled back to the ship.'Don't know, lad, sheshouldmake for San Fernando first, and I'm going to stay here to see that she doesn't get there, but I've told "Old Spats" to take theHerculesto Los Angelos, in case she should attempt anything there.'I told him what Gerald had said to me about Captain Pelayo, and asked him what he would do if she did not stop when told to do so.'Shall we have to fight her, sir?''I suppose we shall,' he answered, with a wink. He looked as though he almost hoped she wouldn't stop. So should I have done but for old Gerald.'She'll be a pretty hard nut to tackle, sir; she's got eight twelve-inch guns on a broadside.''Well, we've got four 9.2's and four 7.5's. Don't bother about that, she won't know how to use them.'Still I couldn't help thinking that, unless we had theHerculesto help us, it would be a pretty hard job.Most of us on board thought so too, that is, if it did come to a scrap, but the general opinion was that her crew could not possibly be trained, would not be able to fight her guns properly, and, if she couldn't run away, would have to surrender.Raynor, the Engineer Sub, who knew all about her, pointed out that she was supposed to have three knots more speed than theHector, so might be able to escape.'Running away won't do her any good,' I said, 'or Gerald's people either.'However, the possibility of having to fight made every one of us in the gun-room, except myself, extremely cheerful and excited, and when late in the afternoon we began to 'clear ship for action' and 'prepare for battle,' you would have thought by the way we all jumped round and got the ship in fighting trim that we were expecting to pay off old scores on some deadly enemy. It almost made me smile to hear the mids. talking now. At the back of their minds there was a feeling that perhaps the fight might be a bit more even if theHerculescame along to help, and they made quite pleasant remarks about her and her hated gun-room.I know that I myself hoped that if it did come to a 'scrap,' old Ginger Hood would be there to share the fun.Cousin Bob must tell you what did actually happen.CHAPTER XIVLa Buena PresidentefightsWritten by Midshipman Bob TempleAfter we had had that ripping lark with those two 4.7's on shore, the insurgent President sent off a great basket of fruit—oranges, grape-fruit, melons, and bananas—every day whilst we remained off San Fernando, so we were jolly sorry to get up anchor and steam down to El Castellar.Of course we were very sorry for Cousin Gerald's sake that we had to collarLa Buena Presidente, but thought it would be splendid fun if she showed fight, and we all hoped that she'd come our way and not give those beastlyHercules'mids. a chance. Then we heard what Cousin Gerald had told Billums about her Captain being such a fine chap, and Raynor, the Engineer Sub, told us so much about her, her armour and her big guns, that though we didn't get exactly frightened, we rather felt that we'd like theHercules'mids. to chip in with us after all.A lot of our chaps thought that she'd simply haul down her flag directly we signalled to her to do so, but Mr. Bostock the Gunner shook his head. He'd seen a revolution out in these parts, years and years ago, and said we were wrong: 'She'll not 'aul her flag down whilst she's got men to fight the guns and shovel coal in the bunkers.'He told us the story of the fight between theShahand theHuascar, which was just about the same kind of show. There had been a revolution and theHuascarhad joined the insurgents down the coast. She ran short of coal, and not being able to buy any, took it by force out of an English steamer, so theShah—she was our flagship out there then—was sent after her and they had a stand-up fight. TheShahwas a wooden ship with thin armour-plates along the side, and theHuascarwas an iron one with turrets and very thick armour, so the English ship found herself up against too big a mouthful and got the worst of it.'I was Captain's coxswain aboard 'er,' Mr. Bostock told us, but we sang out that he couldn't have been more than twelve years old at the time. 'Believe me or believe me not, young gen'l'men, I was Captain's coxswain, and a nice kind gen'l'man he was too. In the middle of the haction 'e sees a big round shot from the turret-ship come bobbin' along towards us—straight as a die. "Full speed astern," 'e says to me—"Full speed astern, Bostock,"—just like that—not turnin' a 'air—and full speed astern we went, and that shot just 'it the water under our bows. Another time, about 'arf a 'our arterwards, we was gettin' pretty tired of shootin' against 'er thick sides and seein' our shot bouncing off 'er armour like peas, 'e sees another round shot comin' along. "That'll just about 'it the Admiral's cabin," 'e says, "and aggravate 'im," 'e says, "if we don't 'urry along a bit. Full speed ahead, Bostock."'Well, 'e was a wonder, was the Captain, but the leadin' seaman, who passed the order down to the engine-room, wasn't very smart about it, and though we did go full speed a-'ead, we didn't do it quick enough, and that shot just took off the life-buoy a-'angin' under our stern. Took it off without even a-damagin' the gilt scroll we' ad there, but that 'ere leadin' seaman 'ad 'is pay stopped till 'e'd paid for it—an' serve 'im right.'Of course that was in the days of muzzle-loaders, when the shot didn't go along as smartly as they do now; but that Captain was a smart 'un—'e 'ad judgment, 'e 'ad.''They must have been pretty sick of life at your dodging their shots like that,' we said, laughing.'Believe me or believe me not, but as true as I'm a-sittin' in my cabin 'ere at this moment, they started a-'easin' off two at a time, 'oping to catch us with one of them.''What did the Skipper do then?' we asked.'What d'you think?' he snorted. 'There was those two great black shell comin' racin' along towards us, side by side, and 'e turns to me, as quiet as a babe unborn, and 'e says: "'Ard a starb'ard"—that's all, and our old tub turns round on 'er 'eel, just faces them two shell and 'e shoved 'er nose inbetweenthem an' they just splashed the men in the batteries a bit. We can't do nothin' like that nowadays, young gen'l'men—nothin' like that.''We shouldn't think we could,' we shouted, as he seized his cap and ran up on deck, for the Commander wanted him.We cleared for action that afternoon and just before dark got under way and stood out into the open sea, past El Castellan.This clearing for action made it certain that the Captain was doubtful whether she'd surrender without fighting, and of course made us all more excited than ever.'If she does fight, I hope theHerculeswill come and help; she'll be a bit of a handful to tackle single-handed,' Barton sang out, and Billums laughed sarcastically and said, 'I thought you'd rather die than let them help you,' which made us rather angry.The 'Angel' and I went in to have a yarn with the fat little A.D.C. and hear what he thought about it. He was very excited, and said that Captain Pelayo would die sooner than surrender—he seemed to know him very well. That night the Captain had him taken down below in the 'tiller flat,'[#] so that he would be out of danger if anythingdidhappen, and his being taken down there made us all feel a bit creepy.[#] A space right aft, below the water-line, where the steering engine and emergency hand-steering mechanism are situated.Well, nothing happened all night; we simply 'mooned' about, backwards and forwards, near the entrance, andLa Buena Presidentemust have been hovering round, too, waiting till it was light enough to see her way into La Laguna, for, as it grew light enough, she was sighted not five miles away, steaming leisurely in towards the entrance. Although she was painted white she looked enormous.The Captain was called, and ran up on the fore bridge in a twinkling, and sent 'Blotchy' Smith down with a wireless message to theHercules. He showed it to me as he passed along the upper deck, 'La Buena Presidenteis eight miles off El Castellar steaming towards it. Shall prevent her entering. Come south and prevent her escaping to sea.''She'll be here in three hours and a half,' 'Blotchy' shouted, as he ran aft, and I felt jolly glad, but rather wished it was minutes instead of hours.Then 'General Quarters' was sounded, and we all rushed to our stations. Mr. Bigge and I got through the back of our 9.2 turret—the for'ard starboard one just under the projecting end of the fore bridge—and when we'd reported everything 'cleared away' and had filled our 'ready' rack with more shells, we climbed out of the sighting-hood and squatted on top of the turret, whilst they trained it for'ard and aft as far as it would go and raised and lowered the long gun, to test the hydraulic machinery. It was a perfectly lovely morning, the sea like glass, and theHector'sbows seemed just to push the water aside, not even breaking the surface. It was so jolly clear that we could see thousands of jelly-fish—all the colours of the rainbow—floating past under our sponson. It really was grand, and we sat there and watched the big ship coming slowly towards us with the sun rising just behind her.'That's bad for shooting, if it comes to a fight,' Mr. Bigge said; 'it will dazzle the "Gunlayer's" eyes.''I don't expect it will; do you, sir?' I asked nervously, because she was so huge, and I knew that she had so much more powerful guns than we had, that, now it came to the pinch, I was in a funk.'Don't know,' he answered; 'we'll know in ten minutes.'The signalmen began running about the bridge above us, we heard the Chief Yeoman's voice saying 'Hoist,' and up went three flags and the white international code pendant.'What's that mean, sir?' I asked, as the halyards were jerked to shake out the flags.'"Stop engines," I think,' Mr. Bigge said, squinting through his telescope to see if she took any notice.Something did go fluttering to her masthead—she only had one mast, a tripod one, amidships—but it was the black and green flag, and a huge one at that.'She's not going to stop,' Mr. Bigge muttered. 'The Sub was right after all. We'll have to fight her.'I did feel so uncomfortable and horrid 'inside,' and looked to see that the sighting-hood was open so that I could crawl down into the turret again—quickly.Every one was simply gazing at the big ship, wondering what she would do, and you couldn't hear a sound, except the hissing noise of some steam, escaping from a leaky joint near the syren fog-horn up on the foremost funnel. Just aft of our turret was the first 7.5 turret, and the 'Forlorn Hope'—just a little pale—was leaning against the side of it looking at the ship—I was jolly glad that I wasn't so fat, I felt much too big already—and the 'Shadow' slipped out of the next 7.5 turret to yarn with him and then ran back again and shut the door.Dr. Clegg came cheerily along from under the fo'c'stle, and stopped near our turret to look at her too.He sang out asking if we had our 'first aid' bag, and I put my head down the sighting-hood to find out.'Yes, sir!' I shouted down—it did me good to shout.'Just seeing that all our things are rigged,' he said, smiling at Mr. Bigge, looking along at the sunrise for a moment with a funny expression in his face before he dived down below.'He may not see it again,' Mr. Bigge said, and I understood and felt shivery all over.Inside my turret I could hear the Gunlayer, who had his eye to the telescopic sight, talking to the Sight Setter. 'Now don't you go a-playing none of your tricks, Bill. Tie a bit of spun yarn round your right thumb and you'll know it from your left, and won't be playing the ass with the deflection as you did at the battle practice—a-spoiling the whole ship's shooting.'Raynor, the Engineer Sub, came along too, and went down into our turret to see if the hydraulic machinery was all right. He climbed out of the sighting-hood in a few minutes, borrowed Mr. Bigge's telescope to have a look at the white ship, told us that everything was working well, and climbed down on deck.Then, up in the for'ard fire-control position—high up the mast—I heard the 'Angel's' voice reading off the ranges on the long range finder, 'eight thousand nine fifty—eight thousand nine hundred—eight thousand eight fifty'—and I popped my head down inside to see ifourrange indicator was working properly. It was, and the figures were slipping round all right. I looked up again, but he had his eyes glued to the range finder and didn't see me.Marchant, the Inkslinger, leaned out of the 'control' position, caught sight of me, and waved his bandaged hand—he was beaming all over.Mr. Montague, too, looked down and sang out to the fore bridge for some of the signal halyards to be hauled aside as they were fouling the range finder, and I could just see the feet of Pearson, the Assistant Paymaster, who was sitting, straddle-legs, on the top of it, doing 'spotting officer'—to spot whether shots fell short or over. I was jolly glad that I wasn't up there, and that, if it did come to a fight, I had six inches of armour to get behind.The ship was so close now that we could see her huge guns, but she didn't seem to have cleared for action.'Fire a port twelve-pounder!' we heard the Captain say; 'they may not have seen the signal.'Men began running about, the Commander bellowed at them, and the little gun fired almost immediately—to leeward—away fromLa Buena Presidente—and we watched to see if that would have any effect.It had. A long string of flags went jerking up the tripod mast and the international code pendant was hoisted to her yard-arm. We heard the Chief Yeoman scurrying into the chart-house to find the signal-book, and in a minute the Captain called out to the Commander, 'They refuse to stop. Keep my signal flying and fire the foremost 9.2 across her bows.' Billums was in charge of that turret.All this time the 'Angel' had been singing out the range. It had got down to 7250 yards, and we were turning a little in towards the entrance, to prevent the ship closing too rapidly. Then round slewed Billums's long gun over the starboard bow, pointing up in the air.The Captain sang down to him to fire as soon as he liked, and almost before he'd said it, off went the gun with a roar—back it flew—my cap went flying overboard, and the brown cordite smoke came stinging into my eyes.'Why the dickens don't you stick your cap on properly?' Mr. Bigge snarled. 'You aren't a blooming infant,' and we watched to see where the shell would fall.It seemed an awfully long time, and then there was a shout of 'There it is!' all along the ship, and up spouted the water a couple of cables ahead of the white ship.Mr. Montague shouted down to know what range Billums actually had on his sights, so as to see whether the range finder was working properly or not, and then there was another shout of 'She's turning!' and I was never so relieved in my life as to see her put her helm over and run away.The Captain roared for the Engineer Commander, and sang out, 'Tell theHerculesshe's steaming seaward.'The morning seemed to be quite lovely again, and we headed after her, smoke pouring out of all our funnels, and that leaky steam joint hissing more and more. Our bows began to break the water now, and the jelly-fish streamed past like a flash.La Buena Presidentewas covered with smoke too, and seemed to be in a jolly hurry to escape.'She isn't going to fight after all,' I laughed, feeling awfully pleased.'Don't know—they're getting down her rails and awnings,' Mr. Bigge said, looking through his glass.So they were. We could see the men swarming on her quarterdeck and the awning coming off her.I felt all shivery again, and heard the Gunlayer sing out from inside the turret, 'The longer they take about it the farther the sun'll be up, and it won't get in my bloomin' eyes so much.''It seems a shame to go killing people a morning like this, doesn't it?' Mr. Bigge muttered to himself, and I jolly well agreed with him.We were buzzing along finely now, and could feel the ship shaking and throbbing.The 'Angel' was still at the range finder, and our indicator showed 6250, when suddenly the big ship turned again—she was going at a tremendous speed—and—oh, it made my backbone feel cold—made straight for the entrance and El Castellan.We still had our signal 'Stop Engines' flying, but there wasn't the least doubt now that she was simply going to rush past us. Clatter, clatter, came the signalmen down from the fore bridge to take shelter, everybody disappeared into their turrets, popping down the sighting-hoods like rabbits, the Captain and the Navigator came down and clambered through the top of the conning-tower, the 'Forlorn Hope,' with a grimace at me, squeezed himself into his turret and closed the armoured door, and, with my heart in my mouth, I wriggled down into mine.[image]The big ship turned again'Aren't you coming, sir?' I asked Mr. Bigge, but he shook his head. I felt a little safer inside there, and stood watching the range indicator. It was simply altering every few seconds—5400—5300—5200—there was no time to show the fifties.Mr. Bigge sang out for me—he wanted to know something—and I popped my head out again and couldn't see the ship—she had slanted away a little, to pass along our port side—but I just caught sight of Billums sitting on the back part of the top of his turret, on the fo'c'stle, with his knees drawn up to his chin, resting his field-glasses on them.You couldn't hear a sound anywhere—except that escaping steam—and then the gong inside the turret began sounding the 'stand by'—the next time it sounded it would mean we had to fire. The able seaman at the telephone sang out, 'The port battery's just got the order to fire, sir,' I almost fell down inside the turret again, and then the whole of our guns that could bear on the port beam fired, and some of them had time to fire again before we heard the roaring 'clap' and the crash of the shells bursting against the big ship's side. The range indicator showed 3200 yards, and we couldn't miss her very easily at so short a distance.She was passing down our port side and going in the opposite direction, so that we had to circle round to follow her, and I knew that the starboard turrets would then come into action.Mr. Bigge shouted down that we were turning to starboard, the bell at the telephone from the conning-tower rang, the able seaman jammed his ear against it, sang out, 'Starboard guns, stand by, sir!' and the gun's crew jumped to their proper stations.'Remember your right hand, Bill!' the Gunlayer called out, and wedged his eye into the indiarubber sleeve of the telescopic sight.'Train aft,' Mr. Bigge shouted down through the sighting-hood, and round we slewed.The gun's crew was ready, the gun loaded, and the next shell lying in the loading tray, so I had nothing to do except to see that the Sight Setter kept the same range on his sights as the indicator showed, and that everything was done properly.'We're coming "on,"' Mr. Bigge sang down. 'Stand by!'The Gunlayer jerked out, 'I've got her, sir'—he'd spotted her through his telescope—and I just had the pluck to pop my head out for a second and caught sight of the big white ship tearing across our stern as we swung round, and then the fire-gong clanged loudly and I slipped back again.There was a roar and a shake, men jumped about, banging and clattering—I heard the ammunition hoist rattle-rattle up to the gun, and the breech-block snap 'to,' and off she went again.'We're hitting her!' Mr. Bigge sang out. 'Aim under her mast and bridge.''She's going to fire,' he shouted, a second later, and almost before he'd said it, there was a most awful roar, like a thunder-clap, and then the most appalling noise and hot glare—the whole ship shook and seemed to be tearing in pieces. The Gunlayer was cursing that he couldn't see out of his telescope, and wedged his arm along it to wipe the glass.'That's better,' he growled, and fired again.The range indicator, all this time, had been showing bigger ranges, and it had just showed—3650—when that same awful thunder-clap sounded a second time, and then the noise and the hot glare; the ship seemed to be breaking in pieces again, things came crashing down on deck, and she trembled as if she'd run aground. Something had struck her, somewhere close below us; a huge flame shot up just in front of the gun port, I was banged against the side, the Gunlayer came tumbling down from his sighting platform, and we could hardly breathe. I felt quite silly, too.The Gunlayer scrambled up again and fired, but we didn't know whether he was hitting her, because she was covered with smoke and almost hidden by the spray and the smoke of shells which burst short. I began to get my breath back.'The range indicator ain't working, sir!' the Sight Setter called out. 'It ain't altered for the last three minutes.'I jumped across. It still showed—3650—and I tapped it to see if it had jammed, but it didn't move. Just as I was going to tell Mr. Bigge,La Buena Presidentefired again, there were those awful noises, and something came crashing down on top of our turret, bulging in the roof.'Can't move her, sir, the turret's jammed,' the Gunlayer yelled. He sprang up through the sighting-hood—something red and slippery was dripping down through the holes in the top of the turret—and I followed him. Mr. Bigge wasn't there, but the top was covered with the twisted rails and smoking burning planks of the projecting end of the bridge—I knew it was the bridge because the stump of the semaphore was still fixed to a rail.I didn't really realise anything or know quite what I was doing. I burnt my hands trying to pull the wreckage away, but we couldn't move it, and I had to keep my eyes down so as not to see the big ship firing—I couldn't have stayed there if I had. I knew that Mr. Bigge must have been killed, and that I was now in charge.Then that awful thunder-clap sounded again, there was a terrific crash behind us, a huge mass of iron crashed down on the deck, and one of the men said quite calmly, 'The foremost funnel's gone, sir,' but I dare not look—I was too terrified.We couldn't move that wreckage off the fore bridge, so I ordered the men inside the turret, and then tried to ring up the conning-tower, but couldn't make the telephone work. I tried the telephone to the transmitting station, the room below the water-line, at the foot of the foremast, which passed all messages to us from the fire-control position, on the mast above it, and I heard the Fleet Paymaster's voice at the other end. 'Please tell the Captain——' I'd just got as far as that when the ship shook and trembled again, and we could feel something crashing and bursting inside her.I tried the telephone once more, but it wouldn't work at all. I knew that I ought to tell the Captain and ask what should be done, so I bit my lips and crept out of the turret, down the rails at the back, and jumped down on deck, but it was all covered with burning bits of wood and twisted and torn, almost red-hot, iron plates. Smoke and steam was pouring up from where the foremost funnel had been, and flames from the boiler furnaces were licking the grey paint off, but the rest of our guns, on the starboard side, were still firing very fast.
CHAPTER XIII
Bad News for Gerald Wilson
Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson
Later on in the morning, after all those things had happened about which that young ass of a cousin of mine has just told you, and after the Santa Cruz Navy and the transports had disappeared, a boat came pulling off to the ship with a note from old Gerald.
'DEAR BILLUMS—The whole "caboodle" has shoved off home—haven't an idea why, but they were in such a hurry that they left behind them a grand lot of ammunition—the very thing we wanted. Old Zorilla has gone back without his black horse—never mind. There's a report that a white flag is flying over El Castellar. I'm just off to see. GERALD.'
I read it out to the gun-room. Wasn't it grand for old Gerald? He'd just about swept the board.
I thought I'd show the letter to the Skipper, and did so—he was jolly pleased.
'Tut, tut, boy! I'll tell "Old Spats,"' he chuckled, and sent for a signalman, but had hardly spoken before one came tearing in with a 'wireless' message from theHercules—she was still at Princes' Town.
'La Buena Presidenteput into San Josef two days ago, after carrying out target practice, and, under shelter of Punta Rejos, coaled from a collier. She is flying the insurgent flag.'
'Now we know, lad! That's the reason the Santa Cruz fleet cleared off, lad! They've heard about her. She'll be off the coast any day, and they're flying back under the guns of Los Angelos.'
He sent the signalman back with his message for Captain Roger Hill.
'Tut, tut, boy! I'll be able to ask your brother to dinner in a few days, I hope—that is, if he isn't too big a swell—makes me feel a worm—p'r'aps he won't come—hope he will.'
He pointed his telescope towards the shore. 'Look at those black and green flags flying over the town. The Provisional Government are unpacking their bags again, I expect, and if they demand Official Recognition they'll probably get it.'
'I hope they will, sir,' I said, and went below. You can guess how jolly cheerful I felt, and how I blessedLa Buena Presidenteand the people who'd coaled her.
I knew how awfully happy the news would make them at home, so I got permission to send a telegram to tell them that Gerald was safe. It went to theHerculesby 'wireless,' and I jolly well hoped that some one on board her would pay for it to be telegraphed to England. I did so wish that old 'Ginger' and I hadn't parted 'brass rags,' and that I could have asked him to send it.
That afternoon the Captain sent for me; he'd shipped a sea-boot face, and I knew that something had gone wrong.
'I've just had that signal, lad,' he said, and handed it to me.
'From Captain,Hercules, to ditto,Hector.—The following signal has been received from the Admiralty: "The cruiser known asLa Buena Presidente, flying the unrecognised flag of the insurgent Provisional Government, left San Josef on the 22nd. She is to be arrested as soon as possible, and handed over to the Government at Santa Cruz. Force is to be employed if necessary. Steps are to be taken to inform the Government Authorities that she will not be allowed to afford any assistance to the insurgents."
'Identical orders have been received by the Governor of Prince Rupert's Island from the Foreign Office.'
'That's a bit of a knock-out for your brother, I'm afraid,' he said sadly.
I don't know what I answered, I'd never been so miserable in my life; this simply turned everything upside down again, and whatever Gerald did now, he could never hope to win—things were too hopelessly against him. The possession ofLa Buena Presidentewas the insurgents' only chance of success, and without her they could do nothing. I knew that Gerald was too proud to escape from the country, and he'd probably end by being killed in some rotten little action or shot against the wall, between those saluting guns, in San Sebastian. The only bright thing at all, on that miserable day, was a 'wireless' from dear old Ginger. 'Have sent your telegram home.' I wished he was here, I'd have banged him on the chest, made up that silly row on the spot, and we'd have talked over things.
The Provisional Government did come aboard, later on, smiling all over, the New President's unhealthy face looking happy for the first time, and his little Secretary bobbing about as if he were on springs. They came to formally demand Recognition from the Foreign Powers, and of course the Captain passed on the demand, by 'wireless,' to theHerculesfor her to transmit to London.
Neither the Captain nor any one else had the heart to tell them the bad news, so they all went ashore as cheerful as crickets, fully expecting a favourable reply.
'I'll let you know as soon as the reply comes,' the Captain sent his coxswain to tell me, and I waited all the rest of that wretched day, wandering about like a lost sheep. I couldn't even turn in at night, and spent most of it on the bridge waiting for the reply to be telephoned up from the wireless room.
The answer came at last, and it seemed to blotch out the last hope.
'The existence of the Provisional Government cannot be recognised.'
'Don't send it ashore till the morning,' the Skipper muttered; 'bad news will keep. The Government are evidently anxious to make up for their slackness in allowing the insurgents to get hold of that ship in English waters, and I'm afraid no Provisional Government can expect to last long now that we have to hand her over to the Santa Cruz people.'
Next morning we weighed and steamed slowly down the bay of La Laguna, past the Casino where the great fight had been, and anchored under El Castellar. The green and yellow flag was still flying over it, and they had made no attempt to cover up the hole my for'ard 9.2 gun had made in the walls. Every now and then we heard rifle shots, and saw parties of the little insurgents running about among the trees beneath the fort, so knew that Gerald was still investing it.
The Captain sent for me.
'I'm going ashore, boy! going to see the Commandant of that fort and you can come with me. Have to inform him about our Government's decision and aboutLa Buena Presidente. I don't like the job, boy, that I don't.'
In half an hour we were alongside a small jetty, built below the fort, and had landed in white uniform, helmets, and swords. An officer and a couple of black soldiers came running down a zigzag path to meet us, the officer saluting and bowing and the two black chaps presenting arms.
'El Commandante?' the Skipper said, shipping his 'tin eye,' and pointing up to the fort.
'He will have much honour,' the officer bowed.
'Thank goodness some one knows a bit of English,' I heard the Skipper mutter as we followed him. My aunt! but it was hot, and the Skipper was sweating like a bull as he walked up that blazing path. The stones under our feet seemed to burn through the soles of our boots, and the withered palm and cactus leaves, stuck in between the rocks, looked as if they'd never known what rain was or a breeze either—they were covered with a thick white dust.
The officer didn't sweat, he looked as dry and shrivelled as the leaves themselves, and as if he hadn't had a drink or a square meal for weeks; his uniform was dirty and torn. Across the flap of his revolver holster there was a long furrow, made, probably, by a bullet, and, to judge by its appearance, within a few hours, but he gave you the impression that he'd never known anything else except war and forest fighting, and that one bullet, more or less, didn't matter.
'Pretty swanky!' the Skipper grunted, taking off his helmet and wiping his forehead.
'I no savvy,' the officer said, and then 'tumbled' to it and smiled for a second, his yellow leathery face looking as if it would crack.
As we reached the top we passed any number of ox bones and skulls, and the smell was pretty unpleasant. It looked as if they'd been thrown over the walls. Then we passed inside the fort, through a small iron door in the thickness of the wall, not that part of the wall which our 9.2 had damaged, but round a corner, and it struck me that we had been purposely taken this way, so as not to see the hole.
As we entered, we found ourselves in a great square red-tiled parade-ground. There were open thatched sheds all round two sides of it, and a dozen or more soldiers were hurriedly pouring out from under them to form a guard of honour. A couple of antiquated 'smooth bores' lay on the ground with their trunnions smashed, in the centre was a broken-down well, and the whole place was littered with rubbish, old clothes, bones, and empty ammunition boxes. We'd hardly had a look round when who should come across, from some buildings on the far side, but old Gerald, a grey-haired, sunburnt, and bent-backed officer talking very fast to him. For a second I wondered whether he was a prisoner, but then I saw my friend the 'Gnome' and several others of Gerald's officers. The 'Gnome' recognised me at once, showed his white teeth, smiled, pointed up to a flagstaff where that green and yellow flag hung, and then to a roll of green and black bunting which he was carrying under his arm, and I knew at once that Gerald was there to accept the surrender of the place, and that my bandy-legged chum was going presently to hoist the insurgent flag.
Poor old Gerald! He looked so splendidly English, in his white riding-gear and polo-hat, and so proud, that I hated to meet him and tell him the awful news.
He introduced the Skipper, and then me, to the weather-beaten Commandant.
'I no speak the English,' he said, bowing.
'We're just arranging the terms of surrender,' Gerald told the Skipper. 'You've come in the nick of time, because the Commandant won't trust himself in de Costa's hands. They are old enemies, and I cannot persuade him.'
Oh! Fancy having arrived at this very moment to spoil all poor old Gerald's hopes.
I saw the Skipper ship his 'sea-boot' face again, and felt certain that he was wondering whether it was possible to let things go on as they were, and not tell the news.
He 'tut-tutted,' screwed in his eyeglass, took off his helmet, and ran his fingers through his long hair, as he always did when worried, and then burst out with, 'Wilson, I've bad news for you—very sorry, lad, very sorry; the fleet and the transports cleared out because that cruiser of yours,La Buena Presidente, may be here at any minute, and, very sorry, lad, but I've got to capture her and give her up to the people at Santa Cruz. Our Government won't recognise the insurgent Provisional Government, and I'm ordered to inform the Commandant. That's why I'm here now.'
I could hardly bear to look at Gerald.
He caught his breath for a moment, and his grand jaw tightened the least little bit as he said slowly, 'We shall have to make a fresh start, Captain Grattan.'
'What shall I do?' the Skipper asked him. 'You'd better explain to the Commandant.'
That struck me as being too much to ask of Gerald, but he only tightened his jaws a little more, and began jabbering away in Spanish to the Commandant, whose tired, hungry-looking eyes opened out with pleasure and cunning, so that I knew that my brother had told him everything, and knew perfectly well that there would be no surrender. It wouldn't help old Gerald much now, even if he did get possession of the fort, because that cruiser, whose coming we'd been longing for so much and now so dreaded, would, after we'd handed her over to the Santa Cruz Navy, batter down its walls with the utmost ease.
If I'd been Gerald I'm hanged if I would have told him the truth, and would have taken my chance with the fort. Oh! wasn't it cruel luck?
'The Commandant thanks you for the information,' Gerald said, turning to the Skipper, 'and under the new circumstances will not surrender El Castellar.'
We saw the Commandant speak to the officer who had met us, and he must have passed the news round, for, in a minute or two, a couple of hundred ragged half-starved soldiers surged out from under those thatched huts, swarmed round us, and began shouting out, 'Viva los Inglesas!' 'Viva la Marina Inglesa!' The brutes—they'd have cut our throats, ten minutes ago, with the greatest pleasure. I saw the 'Gnome's' hand go to his revolver, for they jolly well looked as if they wanted to cut his throat and the other officers'—he was bristling with anger.
'Come along, boy, we've done enough harm here,' the Skipper said.
'Hadn't we better see my brother safely out of it first, sir?' I suggested, for I didn't like the Commandant's eyes or those treacherous-looking soldiers.
'Brain wave, lad! Good brain wave!—we will.'
We did see him out, tramping along through the main gateway, over a drawbridge, and took him down to where his own little brown men clustered, at the edge of the forest, waiting to see the black and green flag hoisted above the fort they hated so much.
[image]It was the most miserable walk I have ever had
[image]
[image]
It was the most miserable walk I have ever had
It was the most miserable walk I have ever had, and I could have killed the men shouting 'Viva los Inglesas!' as they lined the wall and crowded through the gateway behind us. I feel certain that, if we hadn't been there, and theHectorlying close inshore, they'd have shot Gerald and his officers in the back.
I told Gerald about my having cut the fingers off that little ex-policeman, and implored him not to let him go again, and before we got to the forest we stopped to wish him good-bye. As I was going, he said: 'I know Captain Pelayo, Billums, the Captain ofLa Buena Presidente—he and old Zorilla are about the only types of the old fighting Spaniard left in the country—and he won't surrender his ship without fighting. He's got good men aboard too.'
We left old Gerald there, but I turned to watch him and the 'Gnome' disappear into the gloomy forest among their little men, before I followed the Skipper—a big lump sticking in my throat.
'I'd have asked your brother to come on board, lad,' he said, 'hang the arresting part of it and that warrant, and have taken him out of the country in safety, but I know he wouldn't; he isn't the kind of chap to leave his fellows in a hole.'
He was about right there.
The same officer who had met us took us back, and this time we were obliged to pass that hole our 9.2 had made. The pathway was almost hidden by the blocks of stone and scattered bricks which had been hurled down by the explosion, and we had to pick our way very gingerly across them, so that it was impossible not to notice the huge gap above us.
The officer waved his hands and shrugged his shoulders, 'We forget—you forget—allmucho bueno.'
'Do you expect that ship to come here, sir?' I asked him, as we pulled back to the ship.
'Don't know, lad, sheshouldmake for San Fernando first, and I'm going to stay here to see that she doesn't get there, but I've told "Old Spats" to take theHerculesto Los Angelos, in case she should attempt anything there.'
I told him what Gerald had said to me about Captain Pelayo, and asked him what he would do if she did not stop when told to do so.
'Shall we have to fight her, sir?'
'I suppose we shall,' he answered, with a wink. He looked as though he almost hoped she wouldn't stop. So should I have done but for old Gerald.
'She'll be a pretty hard nut to tackle, sir; she's got eight twelve-inch guns on a broadside.'
'Well, we've got four 9.2's and four 7.5's. Don't bother about that, she won't know how to use them.'
Still I couldn't help thinking that, unless we had theHerculesto help us, it would be a pretty hard job.
Most of us on board thought so too, that is, if it did come to a scrap, but the general opinion was that her crew could not possibly be trained, would not be able to fight her guns properly, and, if she couldn't run away, would have to surrender.
Raynor, the Engineer Sub, who knew all about her, pointed out that she was supposed to have three knots more speed than theHector, so might be able to escape.
'Running away won't do her any good,' I said, 'or Gerald's people either.'
However, the possibility of having to fight made every one of us in the gun-room, except myself, extremely cheerful and excited, and when late in the afternoon we began to 'clear ship for action' and 'prepare for battle,' you would have thought by the way we all jumped round and got the ship in fighting trim that we were expecting to pay off old scores on some deadly enemy. It almost made me smile to hear the mids. talking now. At the back of their minds there was a feeling that perhaps the fight might be a bit more even if theHerculescame along to help, and they made quite pleasant remarks about her and her hated gun-room.
I know that I myself hoped that if it did come to a 'scrap,' old Ginger Hood would be there to share the fun.
Cousin Bob must tell you what did actually happen.
CHAPTER XIV
La Buena Presidentefights
Written by Midshipman Bob Temple
After we had had that ripping lark with those two 4.7's on shore, the insurgent President sent off a great basket of fruit—oranges, grape-fruit, melons, and bananas—every day whilst we remained off San Fernando, so we were jolly sorry to get up anchor and steam down to El Castellar.
Of course we were very sorry for Cousin Gerald's sake that we had to collarLa Buena Presidente, but thought it would be splendid fun if she showed fight, and we all hoped that she'd come our way and not give those beastlyHercules'mids. a chance. Then we heard what Cousin Gerald had told Billums about her Captain being such a fine chap, and Raynor, the Engineer Sub, told us so much about her, her armour and her big guns, that though we didn't get exactly frightened, we rather felt that we'd like theHercules'mids. to chip in with us after all.
A lot of our chaps thought that she'd simply haul down her flag directly we signalled to her to do so, but Mr. Bostock the Gunner shook his head. He'd seen a revolution out in these parts, years and years ago, and said we were wrong: 'She'll not 'aul her flag down whilst she's got men to fight the guns and shovel coal in the bunkers.'
He told us the story of the fight between theShahand theHuascar, which was just about the same kind of show. There had been a revolution and theHuascarhad joined the insurgents down the coast. She ran short of coal, and not being able to buy any, took it by force out of an English steamer, so theShah—she was our flagship out there then—was sent after her and they had a stand-up fight. TheShahwas a wooden ship with thin armour-plates along the side, and theHuascarwas an iron one with turrets and very thick armour, so the English ship found herself up against too big a mouthful and got the worst of it.
'I was Captain's coxswain aboard 'er,' Mr. Bostock told us, but we sang out that he couldn't have been more than twelve years old at the time. 'Believe me or believe me not, young gen'l'men, I was Captain's coxswain, and a nice kind gen'l'man he was too. In the middle of the haction 'e sees a big round shot from the turret-ship come bobbin' along towards us—straight as a die. "Full speed astern," 'e says to me—"Full speed astern, Bostock,"—just like that—not turnin' a 'air—and full speed astern we went, and that shot just 'it the water under our bows. Another time, about 'arf a 'our arterwards, we was gettin' pretty tired of shootin' against 'er thick sides and seein' our shot bouncing off 'er armour like peas, 'e sees another round shot comin' along. "That'll just about 'it the Admiral's cabin," 'e says, "and aggravate 'im," 'e says, "if we don't 'urry along a bit. Full speed ahead, Bostock."
'Well, 'e was a wonder, was the Captain, but the leadin' seaman, who passed the order down to the engine-room, wasn't very smart about it, and though we did go full speed a-'ead, we didn't do it quick enough, and that shot just took off the life-buoy a-'angin' under our stern. Took it off without even a-damagin' the gilt scroll we' ad there, but that 'ere leadin' seaman 'ad 'is pay stopped till 'e'd paid for it—an' serve 'im right.
'Of course that was in the days of muzzle-loaders, when the shot didn't go along as smartly as they do now; but that Captain was a smart 'un—'e 'ad judgment, 'e 'ad.'
'They must have been pretty sick of life at your dodging their shots like that,' we said, laughing.
'Believe me or believe me not, but as true as I'm a-sittin' in my cabin 'ere at this moment, they started a-'easin' off two at a time, 'oping to catch us with one of them.'
'What did the Skipper do then?' we asked.
'What d'you think?' he snorted. 'There was those two great black shell comin' racin' along towards us, side by side, and 'e turns to me, as quiet as a babe unborn, and 'e says: "'Ard a starb'ard"—that's all, and our old tub turns round on 'er 'eel, just faces them two shell and 'e shoved 'er nose inbetweenthem an' they just splashed the men in the batteries a bit. We can't do nothin' like that nowadays, young gen'l'men—nothin' like that.'
'We shouldn't think we could,' we shouted, as he seized his cap and ran up on deck, for the Commander wanted him.
We cleared for action that afternoon and just before dark got under way and stood out into the open sea, past El Castellan.
This clearing for action made it certain that the Captain was doubtful whether she'd surrender without fighting, and of course made us all more excited than ever.
'If she does fight, I hope theHerculeswill come and help; she'll be a bit of a handful to tackle single-handed,' Barton sang out, and Billums laughed sarcastically and said, 'I thought you'd rather die than let them help you,' which made us rather angry.
The 'Angel' and I went in to have a yarn with the fat little A.D.C. and hear what he thought about it. He was very excited, and said that Captain Pelayo would die sooner than surrender—he seemed to know him very well. That night the Captain had him taken down below in the 'tiller flat,'[#] so that he would be out of danger if anythingdidhappen, and his being taken down there made us all feel a bit creepy.
[#] A space right aft, below the water-line, where the steering engine and emergency hand-steering mechanism are situated.
Well, nothing happened all night; we simply 'mooned' about, backwards and forwards, near the entrance, andLa Buena Presidentemust have been hovering round, too, waiting till it was light enough to see her way into La Laguna, for, as it grew light enough, she was sighted not five miles away, steaming leisurely in towards the entrance. Although she was painted white she looked enormous.
The Captain was called, and ran up on the fore bridge in a twinkling, and sent 'Blotchy' Smith down with a wireless message to theHercules. He showed it to me as he passed along the upper deck, 'La Buena Presidenteis eight miles off El Castellar steaming towards it. Shall prevent her entering. Come south and prevent her escaping to sea.'
'She'll be here in three hours and a half,' 'Blotchy' shouted, as he ran aft, and I felt jolly glad, but rather wished it was minutes instead of hours.
Then 'General Quarters' was sounded, and we all rushed to our stations. Mr. Bigge and I got through the back of our 9.2 turret—the for'ard starboard one just under the projecting end of the fore bridge—and when we'd reported everything 'cleared away' and had filled our 'ready' rack with more shells, we climbed out of the sighting-hood and squatted on top of the turret, whilst they trained it for'ard and aft as far as it would go and raised and lowered the long gun, to test the hydraulic machinery. It was a perfectly lovely morning, the sea like glass, and theHector'sbows seemed just to push the water aside, not even breaking the surface. It was so jolly clear that we could see thousands of jelly-fish—all the colours of the rainbow—floating past under our sponson. It really was grand, and we sat there and watched the big ship coming slowly towards us with the sun rising just behind her.
'That's bad for shooting, if it comes to a fight,' Mr. Bigge said; 'it will dazzle the "Gunlayer's" eyes.'
'I don't expect it will; do you, sir?' I asked nervously, because she was so huge, and I knew that she had so much more powerful guns than we had, that, now it came to the pinch, I was in a funk.
'Don't know,' he answered; 'we'll know in ten minutes.'
The signalmen began running about the bridge above us, we heard the Chief Yeoman's voice saying 'Hoist,' and up went three flags and the white international code pendant.
'What's that mean, sir?' I asked, as the halyards were jerked to shake out the flags.
'"Stop engines," I think,' Mr. Bigge said, squinting through his telescope to see if she took any notice.
Something did go fluttering to her masthead—she only had one mast, a tripod one, amidships—but it was the black and green flag, and a huge one at that.
'She's not going to stop,' Mr. Bigge muttered. 'The Sub was right after all. We'll have to fight her.'
I did feel so uncomfortable and horrid 'inside,' and looked to see that the sighting-hood was open so that I could crawl down into the turret again—quickly.
Every one was simply gazing at the big ship, wondering what she would do, and you couldn't hear a sound, except the hissing noise of some steam, escaping from a leaky joint near the syren fog-horn up on the foremost funnel. Just aft of our turret was the first 7.5 turret, and the 'Forlorn Hope'—just a little pale—was leaning against the side of it looking at the ship—I was jolly glad that I wasn't so fat, I felt much too big already—and the 'Shadow' slipped out of the next 7.5 turret to yarn with him and then ran back again and shut the door.
Dr. Clegg came cheerily along from under the fo'c'stle, and stopped near our turret to look at her too.
He sang out asking if we had our 'first aid' bag, and I put my head down the sighting-hood to find out.
'Yes, sir!' I shouted down—it did me good to shout.
'Just seeing that all our things are rigged,' he said, smiling at Mr. Bigge, looking along at the sunrise for a moment with a funny expression in his face before he dived down below.
'He may not see it again,' Mr. Bigge said, and I understood and felt shivery all over.
Inside my turret I could hear the Gunlayer, who had his eye to the telescopic sight, talking to the Sight Setter. 'Now don't you go a-playing none of your tricks, Bill. Tie a bit of spun yarn round your right thumb and you'll know it from your left, and won't be playing the ass with the deflection as you did at the battle practice—a-spoiling the whole ship's shooting.'
Raynor, the Engineer Sub, came along too, and went down into our turret to see if the hydraulic machinery was all right. He climbed out of the sighting-hood in a few minutes, borrowed Mr. Bigge's telescope to have a look at the white ship, told us that everything was working well, and climbed down on deck.
Then, up in the for'ard fire-control position—high up the mast—I heard the 'Angel's' voice reading off the ranges on the long range finder, 'eight thousand nine fifty—eight thousand nine hundred—eight thousand eight fifty'—and I popped my head down inside to see ifourrange indicator was working properly. It was, and the figures were slipping round all right. I looked up again, but he had his eyes glued to the range finder and didn't see me.
Marchant, the Inkslinger, leaned out of the 'control' position, caught sight of me, and waved his bandaged hand—he was beaming all over.
Mr. Montague, too, looked down and sang out to the fore bridge for some of the signal halyards to be hauled aside as they were fouling the range finder, and I could just see the feet of Pearson, the Assistant Paymaster, who was sitting, straddle-legs, on the top of it, doing 'spotting officer'—to spot whether shots fell short or over. I was jolly glad that I wasn't up there, and that, if it did come to a fight, I had six inches of armour to get behind.
The ship was so close now that we could see her huge guns, but she didn't seem to have cleared for action.
'Fire a port twelve-pounder!' we heard the Captain say; 'they may not have seen the signal.'
Men began running about, the Commander bellowed at them, and the little gun fired almost immediately—to leeward—away fromLa Buena Presidente—and we watched to see if that would have any effect.
It had. A long string of flags went jerking up the tripod mast and the international code pendant was hoisted to her yard-arm. We heard the Chief Yeoman scurrying into the chart-house to find the signal-book, and in a minute the Captain called out to the Commander, 'They refuse to stop. Keep my signal flying and fire the foremost 9.2 across her bows.' Billums was in charge of that turret.
All this time the 'Angel' had been singing out the range. It had got down to 7250 yards, and we were turning a little in towards the entrance, to prevent the ship closing too rapidly. Then round slewed Billums's long gun over the starboard bow, pointing up in the air.
The Captain sang down to him to fire as soon as he liked, and almost before he'd said it, off went the gun with a roar—back it flew—my cap went flying overboard, and the brown cordite smoke came stinging into my eyes.
'Why the dickens don't you stick your cap on properly?' Mr. Bigge snarled. 'You aren't a blooming infant,' and we watched to see where the shell would fall.
It seemed an awfully long time, and then there was a shout of 'There it is!' all along the ship, and up spouted the water a couple of cables ahead of the white ship.
Mr. Montague shouted down to know what range Billums actually had on his sights, so as to see whether the range finder was working properly or not, and then there was another shout of 'She's turning!' and I was never so relieved in my life as to see her put her helm over and run away.
The Captain roared for the Engineer Commander, and sang out, 'Tell theHerculesshe's steaming seaward.'
The morning seemed to be quite lovely again, and we headed after her, smoke pouring out of all our funnels, and that leaky steam joint hissing more and more. Our bows began to break the water now, and the jelly-fish streamed past like a flash.
La Buena Presidentewas covered with smoke too, and seemed to be in a jolly hurry to escape.
'She isn't going to fight after all,' I laughed, feeling awfully pleased.
'Don't know—they're getting down her rails and awnings,' Mr. Bigge said, looking through his glass.
So they were. We could see the men swarming on her quarterdeck and the awning coming off her.
I felt all shivery again, and heard the Gunlayer sing out from inside the turret, 'The longer they take about it the farther the sun'll be up, and it won't get in my bloomin' eyes so much.'
'It seems a shame to go killing people a morning like this, doesn't it?' Mr. Bigge muttered to himself, and I jolly well agreed with him.
We were buzzing along finely now, and could feel the ship shaking and throbbing.
The 'Angel' was still at the range finder, and our indicator showed 6250, when suddenly the big ship turned again—she was going at a tremendous speed—and—oh, it made my backbone feel cold—made straight for the entrance and El Castellan.
We still had our signal 'Stop Engines' flying, but there wasn't the least doubt now that she was simply going to rush past us. Clatter, clatter, came the signalmen down from the fore bridge to take shelter, everybody disappeared into their turrets, popping down the sighting-hoods like rabbits, the Captain and the Navigator came down and clambered through the top of the conning-tower, the 'Forlorn Hope,' with a grimace at me, squeezed himself into his turret and closed the armoured door, and, with my heart in my mouth, I wriggled down into mine.
[image]The big ship turned again
[image]
[image]
The big ship turned again
'Aren't you coming, sir?' I asked Mr. Bigge, but he shook his head. I felt a little safer inside there, and stood watching the range indicator. It was simply altering every few seconds—5400—5300—5200—there was no time to show the fifties.
Mr. Bigge sang out for me—he wanted to know something—and I popped my head out again and couldn't see the ship—she had slanted away a little, to pass along our port side—but I just caught sight of Billums sitting on the back part of the top of his turret, on the fo'c'stle, with his knees drawn up to his chin, resting his field-glasses on them.
You couldn't hear a sound anywhere—except that escaping steam—and then the gong inside the turret began sounding the 'stand by'—the next time it sounded it would mean we had to fire. The able seaman at the telephone sang out, 'The port battery's just got the order to fire, sir,' I almost fell down inside the turret again, and then the whole of our guns that could bear on the port beam fired, and some of them had time to fire again before we heard the roaring 'clap' and the crash of the shells bursting against the big ship's side. The range indicator showed 3200 yards, and we couldn't miss her very easily at so short a distance.
She was passing down our port side and going in the opposite direction, so that we had to circle round to follow her, and I knew that the starboard turrets would then come into action.
Mr. Bigge shouted down that we were turning to starboard, the bell at the telephone from the conning-tower rang, the able seaman jammed his ear against it, sang out, 'Starboard guns, stand by, sir!' and the gun's crew jumped to their proper stations.
'Remember your right hand, Bill!' the Gunlayer called out, and wedged his eye into the indiarubber sleeve of the telescopic sight.
'Train aft,' Mr. Bigge shouted down through the sighting-hood, and round we slewed.
The gun's crew was ready, the gun loaded, and the next shell lying in the loading tray, so I had nothing to do except to see that the Sight Setter kept the same range on his sights as the indicator showed, and that everything was done properly.
'We're coming "on,"' Mr. Bigge sang down. 'Stand by!'
The Gunlayer jerked out, 'I've got her, sir'—he'd spotted her through his telescope—and I just had the pluck to pop my head out for a second and caught sight of the big white ship tearing across our stern as we swung round, and then the fire-gong clanged loudly and I slipped back again.
There was a roar and a shake, men jumped about, banging and clattering—I heard the ammunition hoist rattle-rattle up to the gun, and the breech-block snap 'to,' and off she went again.
'We're hitting her!' Mr. Bigge sang out. 'Aim under her mast and bridge.'
'She's going to fire,' he shouted, a second later, and almost before he'd said it, there was a most awful roar, like a thunder-clap, and then the most appalling noise and hot glare—the whole ship shook and seemed to be tearing in pieces. The Gunlayer was cursing that he couldn't see out of his telescope, and wedged his arm along it to wipe the glass.
'That's better,' he growled, and fired again.
The range indicator, all this time, had been showing bigger ranges, and it had just showed—3650—when that same awful thunder-clap sounded a second time, and then the noise and the hot glare; the ship seemed to be breaking in pieces again, things came crashing down on deck, and she trembled as if she'd run aground. Something had struck her, somewhere close below us; a huge flame shot up just in front of the gun port, I was banged against the side, the Gunlayer came tumbling down from his sighting platform, and we could hardly breathe. I felt quite silly, too.
The Gunlayer scrambled up again and fired, but we didn't know whether he was hitting her, because she was covered with smoke and almost hidden by the spray and the smoke of shells which burst short. I began to get my breath back.
'The range indicator ain't working, sir!' the Sight Setter called out. 'It ain't altered for the last three minutes.'
I jumped across. It still showed—3650—and I tapped it to see if it had jammed, but it didn't move. Just as I was going to tell Mr. Bigge,La Buena Presidentefired again, there were those awful noises, and something came crashing down on top of our turret, bulging in the roof.
'Can't move her, sir, the turret's jammed,' the Gunlayer yelled. He sprang up through the sighting-hood—something red and slippery was dripping down through the holes in the top of the turret—and I followed him. Mr. Bigge wasn't there, but the top was covered with the twisted rails and smoking burning planks of the projecting end of the bridge—I knew it was the bridge because the stump of the semaphore was still fixed to a rail.
I didn't really realise anything or know quite what I was doing. I burnt my hands trying to pull the wreckage away, but we couldn't move it, and I had to keep my eyes down so as not to see the big ship firing—I couldn't have stayed there if I had. I knew that Mr. Bigge must have been killed, and that I was now in charge.
Then that awful thunder-clap sounded again, there was a terrific crash behind us, a huge mass of iron crashed down on the deck, and one of the men said quite calmly, 'The foremost funnel's gone, sir,' but I dare not look—I was too terrified.
We couldn't move that wreckage off the fore bridge, so I ordered the men inside the turret, and then tried to ring up the conning-tower, but couldn't make the telephone work. I tried the telephone to the transmitting station, the room below the water-line, at the foot of the foremast, which passed all messages to us from the fire-control position, on the mast above it, and I heard the Fleet Paymaster's voice at the other end. 'Please tell the Captain——' I'd just got as far as that when the ship shook and trembled again, and we could feel something crashing and bursting inside her.
I tried the telephone once more, but it wouldn't work at all. I knew that I ought to tell the Captain and ask what should be done, so I bit my lips and crept out of the turret, down the rails at the back, and jumped down on deck, but it was all covered with burning bits of wood and twisted and torn, almost red-hot, iron plates. Smoke and steam was pouring up from where the foremost funnel had been, and flames from the boiler furnaces were licking the grey paint off, but the rest of our guns, on the starboard side, were still firing very fast.