BROADMAYNE and Vyse had not been more than five minutes in their bunks in the otherwise deserted crew's quarters, when the bo'sun entered, storming and raging.
"Skulking again!" he shouted. "Here, you son of a horse-marine, show a leg! And you, you limb of Satan, it's the like o' you as gets the likes o' me into trouble. On deck with you, an' if you don't work like blue blazes, there'll be trouble."
It was useless to refuse. Mildly, Vyse protested that their clothes had been taken away and that having to hold a blanket round one is apt to hamper a person's activities.
"Quite so," agreed Mr. Barnard, with a coarse laugh. "'Bout time you did go into proper uniform."
He went to the doorway.
"Matthews!" he shouted. "Get the key of the slop-chest and rig these skulking hounds out.... Give you five minutes to fall in in the rig of the day," he added, "or, by smoke! you won't get even bread and water for the next twenty-four hours."
Well within the stipulated time the two chumswent on deck, each dressed in rubber-boots, blue jersey and canvas jumper and trousers.
"Look lively there!" shouted the bosun. "Nip down the hold and bear a hand."
The hold was almost empty. In one corner was a pile of iron-bound boxes and a number of small sacks, the mouths of which were secured with wire and sealed with discs of sealing-wax.
For some reason the derricks had not been brought into use. Each packet was handled separately, passed from one man to another, until by stages it reached the deck. Here a careful tally was made before the booty was transhipped to the luggerFairy.
"That's the lot, Cap'n Silas," shouted Captain Cain. "You know your orders. Right-o; carry on and good luck!"
Quickly the dark brown canvas of theFairywas set. She was riding head to wind alongside theAlerte, held only by a bow-and-stern warp.
"All ready!" shouted Porthoustoc. "Let go, for'ard."
A slight touch of the lugger's tiller gave her sufficient sheer to allow the head sails to draw.
"Let go aft!" bawled Silas.
"All gone!" shouted one of theAlerte'screw.
Then like a wraith the lugger drew ahead. There was no doubt about her speed and handiness. Without having recourse to her motor, she glided between the rocky pinnacles and was soon lost to sight in the gathering mist.
"Eighteen hours stand easy, men!" announced Captain Cain. "Clear away and hands to divingstations. We'll lie here as comfortably as any one could wish till to-morrow evening. If all goes well, my lads, we'll rake in another twenty thousand or so before this week's out."
Within twelve hours from the time when she cast off from alongside theAlerte, theFairywas creeping past the Cornish coast, with the little fishing port of Mousehole bearing one point on her port bow, distant about one mile.
TheFairyhad made a quick and uneventful passage, averaging seven and a half knots. Captain Silas Porthoustoc was almost shaking hands with himself.
"Lawks!" he muttered. "'Yes a fair ole game. 'Ere's that there Cap'n Cain, as he calls hisself, a-tellin' me to put the stuff in such an' such a place until such times as they Lunnon men—fair sharks they be, drat 'em—come down wi' a moty car an' take it away. Then there's that Pengelly—I don't like him much, but 'e's a sight better'n t'other un says 'e, 'Don't 'ee du it, Silas. Hide the stuff in cave behind your kitchen, an' we'll share the profits.' Well, I dunno. There's one thing, they girt swells from Lunnon won't handle the stuff, or my name's not Silas Porthoustoc; nor will that Cap'n Cain. An' tes more'n likely as 'ow Cap'n Cain an' Mr. Pengelly'll row an' finish by blowin' holes in one another's skulls. That bein' so, I collar the lot."
He interrupted his dreams of avarice by glancing skyward. The wind, hitherto strong, had died away, which was just what he wanted.
"Garge!" he shouted to his mate. "'And that there topsail. We'm not puttin' into Newlyn—tide don't serve. We'll bring up inside Clement's Island. She'll be quite all right. If you an' young Bill want a spell ashore, you can, 'slongs you'm board come eight t'morrow morn."
Garge jumped at the suggestion. His home was at Newlyn. It was an easy walk from Mousehole. Young Bill, Garge's nephew, could go with him.
Accordingly the anchor was let go and the sails loosely stowed. TheFairy, being one of a type common to Mounts Bay, would excite no curiosity. She was registered as a fishing craft and, in fact, was one except when Captain Silas had undertakings of a more hazardous and withal more profitable nature in hand.
The mate hailed a passing boat, and uncle and nephew were readily given a passage ashore.
Left to himself, Cap'n Silas paced the deck till nightfall, relieving the monotony by exchanging bantering speech with the crews of the outward-bound Mousehole fishing fleet, most of whom he knew.
After sunset he hoisted the riding-light, went below, and prepared and ate supper.
Shortly after midnight Silas went on deck. Everything was quiet. Softly he brought the dinghy alongside, muffled the rowlocks with cotton waste and then proceeded to load up with the precious cargo received from theAlerte.
Deeply laden, the dinghy was rowed shorewards, right into a small cave about a mile to the southward of Mousehole village. Here the cargowas unloaded and buried in the firm white sand forming the floor of the cave, at fifty yards from its mouth.
Silas, when he worked,didwork. Normally easy-going and of a lazy disposition, he had the gift of toiling with almost superhuman energy when circumstances required. And this was one of them.
Ten times during the long December night did the dinghy, well down in the water, make the double passage between theFairyand the cave.
At a quarter to eight, Silas, looking fresh as paint, rowed ashore, this time to Mousehole to pick up his crew. Two hours later theFairyentered Newlyn harbour, where her captain received the condolences of the fisher-folk on the news that his trip had proved to be singularly unfortunate. TheFairyhad not brought back so much as a solitary fish.
Captain Silas Porthoustoc, with his tongue in his cheek, went home.
His cottage was situated on the hillside beyond Mousehole. When ashore, he spent much of his time gardening, and so poor is the Cornish soil that to grow anything worth having the ground has to be plentifully manured. Hence, it occasioned no comment when Captain Silas toiled up the hill with a wheelbarrow full of seaweed, since seaweed is an excellent fertiliser. Had any one, sufficiently curious and daring to risk incurring the old skipper's anger, investigated what was under the seaweed the result would have surprised them.
In three days, Silas made forty-eight trips withhis wheelbarrow. At the end of that time his garden still required more manure; but every ounce of the booty from theAlertewas snugly stowed away in the cave behind the kitchen of Silas Porthoustoc's cottage.
Darkness had fallen when theAlerterose to the surface, after her eighteen hours' repose. Before the moon rose the crew had set up the funnel, masts and rigging, and by nine in the evening she was shaping a course slightly to the west'ard of the Casquets—that dangerous and frequently fog-bound ledge of rocks six miles west of Alderney.
Up to the present, Captain Cain had not put into execution his threat of punishing Broadmayne and his chum for their "desertion." For one thing, he meant to make an example of them before the crew, and consequently waited until the men had had their greatly-wanted rest; for another, he believed in "prolonging the agony," or delaying the actual punishment in order that the thought of it would prey upon the minds of the culprits.
From information obtained through the medium of Captain Silas Porthoustoc, the pirate skipper of theAlerteknew that a small French steamer, theSurcouf, was leaving St. Malo for the French islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, lying off Newfoundland. Amongst other items, she carried the sum of five hundred thousand francs for the treasury of these Gallic dependencies and a quantity of valuable silver plate, the private property of one of the chief officials of St. Pierre.
An hour before sunrise theAlertestopped her engines. She was then nine miles W.N.W. of the Casquets. By means of her wireless she learnt that theSurcoufwould not clear St. Malo earlier than ten o'clock, or two hours before high water.
That interval gave Captain Cain his opportunity to carry out his threat to the Sub and Vyse.
All hands were mustered on deck. Seized by a couple of the crew, Rollo Vyse was hauled to the up-turned boat that formed the screen for the quick-firer. Although boiling with rage, Vyse kept his feelings under control. Resistance was useless. He might easily fell his two captors, but he could not hope to defy the whole crew successfully. At one moment he harboured a scheme to break loose and hurl himself upon the pirate captain; but to do so, he would have to run the gauntlet of a dozen active and strongly-built men. So, in the circumstances, he made up his mind to take his gruelling with as much fortitude as possible.
Stripped to the waist, Vyse was secured to the boat, his arms over the keel and his ankles lashed to one of the gunwales.
"All ready, sir," reported the bo'sun, who held a formidable-looking whip of plaited sennet, terminating in a triple leather thong.
"Give him a dozen to start with, Mr. Barnard," ordered Captain Cain. "We'll see how he likes that."
The bo'sun drew his fingers caressingly through the thongs, spat upon his palm after the manner ofhorny-handed sailor-men, and prepared to enjoy himself.
"Belay there!" exclaimed the captain. "Where's the other skulker? Bring him on deck."
"I am here!" announced Broadmayne, stepping forward from the wake of the conning-tower. "I don't suppose it's any use protesting——"
"It isn't," interrupted Captain Cain grimly.
The crew roared with merriment.
"Then I won't," continued the Sub. "But I will point out that you're exacting the penalty before trial. We haven't had a chance to defend ourselves. Now, Captain Cain, I'll make a sporting offer. I don't suppose you have boxing-gloves on board, so I'll challenge any man in the ship, yourself included, to a five-round contest with bare fists. If I win, then my friend goes unpunished. I don't ask for any favour on my own behalf. In any case, the hands will see a sight worth seeing."
"Good lad!" shouted one of the crew, and about half a dozen others applauded. The proposition appealed to their love of sport. They were ready to witness the comparatively tame spectacle of a man being flogged; but they vastly preferred to enjoy a fight with the gloves off.
"Silence!" roared the Captain.
"Garn! Be a sport!" retorted another of the crew brazenly.
Captain Cain strode towards the delinquent. Three steps did he take, then he stopped abruptly. Perhaps for the first time he realised that maintaining discipline over a crowd of rogues—rogues of his own making—was a different matter to that of the old days, when his authority was backed by the King's Commission. The early successes of the cruise had turned the men's heads. Between themselves, they held the creed that "Jack's as good as his master," but as yet they dare not profess it openly. Nevertheless, Captain Cain felt that he was playing with a volcano.
"Good idea, my lads!" he exclaimed, without betraying his suspicions. "Who'll uphold the reputation of the ship to the extent of five rounds?"
There was a long pause. Several of the men, great, deep-chested fellows who were good at a rough and tumble, were thinking about accepting the challenge, but the sight of the tall, well-built Broadmayne, who in addition had youth on his side, made them think twice—or more.
"Blime!" ejaculated a bull-necked, bullet-headed fellow, "wot are we all a-hangin' on to the slack for? 'Ere goes, ole sport. I'll take you on."
The speaker looked, and undoubtedly was, a tough proposition. An ex-first-class stoker, he had been employed as a coal-heaver at Millbay Docks until, after a term of unemployment, he had been engaged at the Polkyll Creek Shipbreaking Works as a hammerman. In spite of being nearly forty years of age, he was in the pink of condition and as hard as nails. Three inches shorter than Broadmayne, he was certainly heavier and possessed the doubtful advantage of three inches in girth. The muscles of his arms stoodup like egg-shaped stones under his firm flesh. The sinews of his chest were like whipcord. But there was one defect that the Sub was quick to notice. Like many a man of his build, the ex-stoker was disproportionately weak in the lower limbs.
All the same, Broadmayne realised that he had a heavy task in front of him. If he were to more than hold his own, he must avoid a direct blow of the other's shoulder-of-mutton fist, and trust to science and agility to counteract the fellow's superabundant reserve of brute force.
"My chum's my second," declared Broadmayne. "Cast him loose."
Somewhat to his surprise the men did so, Captain Cain raising no objection.
"Whatever happens," whispered the Sub, "you're free for the time. That's something."
"Be careful," cautioned Vyse. "Try tiring him out."
"I mean to," rejoined Broadmayne.
Already the rough preparations for the contest were complete. The slightly curving steel deck made a sorry ring, destitute of matting. Two ropes had been stretched from rail to rail, two others crossing them at right angles.
Pengelly was appointed referee. Barnard, the bo'sun, acted as timekeeper, conspicuously displaying a handsome gold watch, lately the property of the captain of theCap Hoorn. Captain Cain, perched upon the upturned keel of the quick-firer's screen, watched the proceedings at a distance of about five yards; but the crew, squatting on deck,crowded close to the ropes, determined not to miss the advantage of the front row seats.
The ex-stoker opened the proceedings by making a bull-like rush at his antagonist. Broadmayne avoided the onslaught with comparative ease, but could not resist the temptation of delivering a left at the side of the other's head. Adroitly ducking, the man avoided the blow and retaliated with a jab intended for the Sub's ribs in the region of the heart. It was not a vicious blow. The ex-stoker, thinking he was bound to win, was loath to make an early finish. A spectacular display to delight his comrades was what he wanted. The knock-out, he decided, would come in the fifth round—not before.
Nevertheless, the jab jolted Broadmayne severely. It taught him a lesson. For the rest of the round he was strictly on the defensive, trusting to footwork to avoid further punishment.
The second round was much on the same principle. It ended with Broadmayne feeling none the worse, but the ex-stoker somewhat blown and perspiring freely. The spectators, disappointed at the tameness of the contest, blew off steam by shouting to their champion to get to work, and jeering at the Sub's wary and seemingly faint-hearted tactics.
Goaded by the exhortations of his messmates, the ex-stoker warmed to his work in the third round. More than once he drove Broadmayne against the ropes, where only by dexterity did he escape a disastrous "clinch." Once the Sub got home with a smashing blow between his antagonist's eyes. It would have knocked out anyordinary man, but the fellow, beyond recoiling, seemed none the worse. Quickly he had his revenge by delivering a straight left on Broadmayne's left cheek, which had the effect of sobering him completely for the rest of the round.
"Fourth round—seconds out of the ring!"
Broadmayne left his corner feeling far from comfortable. The ex-stoker, with blood trickling from his nose, grinned disdainfully at him, then ducking, rushed headlong at his adversary.
For a brief instant the Sub stood his ground, then stepped nimbly aside. The ex-stoker's massive fist grazed his left ear, the impetus of the blow throwing the fellow forward. Before he could recover his balance, Broadmayne, putting every ounce into it, delivered a right, followed by a hook with his left.
Of what happened after that he had only a hazy idea. Like in a mist he saw the powerful figure of his antagonist collapse. He appeared to fall neither forward nor backward, but to subside as his knees gave way. To Broadmayne it seemed a full minute that this continued; then, as his knees touched the steel deck the ex-stoker rolled over on his side.
"One... two... three..."
The man made an effort to rise. Broadmayne stepped forward, ready to finish the business; but there was no need. Gasping like a stranded fish, the ex-stoker rolled over again.
"... Eight... nine... ten."
Down and out!
Still a bit dazed, Broadmayne went back to hiscorner and leant heavily against his chum. The men were cheering like mad. It dawned upon him that they were cheeringhim. Tough, desperate ruffians they might be, but they were sportsmen, members of a race that produces the best winners and the best losers in the world.
Pengelly congratulated him; so did Barnard, Marchant and most of the crew. But Captain Cain held aloof. He was furious with himself for having allowed the contest to take place. His authority had been wrecked. The crew's attitude towards his captives had undergone a complete change. He bitterly regretted having taken them on board.
Yet, short of committing murder, he could not get rid of them. Had he been sure of his crew, he might even have taken that step, although he was loath to do so. He could not set them ashore: they knew too much. Besides, he still hoped to rake in a substantial sum for their ransom.
"Sail on the starboard bow, sir!"
Instantly Captain Cain cast aside his train of disturbing thoughts. Hurrying to the bridge he levelled his binoculars.
"It's the Frenchman, my lads!" he shouted. "All hands to quarters! She's ours, my hearties!"
THESurcouf, for such she was, was approaching at twelve knots. She was a two-funnelled craft of about 3000 tons, painted black with white upperworks. Occasionally visible between the eddying clouds of smoke from her funnels fluttered the tricolour from her ensign-staff; while at her foremost truck was displayed a white diamond on a red ground, bearing the letters MM.
From theAlerte'sbridge, Captain Cain scanned the horizon. There was no other vessel in sight. Even the upper part of the Casquets Lighthouse, now twelve miles away, was invisible. Everything seemed propitious for the coming venture.
Quickly the crew went to stations. All the slackness and resentment to discipline seemed to have gone by the board. Orders were carried out with the utmost alacrity, until—"Wot you got there, Charlie?" demanded one of the hands of a messmate who was making his way aft with a red, white and black flag under his arm.
"German ensign," replied the other. "Cap'n's orders."
"Blowed if I'll fight under that rag," declared the first speaker hotly. "I'm an Englishman, Iam. Don't mind the French tricolour, mark you, but the Hun ensign—no, thank you. What say you, chum?"
"I draws the line at that," replied the third man, and his protest was taken up by several of the others.
"What are you men jawing about?" shouted Mr. Marchant, the gunner. "Look alive and get that ensign made up ready to break out."
To him the seamen voiced their protest. Even the gunner had his views upon the matter. He went to the captain and protested, stating that all hands were against using the German flag.
"Curse them!" exclaimed Captain Cain angrily. "What does that matter?"
"Matters a lot to them, sir," replied the gunner sturdily.
"All right then," conceded the pirate. "Hoist any flag you jolly well like. If this business is bungled, don't blame me.... Signalman, stand by to hoist the 'I. D.'... Gunner's mate, if I give the word to open fire, knock away her foremast. We'll have to stop her wirelessing at any cost if she won't give in tamely."
Throughout these preparations, Rollo Vyse and the Sub had been inactive. They point-blank refused to bear a hand, and the crew, now respecting their principles, let them severely alone. Captain Cain was quick to notice the change of attitude, and from fear of causing further discontent affected to be ignorant of the presence of the two chums.
TheSurcoufhad approached to within half a mile, when Captain Cain ordered theAlerteto be turned sixteen points to starboard. This had theeffect of bringing her on a parallel course to that of the Frenchmen, although the distance between them when abreast was increased by the diameter of the pirate submarine's turning circle.
Up ran the two-flag hoist, the signal to heave to under penalty of being fired upon; simultaneously, the six-inch quick-firer was unmasked and trained upon theSurcouf.
The next instant Captain Cain experienced one of the worst surprises in his life—and he had had a few in his time.
A livid flash leapt from under theSurcouf'sbridge, followed almost immediately by a sharp report. Before any one on board theAlerterealised what had happened a seven-pounder shell burst against the dummy superstructure amidships, ripped a jagged hole in the funnel and cut away the mainstay, with the result that the mainmast, wrenching away the steel tabernacle, crashed heavily upon the poop.
Captain Cain was one of the first to grasp the situation. With all his faults, he was not lacking in courage when under fire. A sliver of metal had grazed his forehead, laying open the frontal bone; but in the excitement he did not heed the burning pain.
"Let 'em have it on the waterline, Gunner's mate," he shouted, countermanding his previous order to destroy the Frenchman's wireless gear.
Since he could not effect the capture of theSurcoufwithout resistance, he determined to sink her. It meant the loss of the expected booty, but theAlertecould not run the risk of a prolonged action. There was little danger of the hull of thesubmarine being perforated by the Frenchman's light quick-firer. Even if the outer skin were holed the inner plating would successfully impede the progress of the projectile. The dominating factor was the absence of any repairing base to which theAlertecould retire to heal her wounds. Whatever damage was received had to be made good on the high seas, and a badly battered craft would naturally be the object of interest if not of suspicion.
The gun's crew of theAlerte'squick-firer rose to the occasion. As fast as the breech-block could be open and snapped to, the powerful weapon spoke. Empty cartridge-shells clattering on the steel deck punctuated the sharp bark of the weapon, while shell after shell at point-blank range crashed into theSurcouf'shull.
But the Frenchman, in spite of the disproportionate odds in the matter of ordnance, maintained a steady fire, not only from the gun under the bridge, but from a similar weapon mounted aft. She then began to go astern, until theAlerte'squick-firer was masked by the stanchions of her bridge.
By this time theSurcouf'shull was holed in twenty places. A fire had broken out amidships, smoke was pouring in volumes from a dozen jagged apertures; yet not a single shell had hit her 'twixt wind and water.
For nearly a minute theAlertewas raked aft without being able to reply. Two of the hands rushed towards the poop with the machine-gun. Before they reached their goal both were struck down by splinters of shell from a missile that had exploded against one of the cowls.
"Port eight, Quartermaster!" shouted Captain Cain. "Now, lads, let her have it!"
But even as theAlerteswung to starboard theSurcoufput her helm hard over. She was not "out" to sink a pirate, or be sunk herself. Her duty lay in saving her precious cargo.
A dense pall of smoke hid her from sight. Even Captain Cain was at first under the impression that she had sunk suddenly; but when the thick cloud dispersed theSurcoufwas sighted steaming away at full speed in the direction of Guernsey.
Pursuit was useless. To attempt to do so would only bring the pirate submarine closer to the French coast, and there were in all probability several torpedo boats at St. Malo. Certainly there were plenty at Brest and Cherbourg, and by following theSurcouftheAlertewould run the grave risk of being trapped in the deep bay between Cape de la Hague and Ushant, where the rocky and uneven bottom combined with violent currents made it a dangerous place for a submarine to rest on the bed of the sea.
The situation was a dangerous one. TheSurcoufhad got away. Already her wireless was sending out appeals for aid, and warnings that she had been fired upon by a mysterious craft.
Previously, the French authorities had been sceptical about the story of theCap Hoorn. That craft had, in accordance to orders from their captors, proceeded lamely into Cherbourg, only to find that hostilities had not broken out between France and Germany. There was the evidence afforded by her shattered rudder-head, but theFrench Admiralty officials, beyond disclaiming responsibility, declined to investigate the damage. Four hours later theCap Hoornleft Cherbourg for Hamburg in tow of an ocean-going Dutch tug.
Nevertheless, the incident could not be entirely ignored. Some vessel had evidently run amok in the Channel. In consequence, theSurcoufwas one of several merchantmen to be hurriedly armed against the aggressions of the mysterious filibuster. And now theSurcoufhad reported the attack, and already the news had been transmitted, not only to the French naval bases, but to the British Admiralty. On both sides of the Channel and along the coast of Ireland swift destroyers were raising steam to engage in hunting down the modern pirate craft.
"Look alive, my lads!" exclaimed Captain Cain. "If we're to get out of this with whole necks, we must waste no time. How many casualties, Mr. Pengelly?"
"Seven, sir: four serious, three light."
"Get 'em below," continued the skipper.
"They are already, sir," replied the second in command. "Parkins and Brown—the two who tried to get aft with the machine-gun—are the worst hit. Broadmayne and Vyse carried them below under fire."
"Did they?" commented Captain Cain. Under his breath he muttered, "And a pity they hadn't lost the number of their mess."[1]
Quickly all available hands got to work. Thedummy funnel was lowered and preparations made to patch the gaping rent and repaint the "smoke-stack" a different colour. The gashes in the upperworks were hidden by means of oval metal plates, one inside, one out, drawn together by a butterfly nut and thread. The tabernacle of the mainmast was rebedded and a new mainstay prepared ready to set the "stick" up again.
The while a most anxious and careful watch was kept on the horizon and on the sky, since it was quite possible that units of the French aviation service might co-operate in the search.
Three-quarters of an hour after breaking off the engagement with theSurcoufa liner appeared in sight, bound up-Channel. TheAlertecould have avoided her by altering helm, but Captain Cain decided upon a bold display of bluff. He held on.
"Union Castle liner, Mr. Pengelly," he remarked. "We'll signal her."
"What for?" demanded the astonished Pengelly. "Surely we've had enough for the present. Besides, she's British."
"Exactly," concurred the pirate skipper. "I'm going to ask her to take charge of our badly wounded cases. Signalman, hoist the NC."
The letters NC signify "In distress, need immediate assistance," are never purposely ignored. Corresponding to the wireless S.O.S., they would divert the largest liner or the humblest tramp.
Promptly the liner altered helm and slowed down. Passengers crowded to her side to look at the apparently battered tramp.
Standing upon the roof of the charthouse, theAlerte'ssignalman began to semaphore.
"Alerteof London, Grimsby for Corunna. Have been fired upon by vessel, nationality unknown, long. 3° 20' W., lat. 49° 50' N., at 10.30 a.m. to-day. Vessel disappeared steering W.S.W. Please report. Can you receive four badly wounded men?"
To this the liner replied by semaphore that she would wireless the information, and that she would send a boat to transfer theAlerte'scasualties.
"Many thanks," responded Captain Cain, through the medium of the semaphore. "No need to lower boat; ours is available."
Captain Cain had already sent below to warn the wounded of his intentions. They were not sorry to be clear of the pirate submarine. Their chief anxiety was the thought that they might be deprived of their share of booty, but the wily captain reassured them on that point. He knew they would keep their mouths shut—at least for a period sufficiently long for his purpose. He was also ridding himself of the trouble of having useless men on board—men who would have to be fed and given a certain amount of attention and yet be totally unable to assist in working or fighting the ship.
By refusing the liner's offer to send a boat, Captain Cain had scored again. Not only did it prevent the mail boat's officer having a look round, but it obviated the risk of Broadmayne and his companion making a dash for freedom.
But the signal success of his ruse lay in the fact that the liner was already wirelessing the accountof an imaginary attack upon the s.s.Alerte. The message was picked up by three destroyers from Cherbourg, which were then in a course that would bring them on the track of the fugitive. Immediately on receipt of this misleading report the French destroyers altered helm in the direction the mythical filibuster was stated to have taken.
The four wounded men were safely transhipped, the operation being performed under the fire of at least fifty cameras—much to Pengelly's disgust. He had no immediate ambition to figure in the limelight of the illustrated press; nor did Captain Cain show any enthusiasm, when through his binoculars he observed the liner's passengers taking snapshots of theAlerte. He wished he had set up the mainmast before meeting the liner. Should a photograph of theAlertein her present condition reach the French authorities—as it was fairly certain to do—there would be a lot of explanation to prove that theSurcouf'sassailant and theAlertewere not one and the same vessel.
"Do you want any further assistance?" inquired the captain of the liner.
"No, sir," answered Pengelly from the boat alongside. "We're putting back to Falmouth for repairs. We can do the run under our own steam."
"Well, good luck to you," was the response, as theAlerte'sboat pushed off.
Then, with a mutual dipping of ensigns, the liner and the tramp parted—the former to Southampton, the latter anywhere where she might obtain immunity from the pressing attentions of the swift, vengeful destroyers.
[1]To lose the number of one's mess, i.e., to die, whether by violence or through natural causes.
"HERE'S a fine lash-up!" remarked Broadmayne to his chum. "We look like getting it in the neck. I won't give much for our chances if our destroyers take up the chase. Cain, or whatever his name is, may be a very clever and cunning rogue, but he's bitten off more then he can chew."
"It's rough luck on us," rejoined Vyse. "I don't hanker after the idea of being sent to Davy Jones's locker by a British destroyer."
"Pro bono publico," quoted the Sub. "However, we must make the best of things and trust to luck. Give me half a chance and my name's Johnny Walker as far as this hooker is concerned."
The chums were having a breather on deck before turning in. Seven miles to the nor'west the Wolf Light was sending out its red and white flashes. TheAlerte, most of her scars patched, was making towards the Scillies; but whether Captain Cain intended to use one of the numerous and secluded channels between the islands as a hiding-place, was a matter for speculation as far as Broadmayne and his companion were concerned.
Gerald and Rollo had worked hard during theday. That, no one could deny. During the action with theSurcoufthey had remained passive spectators, taking refuge behind the conning-tower when the Frenchman's shells began to rip theAlerte'supper works. But when they saw the two men with the machine-gun topple headlong, they had made a simultaneous rush to the assistance of the badly-wounded men. This they did with a clear conscience. There was nothing in the act that could be construed as aiding and abetting the pirates in an unlawful act.
Nor did they hesitate to tend the other wounded members of the crew. Strangely enough, with all his elaborate preparations, Captain Cain had either neglected or purposely omitted to provide adequate surgical and medical stores, and in consequence the less severely wounded suffered terribly through lack of instruments and ether-chloroform. It was a painful business both to the wounded men and their unqualified surgeons to have to extract jagged slivers of metal without even the application of local anaesthetics. All the Sub and his companion could do was to cleanse the wounds with warm water and iodine, and bind them with rough-and-ready bandages that from an antiseptic point of view would have made a medical man shudder.
Broadmayne had completed his self-imposed task and was going on deck, when he encountered his late antagonist.
The ex-stoker's battered features wore a broad grin. Extending a huge hand, he greeted the Sub with a hearty shake.
"Put it there, chum!" he exclaimed. "I was whacked proper. I'd like to know where you learnt that punch! An' don't you forget it: if ever you wants a friend, 'sides the one you've got already, Jim Soames—Slogger Soames—is the man."
"We're getting on," observed Broadmayne, when he related the incident to Vyse. "That fellow isn't a bad sort. Wonder how he came to row on this galley. And several of the crew seem quite well disposed towards us. We might work it."
"Work what?" asked Rollo.
"Induce some of them to put us ashore," replied the Sub.
"Bit risky," observed his chum. "Not on our account," he added. "That I don't mind. It would be hard on those fellows if they were found out. Cain seems a bit of a tartar."
"He may be," admitted Broadmayne. "But he hasn't much of a hold over his men. And I fancy, although I'm not sure, that Pengelly and he are parting brass rags. That conversation we overheard—about the cave behind a kitchen somewhere—struck me as if Cain and his lieutenant don't hit it off together."
"Well, Cain won't truss us up for a flogging after the licking you gave Soames," remarked Vyse. "I don't mind admitting I felt a bit on the scared-stiff side when the bo'sun began playing with his cat-o'-nine-tails. And Cain hasn't turned us into pirates yet."
"And never will," added the Sub. "Hello, we're altering course. What's the game now?"
TheAlertewas no longer heading towards the Scillies. She had ported helm and was now making in the direction of Land's End. She was showing her proper navigation lights and was fussing along just like any tramp bound up-Channel.
It was a dark and clear night. Although the sky was overcast and no stars were visible, there was a total absence of fog. It was easy to pick up the numerous lights marking the "Chops of the Channel." Even the flash of the Lizard—thirty miles away—could be observed, although under ordinary conditions its visibility extends over a radius of twenty-one miles only.
"There'll be a gale before very long," declared the Sub. "The excessive clearness of the lower atmosphere is a sure sign of that. TheAlertewill have to seek shelter somewhere.... How about turning-in? I'm dog-tired. It's no use remaining on deck."
To this suggestion Vyse readily agreed. He, too, was very sleepy. Not since they left Fowey had they had a good night's rest.
On the bridge were Captain Cain, Pengelly, and a couple of hands. Another was at the wheel, while the customary look-out was stationed for'ard. All the rest of the crew were below.
Both the captain and his lieutenant were well conversant with this part of the dangerous Cornish coast. In fact, although there was a chart on the chart-room table, neither of the two officers took the trouble to consult it.
Presently Captain Cain turned to one of thehands and ordered him to lower the masthead lamp. It was the pirate skipper's intention to take the narrow, intricate channel between Land's End and the Longships; the absence of the masthead lamp would give the lighthouse-keeper the impression that theAlertewas a small sailing craft. Thus he hoped to weather Cape Cornwall and seek refuge on the bed of St. Ives Bay untilthe threatening galehad blown itself out.
Giving the dangerous Brisons a wide berth, theAlerteopened out Pendeen Light. So far so good. It was now close on low water and no vessel would be entering or leaving St. Ives harbour for the next four hours.
"Vessel dead ahead, sir!" reported the lookout.
Captain Cain uttered an oath. He wanted to arrive at the desired position he had chosen for purposes of submersion without meeting craft of any description. Here were the red, white and green lights of a steam vessel almost bows on to theAlerte.
He ported his helm. The other vessel did likewise. Each now showed the other her red and white navigation lamps, for on rounding Cape Cornwall theAlertehad rehoisted hers. There was no danger of collision, but the two would pass far too close to Captain Cain's liking.
Suddenly the dazzling beam of a searchlight leapt from the stranger's bridge. For fifteen seconds—no more—it played upon theAlerte, throwing masts, funnel and upperworks into strong relief. Then it vanished.
"Destroyer!" exclaimed Pengelly.
"Let's hope she's satisfied," rejoined Captain Cain grimly, as he blinked at the sudden transition from the brilliant electric light to the darkness of the night. "No, curse her! She's turning."
A flashing-lamp began its preparatory blinks from the destroyer's bridge.
"What ship is that?" it inquired.
"ReplyMemnonof Bristol," ordered Cain, addressing the signalman, who with ready presence of mind had fetched the Aldis flashing lamp from the chart-room.
The destroyer's response was a curt invitation to stop. "I'll send a boat to examine your papers," added the message.
"By thunder you won't!" muttered Captain Cain, ringing the engine-room telegraph for "Stop." "All hands below as sharp as greased lightning," he ordered. "Mr. Pengelly, warn the duty men to prepare for diving stations. I'll be with you in a brace of shakes."
Both the destroyer and the supposed tramp were losing way; the former, owing to her heavier displacement and narrow beam, having to reverse her engines in order to prevent herself overrunning theAlerte.
Captain Cain could hear the squeaking of blocks as the destroyer's boat was being lowered. He was rather dubious about the step he proposed taking. He estimated, although he had not taken soundings, that theAlertewas in eleven fathoms, with a sandy bottom. In the absence of electrically propelled motors, the submarine had either to go up or godown. She could not maintain a midway depth, for although fitted with compensating tanks, these alone, without the assistance of the horizontal rudders—which were useless unless the submarine were making way—would fail to keep her at a constant depth. Should the soundings prove much greater than he expected, theAlerte'shull might be unable to withstand the enormous pressure of water. If, on the other hand, the depth were considerably less, then theAlerte'smastheads would show above the surface, since there was no time to lower them before submerging.
The creaking of oars announced that the destroyer's boat had pushed off and was heading for the supposedMemnon. Again the dazzling searchlight was unscreened. There was no time to be lost.
Descending the bridge at breakneck speed, Captain Cain ran to the after-end of the conning-tower. Here, stowed in an air-tight box, was the smoke-producing apparatus used in conjunction with the dummy funnel to give the effect of a vessel with steam, propelled engines. In the same compartment were several explosive rockets.
Disconnecting the pipe that conveyed the smoke to the base of the funnel the pirate captain laid the nozzle on the deck. Then, hastily securing one of the rockets to a stanchion, he ignited the touchpaper.
The moment the detonator exploded, Captain Cain released the smoke cloud, descended the hatchway, and closed the water-tight cover.
"Flood ballast tanks!" he shouted.
Three minutes later, theAlertesank on practically an even keel to the bed of St. Ives Bay. The depth gauge registered eleven and a quarter fathoms, which meant that at high tide she would be lying in eighty-seven feet—sufficient to immerse the trucks of the masts to a depth of twenty-eight feet.
"That's done them!" exclaimed Captain Cain exultantly to his second in command.
"Unless they depth-charge us," added Pengelly gloomily.
"They won't—why should they?" rejoined the skipper. "They don't know but that we blew a hole in the old hooker and sank her for good and all."
"Perhaps they'll send a diver down to report."
"Not before daylight," declared Cain. "And then, if I am any judge of the weather, it'll be too choppy for that."
For some minutes every one kept silent. Although the watch below were almost overwhelmed with curiosity to know what had occurred, the captain gave strict orders that no conversation was to be permitted.
He was confident enough: Pengelly was showing signs of nervousness. Submarine work was not in his line. He was good enough for surface work—in fact, he was a good seaman—but he lacked the cold, calculating and resourceful courage of his chief.
"What's that?" he ejaculated, as a dull rasping sound penetrated the hull of the submarine, "They're sweeping for us."
"Shut up!" exclaimed Captain Cain sternly. The grinding noise continued for fifteen long-drawn-out seconds. Then it ceased as abruptly as it had commenced. Shortly afterwards, the muffled thud of the destroyer's engines were heard, loud at first then gradually diminishing.
"She's off," declared Captain Cain. "What we heard just now was the sinker[1]of a mark-buoy. She's probably making for Falmouth for shelter—or else under the lee of Lundy. They've done us out of a comfortable berth, Pengelly; we've got to shift."
"Now?" asked Pengelly dubiously.
"Not until an hour before high water," decided the other. "We'll break surface and drift, using our engines only if absolutely necessary. With the set of the flood tide we ought to be swept through the Sound midway between Godrevy Island and the Stones. There's a minimum of fifty feet at high water."
"How about the lighthouse-keepers?" objected Pengelly. "Ten to one they've been warned."
"Any more objections?" asked Captain Cain, losing his temper. "Stow it, man. Why didn't you go in for gardening? That's more in your line, I think."
With that Captain Cain went to his cabin, and, after warning one of the men to call him at six bells (3 a.m.), calmly went to sleep.
At the appointed hour the skipper was roused.
Fresh as paint, he began preparations for bringing theAlerteto the surface.
Absolute caution was essential. The destroyer might not have gone: she might be anchored in the bay. The atmosphere might be still clear, the stars might be shining brightly. Until the submarine broke surface, there were no means of ascertaining what the above-water conditions were. And even with the periscope extended to its greatest height, the masts would be well above the surface before the eye-piece gave any indication of what was in the vicinity.
At length theAlerte, shedding tons of water through the scuppers in the superstructure, broke surface. Eagerly the captain threw open the hatch and came on deck. It was raining heavily. There was little or no wind. A heavy ground swell was setting in from the Atlantic. All these conditions supported Cain's declaration that there was a severe storm approaching.
Shouting to the watch on deck to turn out, the captain hurried to the bridge and took rapid bearings by the standard compass. To the south-'ard the harbour lights of Hayle bore S. 22 W.; St. Ives red light, S. 70 W., while Godrevy lighthouse was on a bearing S. 88 E. Transferring these data to the chart, Cain found theAlerte'sposition to be favourable for his project—to allow her to drift through the narrow passage known as the Sound into deeper water under the lee of an extensive shoal of half-tide rocks known as the Stones.
A sailor dashed up the bridge-ladder.
"We've brought up a mark-buoy with us, sir," he reported. "What are we to do with it?"
There was no hesitation in the skipper's reply. In a trice he had considered and decided upon what was to be done. If the buoy were thrown overboard, it would serve as a guide to the destroyer's operations for examining the supposed wreck. If it were not there, then a vast area of the bay would have to be swept before the naval officers discovered that the "wreck" was no longer in the bay. The longer they took to make this discovery, the better the chances of theAlertegetting safely away.
"Cut the rope and unstrand the ends," he ordered, "then heave the buoy overboard."
By so doing, it would give the impression that the buoy rope had parted in rough weather. In all probability the coast watchers would find the buoy pounding against the rocks off Godrevy Point.
Almost imperceptibly theAlertecontinued to drift. Every half-minute Captain Cain took angles with his sextant, while Pengelly attended to the compass bearings. Although the shore lights were visible, it was an impossible matter to distinguish the outlines of the coast. Conversely, no one ashore—not even the lightkeepers of Godrevy lighthouse—could discern the black hull of theAlerteas she was borne with all lights extinguished towards the gateway to safety. Even at a hundred yards the steady downpour of rain was sufficient to obliterate her from watching eyes.
Presently, theAlerteentered the red sector of the lower Godrevy Light. She was now in the danger zone. There was quite a nasty tide-rip, while the thunder of the breakers across the Stones on one hand and upon the rock-bound Godrevy Island on the other, were indications that spelt disaster to any vessel that missed the passage of the Sound.
It was an anxious time. More than once Captain Cain grasped the handle of the engine-room telegraph, fearing that the ship was drifting too close to the breakers. Then with remarkable suddenness theAlertepassed beyond the warning red sector.
"All clear, Pengelly!" exclaimed the skipper. "We're through. Pass the word to the hands to lower masts and funnel and make all snug. Smartly, but with no unnecessary noise. Keep the lead going, there."
In ten minutes the work of snugging down was completed. The soundings gave a depth of ten fathoms.
Captain Cain descended from the bridge—slowly this time.
"Hands to diving stations!" he ordered.
For the second time that night the buoyancy tanks were flooded. TheAlerte, two and a half miles E. by N. of her previous and enforced resting place, lay snug and sound to await the passing ofthe threatening storm.