[1]Sinker—A lump of iron to which is attached the buoy-rope, and which serves to anchor the buoy to the bed of the sea.
LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER RALPH RAXWORTHY, D.S.O., officer commanding H.M. DestroyerWindrush, leant over the after end of the bridge stanchion-rails to give final instructions to his sub-lieutenant.
"She's the one we want," he shouted, in order to make himself heard above the hiss of escaping steam. "Mind how you close her. Examine her papers, and if you find anything of the slightest suspicious nature, put her under arrest."
"Very good, sir," replied Sub-Lieutenant Allerton, instinctively patting his revolver-holster before dropping into the waiting boat. "Shove off for'ard. Give way, lads!"
The boat, with the armed boarding-party, was soon speeding through the black water in the direction of the supposedMemnon, which lay rolling sluggishly in the full glare of the destroyer's searchlight.
Allerton, too, had his suspicions. Expecting to find a crowd of curious and perhaps amused seamen peering at theWindrush'sboat, he was considerably puzzled to see only one man on the tramp's bridge and her deck absolutely deserted.
Even as he looked, a flash, followed by a roar, came from theMemnon'sdeck. A cloud of black smoke, its edges tinted with silver and the rays of the searchlight, rose sullenly in the faint breeze.
For some moments Allerton was undecided what to do. At first, under the impression that the mysterious vessel had opened fire, he altered helm in order to prevent the boat masking the destroyer's reply. Even as he did so, he noticed that the tramp was much lower in the water.
"The blighters have scuttled her, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "Lay on your oars, lads. We don't want to be carried down with her."
Without the faintest doubt, the would-be prize was sinking fast. That was undeniable evidence of her guilt. No law-abiding merchant vessel would voluntarily destroy herself simply because she was about to be boarded by a party from a British man-of-war.
With great rapidity theMemnonsank. She did not heel or even roll. She disappeared amid a smother of foam, throwing out a swell that tossed theWindrush'sboat like a cork. An oval patch of silvery light from the destroyer's searchlight marked the spot where the mysterious vessel had plunged to the bed of St. Ives Bay.
"Give way, lads!" ordered Allerton. "We may find some of them in the ditch."
For a quarter of an hour the boat hovered around the spot. There were no signs of survivors—not even of débris. A little oil, floating in iridescent patches, alone marked the place, andeven that was drifting sullenly with the weak tidal current.
At dead slow ahead theWindrushclosed her boat. A mark-buoy and sinker were dropped overboard, the searchlight was switched off and the boat hoisted up and swung inboard.
"Good enough," declared the lieutenant-commander as his sub gained the bridge and reported. "We haven't made a capture, worse luck; but we've done the next best thing. We've scuppered this pirate-johnny, whoever he may be. Right-o, Sub, carry on, please, while I write out my report."
TheWindrushhad that morning left Devonport under orders to patrol the coast between Hartland and Pendeen Points. Another destroyer was assigned a beat between Hartland and Worms Head, while a third cruised between Swansea Bay and Milford Haven. All outward and homeward bound shipping were to be spoken, and, in the event of any suspicion, to be boarded and have the papers examined.
This was in execution of a general Admiralty order embracing the whole of the West and South Coast of England and the South Coast of Ireland, but it was hardly expected that the mysterious pirate would be found in the approach to the Bristol Channel.
It was a piece of sheer good luck that had caused theWindrushto intercept the self-styledMemnon. Had the latter been half an hour or even twenty minutes later in rounding Pendeen Head, the destroyer would have turned and been on her way back to Hartland.
Two hours later, the Commander-in-Chief at Devonport was awakened by his secretary.
"They've got her, sir!" exclaimed the latter, brandishing a signal-pad.
"Got who?" demanded the still drowsy admiral.
"The pirate, sir; a message has just come through from theWindrush."
The Commander-in-Chief took the pad and read:
"O.C.Windrushto C.-in-C., Devonport. Radio No. 445. Have honour to report that at midnightWindrushspoke vessel 2 miles W. 6 N. Godrevy Light. Vessel reported herselfMemnonof Bristol. Ordered her to close and sent boat to make examination. Before boat could boardMemnonsank, apparently result of internal explosion. No survivors. Have marked wreck. In view of bad weather, request permission to return Devonport.—R. RAXWORTHY, Lieut.-Commdr."
"That looks like business, sir," remarked the secretary. "I suppose she is the same craft that held up theCap Hoornand got a mauling from theSurcouf?"
"She hasn't lost much time in going round the Land," rejoined the Commander-in-Chief. "I wonder what in the name of blazes she was doing over this side? All right, Symington. Transmit the signal to the Admiralty, please; and reply toWindrush. She's to put into Milford Haven until the weather moderates. We'll send a dockyard tug and a couple of lighters with a diving party round as soon as practicable. That's all; good-night."
The Admiralty report was made public at 4.0 p.m. of the same day, but two hours earlier the Londonevening papers brought out special editions with double-headed headlines announcing the destruction of the pirate vessel that had commenced to play havoc on the French side of the Channel. Every newspaper brought out a different account. For the most part, what they lacked in actual detail they made up for by drawing upon their imagination.
One, very wide of the mark, reported that the pirate had been sunk off Cherbourg, in action with a French cruiser; another declared that the filibuster had been rammed and sunk by a British light cruiser off Beachy Head. A third, that the mysterious vessel had been driven ashore in Mounts Bay and that the crew had been taken prisoners and were already on their way to London. A fourth, much nearer the mark, had contrived to obtain information from St. Ives to the effect that the destroyerWindrushhad sunk the pirate vesselMemnonoff Trevose Head. Not one in half a dozen separate reports mentioned the important fact that the corsair had sunk herself.
That same afternoon a westerly gale of force ten—or with a velocity of sixty-five miles an hour—was blowing in the English Channel and off the north coast of Cornwall. At Tresco, Scilly, the anemometer even registered one hundred and twenty miles. For three days it blew with unabated violence, finally veering to the N.N.W., leaving in its wake a trail of disaster. For nearly a week after, a heavy tumbling sea was sweeping in from the Atlantic, rendering investigation of the wreck of theMemnonimpracticable.
At length the sea moderated sufficiently to enable the dockyard tug and the two lighters to leave Plymouth Sound. They had not cleared the breakwater more than an hour when the Devonport wireless station received the following startling message:
"S.S.Broadstonemaking for Falmouth, towing Spanish oil-tankerMendez Nunez, attacked, pillaged and disabled by vessel, nationality unknown, in Lat. 47° 20' N., long. 9° 15' W."
"Then there must have been a pair of 'em," exclaimed the Commander-in-Chief.
"Unless the original one got away," suggested his flag-lieutenant.
"What do you mean?" demanded the admiral. "Didn't theWindrushreport her sunk?
"Strange things happen at sea, sir," remarked the admiral's secretary.
"But there are limits," rejoined the Commander-in-Chief. "Well, the diving-party will get to work early to-morrow if the weather holds. I'm willing to bet a bottle of '14 Champagne to a Corona Corona that they'll find the wreck of theMemnonwithin three working days."
"Done, sir!" replied the secretary promptly. The admiral lost. In calm weather, divers descended and discovered the sinker of the buoy dropped by theWindrush. A couple of drifters swept a wide area without encountering any obstruction resembling wreckage. A naval seaplane assisted in the search, but without success. Reluctantly the authorities had to admit that theoperation was a complete failure. The sunkenMemnonhad vanished as completely as if she had been swallowed up by a fathomless quicksand. But since no quicksand existed in the neighbourhood of St. Ives Bay, that theory was knocked on the head. Remained the question: What had happened to her?
THROUGHOUT the three days during which the sea was raging furiously in the grip of the terrific gale, theAlerteremained submerged. Occasionally the giant seas sweeping over the Stones rocked her ever so slightly. The noise of shingle carried over the rocky ledge to wind'ard could be distinctly heard like a continuous roll of distant thunder, but as far as actual danger went theAlertewas as safe as if she had been lying at heavy moorings in the most sheltered berth in Falmouth harbour.
The difficulty of maintaining a constant supply of pure air was overcome by means of chemicals; so much so, that there was a slight excess of oxygen that had a peculiarly exhilarating effect upon the crew. Even the usually morbid and pessimistic Pengelly began by attempting feeble jokes. He next became boisterous and excitable, while on the third day even the light-hearted crew looked askance at him, so erratic was his behaviour.
Several of the hands showed signs of excessive excitability. The epidemic was spreading. Had theAlerteremained submerged very much longer,all hands might have gone mad under the influence of the super-oxygen charged atmosphere.
Fortunately for them, Captain Cain noticed the symptoms. He decided to break surface and remain with the hatchways open for at least an hour, even at the risk of the heavy seas pouring inboard.
At two in the morning of the fourth day theAlertewas brought to the surface. Greatly to her skipper's surprise—for the glass had risen far too rapidly to prognosticate fine weather—the storm had blown itself out. Crested waves were surging over the Stones and thundering upon Godrevy Island, but the pirate submarine was in comparatively sheltered water, rolling sluggishly to the long Atlantic swell.
Captain Cain's chief anxiety was now on account of the oil fuel. The gauges showed that there was only one ton left in the tank. By some means he must get into communication with Captain Silas Porthoustoc and arrange for theFairyto proceed to a rendezvous with a cargo of liquid fuel.
For the present theAlerterode to a single anchor, double watches being set to give the alarm should a vessel be sighted, although the position of the pirate submarine was well out of the way of traffic, owing to the proximity of the reef known as the Stones. At a few seconds' notice theAlertecould submerge. Meanwhile, the hull of the submarine was being swept by a current of pure, ozone-laden air.
"Mr. Pengelly!" shouted the skipper.
The second in command hurried along the alleyway, performing a fantastic two-step.
"Pull yourself together, man," exclaimed Captain Cain sternly. "We're in a bit of a fix."
Pengelly's light-hearted demeanour fell from him like a shedded garment.
"What is it now, sir?" he inquired anxiously.
"Precious little oil-fuel left," replied the captain. "Look here: do you know Portreath? What sort of a harbour is it?"
"Not enough water for us," replied Pengelly. "You're surely not going to take the ship into port?"
"No fear," responded Cain grimly. "But I want to send a boat ashore. You'd better take her. We must arrange with Porthoustoc to supply us with oil. While you are ashore, you might get hold of a batch of newspapers. We don't appear to be getting much information by wireless."
"There'll be a heavy breaking sea across the mouth of Portreath harbour," objected Pengelly.
"A chance for you to display your seamanship," added Cain, with grim humour. "We'll run up along before daybreak and then retrace our course. People ashore will think we're outward-bound. Pick your crew. I'll write a letter to Old Silas, giving him instructions."
Just before dawn theAlertebrought St. Agnes' Head broad on the starboard beam. Then she turned and ran leisurely down the coast, bringing up off the little harbour of Portreath just as thesun appeared above the gaunt and rugged Cornish hills.
To the coast-watching station she made a signal announcing herself as the s.s.Eldoradoof Sunderland from Bristol to Whitby, following up with a request to know whether it was practicable to send a boat ashore.
Portreath station replied that it could be done, but care was necessary on account of the disturbed state of the bar.
"Carry on, Mr. Pengelly," ordered the inexorable Captain Cain.
The boat made the harbour safely. Pengelly, on stepping ashore, was met by one of the Customs men.
"Hello!" remarked the latter. "Rather unusual you coming in here, isn't it?"
"I have to post important letters," replied Pengelly.
"Lucky you didn't bring up off here a week or so ago," commented the official. "We'd have to have searched you."
"What for?" asked theAlerte'ssecond in command, with well-feigned innocence.
"'Cause of that pirate what was knocking about. Well, she's gone, thank goodness! I wasn't none too keen myself, putting off to a vessel that might have been manned by cutthroats."
"We heard something about it," remarked Pengelly. "Rumours, of course. What did happen?"
"She blew herself up over t'other side ofGodrevy Island," announced the man, with a sweep of his hand in the direction of St. Ives Bay. "Just as theWindrush—destroyer, she be—was about to nab her. They'll be starting salvage operations when the swell settles—maybe to-morrow."
"That's something to be thankful for," said Pengelly sententiously. "Not that they'd have got much out of the oldEldoradoout yonder. There are enough risks at sea without the chance of being scuppered by a bloomin' pirate.... Where's the post office, mate?"
The Customs man gave the required information. Pengelly walked away, posted Silas Porthoustoc's instructions and purchased a quantity of provisions and a big budget of newspapers.
He returned to the harbour and found that none of the boat's crew had deserted. He would not have been greatly surprised if some of them had made themselves scarce. He himself felt tempted to clear out, when his feet touched honest Cornish soil. It would be an easy matter to make his way to Penzance and arrange with Old Silas to share the plunder. But there were difficulties. He might betray Cain and obtain King's pardon, but what would happen to the booty then? Its secret hiding-place would be divulged. He would not be a penny the better. And, if Cain evaded capture, his—Pengelly's—life would not be worth a moment's purchase. Possibly, similar fears had exercised a restraining influence on the boat's crew. Once "in the swim" it was a difficult matter to escape the whirlpool.
"Better look alive," cautioned the Customs man, looking down from the lofty quay-side. "There's a nasty sea-fog banking up."
The boat shipped a considerable amount of water in clearing the harbour, and by the time she ran alongside theAlertethe fog was so thick that the shore was entirely blotted out.
"Well, what's the news?" demanded Captain Cain.
"Haven't looked, sir," replied Pengelly, tossing the bundle from the boat to the deck of theAlerte. "From what I've heard, they think us properly scuppered."
The boat was hoisted up and secured. At slow speed the pirate submarine nosed her way through the fog, intending to make for a certain secluded "sound" in the Scillies, there to await the arrival of theFairywith the oil.
Having given the quartermaster the course, Cain selected a couple of newspapers and told the bo's'un to pass a number of them for'ard for the hands not on duty.
One of the newspapers was theWestern Gazette. This the captain handed to Pengelly, knowing that the latter would derive interesting local information from it. The Times Cain retained and figuratively proceeded to devour with the avidity of a man who has for days been cut off from all accounts of the world's doings.
"Hello, Pengelly!" he exclaimed, "we're fugitives from justice."
"I know that," rejoined Pengelly, with a show of asperity.
"'Tany rate," resumed Cain, "there's a warrant out for the arrest of Thomas Trevorrick and Paul Pengelly for fraud in connection with the Polkyll Shipbreaking Company. We're assumed to have absconded and to be hiding on the Continent. There's two hundred pounds reward."
Both men smiled grimly at each other. Evidently there was no connection in the minds of the authorities between Trevorrick and the pirate Captain Cain.
"And theMemnonis officially reported as being destroyed," continued Captain Cain. "The Admiralty state emphatically that she is the vessel that attacked theCap Hoorn. They weren't far out there, Pengelly, but listen! This is a gem! 'In consequence of the destruction of theMemnon, all danger to shipping through piratical action is now considered at an end. Accordingly orders have been issued to the naval patrols engaged in hunting down the pirate to return to their respective bases.' Well, that's given us a new lease of life. Wait till we replenish our fuel tanks and we'll give My Lords a nasty eye-opener." This time both men laughed boisterously. Fickle Fortune was treating them with lavish favour.
For some minutes there was silence, each reader deep in his paper.
"By Jove!" suddenly ejaculated Pengelly. "Listen to this, sir: 'An inquest was held——'"
"Don't want to hear about inquests," interrupted Captain Cain. "Don't suppose mine willworry me. Why should I trouble about other people's?"
"You will about this one," persisted Pengelly doggedly. "It's Silas Porthoustoc. He was found dead in his garden. Heart disease, they say. The inquest was held in the Keigwin Arms last Monday."
"Confound the fellow!" almost shouted Captain Cain angrily. "What possessed him to shuffle off this mortal coil at this time above all others, and to leave us in the lurch? Ten thousand thunders! Think of the oil-fuel we'll have to whistle for!"
"And I've only just posted his orders," added Pengelly. "What did you tell him? Will that give us away?"
"No, it won't," declared the skipper. "It will convey nothing to outsiders. 'Scilly blooms' and 'Jersey potatoes' won't give them a clue, Trust me for that. All the same, it's infernally annoying."
"It is," agreed Pengelly.
Both men relapsed into silence.
"I hope Porthoustoc got that Abrahams fellow down from London to dispose of the booty before he turned up his toes?" mused Cain.
"Wonder if Silas hid the stuff where I told him to?" soliloquised Pengelly. "Well, it's all or nothing as far as I am concerned."
FOR two hours more theAlerteheld on a westerly course through a blinding fog before Captain Cain resolved upon a plan of action. Generally capable of forming a swift and workable decision, he was now beset with so many perplexities that for once at least his ready resource failed him.
Against one outstanding asset—the Admiralty declaration that the patrolling destroyers had been withdrawn—was a more than counterbalancing debit. Cap'n Silas Porthoustoc's sudden demise had not only deprived the pirate of a necessary confederate—it had handicapped him severely in the important matter of refilling the almost empty fuel tanks.
It was impossible for theAlerteto enter any commercial harbour and obtain oil from the storage tanks without certain detection. Equally impossible was it for the same reason to receive supplies from an oil-tanker on the high seas, unless the pirate resorted to force. British vessels he had resolved to leave severely alone. There were Yankee tankers to be met with, but Captain Cain was chary in that respect. Although he had nolove for citizens of "the greatest republic on earth," he had a wholesome regard for the physical and mental powers of the officers and crews of ships flying the Stars and Stripes. Men of the Latin races were excitable and easily intimidated, according to his estimation. A German could be bluffed, provided he could be made to realise the argument of brute force. But a Yankee strongly resembled a Briton, both in courage, resource and stubbornness.
No, United States tankers were not to be meddled with, he decided. Apparently the only course open to him was to operate on the French side of the Channel upon any likely craft using liquid fuel——and during the last few years King Coal was being seriously threatened by King Oil in the mercantile fleet, both of the Old and New Worlds.
Porthoustoc's death had affected the situation in another way. TheAlertehad no means of sending her unlawful booty to England. In future she must be her own store-carrier, unless she found a secluded and safe base of operations. It was too hazardous an enterprise to attempt to approach any of the little frequented Cornish coves under cover of night and land the spoil by means of boats. Besides, the moment the news reached the Admiralty that the same or another pirate ship was "out," all the previous destroyer activities would be resumed with increasing zest. It was more than likely that orders would be given to depth-charge the pirate vessel if she sank herself under similar circumstances to that of theMemnonin St. Ives Bay. Captain Cain had a wholesomerespect for the British Navy and its methods in dealing with submarine operations.
The only solution Captain Cain could find, lay in deserting home waters for less frequented seas. There were safe hiding-places off the African coast, ideal spots for burying the pirate's booty, until such times as the master villain could remove the spoil and cheat his partners in crime. But there again cropped up the baffling problem. Without sufficient oil-fuel, how was theAlerteto cover the sixteen hundred odd miles between Land's End and the African coast? Was it possible to intercept the first oil-burning vessel they met, British or otherwise, and help themselves to the precious commodity? Would a monetary payment in the case of a vessel flying the red ensign smooth over matters and at the same time absolve Cain from his promise to his crew and also remove their scruples?
Picking up the copy of the Times, Captain Cain looked through the list of shipping as reported by Lloyds. Suddenly he gave a chuckle of satisfaction. Amongst the names appeared that of the s.s.Mendez Nunez, owned by the Bilboa Oil Company, which left Cadiz on the 9th instant bound for Swansea.
Hurrying to the chart-room, Captain Cain found and unrolled a chart of the west coast of Europe from Finisterre to Cape Clear. Assuming the speed of the Spanish tanker to be eleven knots, he arrived at the conclusion that theAlerteought to fall in with her within twenty-four hours at about fifty miles S.S.W. of the Bishop Rock.
It was a daring proposition. Apart from therisk of missing the Spanish tanker altogether, the position given was not far from the junction of the traffic routes for shipping to and from the Straits and the West Coast of Africa bound to and from the English and Bristol Channel ports, the Bishop Light being the first one sighted by homeward-bound vessels approaching Land's End. In the event of theMendez Nunezbeing sighted, could the capture be effected without the risk of other vessels coming to the Spaniard's aid?
Leaving Pengelly in charge of the bridge, Captain Cain called the gunner and the bo'sun to his cabin and put the case before them. He meant to ignore Pengelly altogether in the matter. Instinctively he knew that his second in command would strongly protest against the idea of an African base. Pengelly was all right up to a certain point in home waters, but not once but many times had he expressed his fears about proceeding far from his native Cornwall.
Both Barnard and Marchant fell in with the captain's suggestion. Already had they come to the conclusion that piracy, even with the assistance of a submarine craft, was too risky a game to be prosecuted for any length of time in British and French waters.
"You see the idea?" said Cain. "A couple of good hauls of shipping homeward-bound from Senegal, the Congo, and other French and Belgian colonies, and our fortunes are made. We'll cache the booty, make our way home, charter a vessel all above-board, recover the stuff, and there you are. It's as simple as A B C. Our first businessis with the Spanish tanker. Pass the word for'ard, Mr. Barnard. There's a double share to the first man who sights theMendez Nunez."
Ten miles to the west of the Scillies, theAlerteran out of the bank of fog into a clear expanse of water under a cloudless sky. The sea had moderated considerably, although there was a long, sullen swell that caused the pirate vessel to roll until her scuppers were under water. In these circumstances, should theMendez Nunezbe captured, making fast alongside the prize would be a manoeuvre fraught with danger.
Captain Cain had made a correct guess with reference to the sighting of the Spanish tanker. A wisp of smoke away to the S.S.W. indicated the presence of a vessel. Half an hour later, two masts and funnel showed above the horizon.
Glass in hand, the captain went aloft. From his elevated perch he quickly ascertained that the on-coming craft was a tanker. Although end on, the vessel's build and rig confirmed his surmise. She was long, low-lying, with a funnel right aft. The only break between the funnel and the bows was a small structure crowned by the bridge and chart-house. She was flying no colours, but the yellow and red bands round her funnel were sufficient to proclaim her nationality.
Rapidly the distance between the two vessels decreased. Giving a rapid glance to reassure himself that there were no other craft in sight, Captain Cain descended from the cross-trees to the deck and thence to the bridge.
"Port a bit!" he ordered.
By so doing theAlertewas merely conforming to the usual custom by which vessels meeting nearly end on ported helm. The action served its purpose. Quite in ignorance of the danger that menaced her, theMendez Nunezfollowed suit, intending to pass the supposed tramp at not less than two cables' distance.
Already theAlerte'squick-firer was cleared for action, but was hidden from the Spaniard by the rise of the former's fo'c'sle. The moment the pirate vessel was in a position to enable the gun to bear, a shell was fired across the tanker's bows, instantly followed by the signal to heave to.
Signs were not lacking that this peremptory action had thrown the Spaniards into a state of panic. Apart from the threat of being sunk, they realised what the dire result would be of a shell exploding the highly inflammable cargo. Some of the crew rushed to lower the boats. The captain and some of his officers on the tanker's bridge were beside themselves with terror.
"Stop instantly," signalled the pirate.
Some one on board theMendez Nunez—certainly it was not the captain—rang down for the engines to be reversed. The tanker soon lost way, and was presently lying head to wind in the long Atlantic swell.
With her machine-gun mounted on the bridge and trained upon the Spaniard, and with every available man conspicuously displaying his automatic pistol, theAlertewas cautiously manoeuvred to come alongside the prize. There was very little risk to the submarine's hull. Her false upperworks might be stove in. The danger lay in the fact that theAlertemight fracture the light steel hull-plates of the tanker, in which case the former would have to do without the precious oil.
"Get your fenders out!" shouted Captain Cain to the still dumbfounded crew of theMendez Nunez.
Apparently some of the Spaniards understood English, or else they realised the intentions of the approachingAlerte. Three large fenders made of faggots bound with wire rope were lowered over the starboard side.
With a heavy jar, the pirate craft and theMendez Nunezcame together. One of the fenders nipped as the two craft ground each other's sides and was flattened like a pancake. Another carried away. The partially lowered boat was crushed to matchwood. Rolling a full fifteen degrees, the huge tanker stove in ten feet of theAlerte'sbulwarks and buckled the stanchions at one end of her bridge.
"An hour of this and we won't have a shred of upperworks left," expostulated Pengelly. "Sheer off, sir, while we have the chance."
For a wonder, Captain Cain concurred. With her port screw going full astern, theAlertedrew clear of her prey.
It was no intention on the part of the pirate captain to abandon the attempt. Easing down a cable's length to leeward, he signalled HNT—"Smooth sea by pouring oil on it."
In a few minutes the pumps of theMendez Nunezgot to work. Volumes of crude oil were released,spreading in vast iridescent patches to lee'ard of the tanker. Although the swell still continued, it lost its dangerous aspect.
"That's the ticket!" exclaimed Captain Cain to his second in command. "Well, it's their oil they're using, not mine.... Steady on your helm... port a bit... meet her at that."
Again theAlerteclosed her prey, this time on the port side. Held by hawsers and springs fore and aft, the two vessels no longer ground against each other with any danger of violence.
At the head of fifteen armed men, Captain Cain boarded the prize. No resistance was offered. The Spanish captain and all his officers, with the exception of two engineers, were ordered for'ard and locked in the forepeak with the rest of the crew. Two of the tanker's ejector pumps were led to theAlerte'stanks and the work of refuelling the pirate submarine began.
While this business was in progress, the boarding party were by no means idle. A systematic search of the officers' quarters yielded a little booty. The ship's stores and provision rooms were pillaged, and anything likely to be of service to the pirates removed.
Then the wireless gear was rendered useless, the operator of theMendez Nunezhaving previously been ordered to produce a record of messages sent and received during the last four hours. None had been sent since theAlertefired a warning shot across the tanker's bows, the operator having deserted his post in the general panic that ensued.
Meanwhile, Marchant the gunner, with a couple of hands, went below to the tanker's engine-room. Breaking open the tunnel of the main shaft, they fractured the propeller shaft by means of a slab of gun cotton. Within the space of fifty minutes Captain Cain had accomplished his task. He had replenished theAlerte'sfuel supply, plundered the tanker, and had left her helpless in the Atlantic, with no means of summoning assistance other than by visual signalling.
"Recall the hands, Mr. Marchant," ordered Captain Cain, when the gunner returned on deck and reported the fracturing of the propeller shaft.
A shrill whistle had the immediate effect of bringing the boarding-party to the side.
"All correct, sir," reported the gunner, after the men had numbered off. "How about those chaps, sir?" he added, pointing in the direction of the forepeak. "Do we let 'em out?"
"No," replied Cain, with a sardonic smile. "Let 'em batter the hatch down when they find we're gone. A little extra damage won't signify."
Returning to theAlerte, the pirate captain signed to the two engineers of the tanker to cast off the hawsers; then, backing clear of theMendez Nunez, theAlertemade off at full speed in a nor'easterly direction, towards the Irish coast.
Forty-five minutes later, having dropped the tanker beneath the horizon, the pirate submarine altered her course for the distant African shore, secure in the knowledge that when assistance did come to the disabled tanker, the Spaniards would declare that their attacker was making in adirection far different to the course she eventually took.
Just before eight bells in the first dog watch, the bo'sun came up to Pengelly, who was in charge of the bridge.
"Two men missing, sir," he reported.
"Who are they?"
"Broadmayne and Vyse, sir."
"Then make a search for them. They didn't smuggle themselves on board yon tanker by any chance?"
"Oh no, sir," declared Barnard. "They were seen some time after we sheered off."
But the bo'sun had made a genuine mistake. At that precise moment Broadmayne and his chum were having a very lively time on board the Spanish tankerMendez Nunez.
"LOOK here!" exclaimed Broadmayne, in a low voice, "are you game? Now's our chance."
He pointed to theMendez Nunez.
"Steady on," replied Vyse cautiously. "Supposing we get on board without being spotted: what then? Can you speak Spanish; I can't. The blighters will take us for pirates—I don't blame them if they do—and there'd be a deuce of a rumpus before we could explain. They'd probably knife us out of hand."
The two chums were standing close to the poopladder while the plundering of the tanker was in progress. Their "passive resistance" was now tolerated without any interference on the part of the pirate captain. Provided they stood their trick in the ordinary work of the ship, they were not called upon to take any part in actual acts of piracy. They certainly earned their keep. Captain Cain had not to pay them. On the other hand, he still hoped to get a substantial sum for their ransom. On that account, coupled with the fact that already they knew too much to be released, they were retained on board theAlerte.
"Risk that," rejoined the Sub laconically. "It's better than being sent to the bottom for good and all, and that's what will happen if we don't clear out."
"Right-o," agreed Rollo Vyse. "Wait till old Pengelly's looking the other way and then shift like greased lightning."
"And get spotted directly we gain her deck," objected the Sub. "No; our best way is to drop overboard, swim round under her stern, and hang on to the falls of the boat they tried to lower. As soon as theAlertebacks clear, then up we shin."
"Beastly dirty job," remarked Vyse, objecting in turn, as he glanced at the oil-smothered water. "All right. Lead on, Macduff!"
Awaiting their opportunity, for Pengelly was kept fairly busy in shouting orders to the men tending the warps and transferring the plunder to theAlerte, the chums made their way under the bridge. Here, secure from observation, unless any of the crew of the quick-firer came aft, they clambered through the gap in the stove-in bulwarks and dropped into the sea.
For the first time they realised the extreme difficulty in swimming in oil-covered water. It was a hard struggle to keep their heads above the surface, and quite a strenuous effort to make progress. To add to the peril, they were liable to be crushed by the hull of the ship as she drifted to lee'ard, while when they reached the wind'ard side they might find that the drift was so considerable that they would be unable to keep pace with it.
"Dog-stroke," gasped Broadmayne. "Betterthan breast-stroke in this muck. We're all right."
It seemed a fearfully long time swimming under the tanker's squat counter. Then foot by foot they struggled along the Spanish vessel's starboard quarter to where the jagged timbers of the crushed boat still hung from the for'ard falls.
With a gasp of relief the Sub stretched out his hand and grasped the débris. He waited until Vyse had obtained a hand-fast and then cautiously hoisted himself out of the water and gained a temporary refuge by sitting on the edge of the boat's bow-thwart, where his chum soon joined him.
So far so good. They were roughly fifteen feet below the tanker's stanchion-rail. The boat's bows were practically intact as far as the second thwart, and hanging in a vertical position formed a screen from the sight of any one who happened to look over the tanker's side. But their plight was far from enviable. Owing to the swell, the wreckage of the boat was thudding steadily against the tanker's side and turning dizzily as the falls twisted and untwisted. The chums were smothered with black oil from head to foot. Some of the vile stuff had found its way into Rollo's eyes, making them smart exceedingly. Yet in spite of the various discomforts he could not refrain from remarking that they looked like a pair of blackbirds in a cage.
"There's the recall," exclaimed the Sub, as above the hiss of escaping vapour from theMendez Nunez'ssteam-pipe came the shrill notes of a whistle.
For a few minutes longer the chums listened intently. They could hear nothing more to indicate that the pirate submarine had parted company with her prize.
"Don't move," cautioned Vyse suddenly. "Look!"
The stern of theAlertewas beginning to be visible as the vessel backed. If she carried sternway much farther, the fragments of the boat with the two fugitives clinging to it would be exposed to the view of the pirate crew.
More and more of the after-part of the pirate submarine's hull showed until the end of the mainmast derricks came into view. Then, at first almost imperceptibly, the sternway movement diminished. A smother of oily foam from theAlerte'stwin propellers was flung astern. Her engines were going ahead. For a brief instant the relative position of the pirate craft and her prize remained unchanged; then, gathering way, theAlerteforged ahead and disappeared from the view of the two chums.
"Think she'll be put about if we're missed?" asked Vyse anxiously.
"Might," admitted Broadmayne. "Perhaps they're so taken up with their success that they've forgotten all about us. 'T any rate, up we go. We'll lie doggo as long as we possibly can, in case Cain has a fancy to renew our acquaintance."
It was no easy matter to swarm up that fifteen feet or so of trebled, twisted rope. Their hands, smothered in thick oil, had great difficulty toobtain a steady grip, while, to make matters worse, the tanker was again rolling badly. With every roll the falls with their human burdens bumped heavily against the ship's side.
At last the Sub reached the stanchion-rail. Crouching, he edged sideways to enable his companion to gain a place of safety. Then he gave a quick glance along the tanker's deck.
It was deserted. The two engineers, having completed their forced task of casting off theAlerte'swarps, had gone below to obtain tools to effect the release of the rest of the crew, who, knowing that the pirate had sheered off, were clamouring loudly for help. Doubtless they were under the mistaken though by no means unfounded idea that their vessel was being scuttled, and that they were in peril of being drowned like rats in a trap.
Broadmayne's next thought was for theAlerte. A roll of the tanker raised the side sufficiently to enable the Sub to see right across her deck to the expanse of sea beyond. There was the pirate submarine, stern-on, legging it as hard as she could go in a northerly direction. Already she was between a mile and a half and two miles away and momentarily increasing the distance at the rate of a mile every four minutes.
"All clear," reported the Sub. "Keep down as much as you can in case Cain and Co. are using their binoculars. Now then, we've got to find a place to stow ourselves."
"Not in these trousers," rejoined his chum. "We're shedding a trail of oil. Deck isn't anytoo clean, I admit, but look there! A wash and brush up and a change of clothing is what we want."
"And likely to want," added Broadmayne. "Look alive; let's go aft and see what we can find. I agree as to the clothes. They're not respectable and are decidedly uncomfortable."
The engine-room and officers' cabins on board theMendez Nunezwere right aft under the poop, which, in her case, was flush with the part corresponding to the waist, except for the deck-house abaft the funnel.
A glance down the engine-room hatchway in passing revealed the fact that the place was deserted. Down the companion-ladder Broadmayne crept, his chum close at his heels, their progress marked by a double trail of oil.
"No one at home," remarked Vyse, stopping outside the open door of a cabin marked with a brass plate "El Capitaño." "Looks as if our late shipmates have been here before us."
"So much the better as far as we are concerned," added the Sub. "We'll borrow from the Old Man's wardrobe. Quick! Off with your gear. We can sling our discarded rags through the scuttle."
They stripped, "borrowed" the curtains over the scuttles to remove as much as possible of their coating of oil and then rummaged amongst the lockers under the bunk.
Vyse had spoken truly when he remarked that some one had been there before them, but apparently the pirates were sufficiently well found inthe matter of clothing to trouble to steal the Spanish skipper's wardrobe.
In a few minutes the two chums were "arrayed" in garments of sufficient girth, but sadly lacking in length. Evidently El Capitaño was a short and very fat individual, for the Sub found himself wearing a pair of trousers that reached half-way between his ankles and his knees, displaying an expanse of pale blue shirt between the top of the "bags" and the hem of a coat somewhat resembling a monkey-jacket.
Nor was Vyse much better off. He had to content himself with a ridiculously short pair of knee-breeches—part of the Spanish captain's shore-going "plain clothes"—and a blue dressing-gown edged with scarlet silk.
"Look alive!" exclaimed Broadmayne. "They are let loose for'ard. This way!"
Stopping at what was obviously the officers' pantry and picking up a couple of small-sized loaves from a few that the pirates had considered beneath their notice, the Sub led the way to a narrow hatchway whence a steep iron ladder gave access to the steerage flats.
It was Broadmayne's intention to seek shelter in the triangular space traversed by the propeller shaft, but as he lifted the steel flap a waft of acrid-smelling smoke drifted up.
"No place for us," he exclaimed.
"Have the blighters started a fire?" asked Rollo.
"No. At least, I think not," replied the Sub; "they have probably been monkeying with the shaft. Hist!"
They listened. Footsteps sounded overhead. The stowaways' retreat was cut off.
The compartment was in semi-darkness. A very subdued light filtered through the still-open hatchway. The floor was either level with or just below the waterline, while the walls forming part of the "run-aft" of the ship were unpierced by scuttles.
Groping, Broadmayne discovered that at one side was a large tank. It was rectangular and not shaped to fit the wing-plates, consequently there was a fair space between it and the curved side sufficient for several people to squeeze into.
It was a freshwater tank. The Sub could make out a couple of pipes leading upwards—one for filling, the other communicating with a pump in the officers' pantry.
The trap-hatch fell with a loud clang. The Spaniard who had come aft had narrowly escaped falling through the aperture. Without troubling to look down he had merely slammed the metal plate into position.
"That's good," said Vyse, in a low tone. "Cuts off most sounds. We can talk if we want to."
"So we can," added a husky voice, coming from behind the water-tank. "It's all right, chums; it's only me—Slogger Soames."
"Bless my soul, Soames!" ejaculated Broadmayne, "what are you doing here?"
"Thought it about time I 'opped it," explained the ex-stoker. "Things were goin' a bit too strong on board the old hooker, even for me. I spotted you two slippin' over the side an' swimming roundthis 'ere vessel's stern. Says I to myself suddenlike, 'Well, 'ere goes. They'll want some one to bear a hand afore they're out of this 'ere mess.' An' I knows you won't give me away when we gets on the beach. Plymouth gasworks'll suit me down to the ground after this little spree, I give you my word."
"How did you get aboard?" asked the Sub.
"I was givin' a hand shiftin' cargo, in a manner o' speaking," replied Soames. "In plain English, we wur pinchin' the bloomin' Dagoes' duds. Then Marchant yells out for a sledge-'ammer. I fetches it aft, gives a look over the side to see you wur all right—you didn't spot me, but I saw you a-hangin' on to the nose of that there boat—and then I nips down 'ere. An' 'ere I be."
There were now sounds of great activity all over the ship. Judging by the tone of their voices, the officers were rapidly becoming acquainted with the disordered state of their looted cabins. From the engine-room came indications that the staff were preparing to get the machinery in motion.
A bell clanged loudly. A few seconds later the pistons began to move. The engines raced madly, while a disconcerting, rasping, groaning sound immediately underneath the fugitives' hiding-place told its own tale.
"Cain fractured the shaft before he left," declared Broadmayne. "I had an idea that's what it was."
For some minutes the terrific clatter continued, the deck-officers being unaware that anything was wrong, until they noticed that the ship was notgathering way. Then a renewed outburst with the engine-room telegraph gong was followed by the engineers shutting off steam. The discordant metallic clamour ceased, but a babel of excited voices all shouting at once arose in its place.
Crouching behind the water-tank, the three stowaways waited. They had not long to wait. The hatch was thrown open and a couple of dungaree-clad men carrying electric inspection-lamps descended the ladder. The dazzling glare seemed to penetrate every recess of that confined space, especially while the newcomers were still on the upper rungs of the ladder. But the Spanish engineers did not waste time. They both disappeared through the manhole in the floor, a pair of wavering intermittent beams of light flung upwards through the aperture as they scrambled over the tunnel of the shaft.
Presently, talking rapidly and angrily, the two Spaniards retraced their way. Nothing could be done with the shaft until theMendez Nunezwas dry-docked. Meanwhile the tanker was drifting helplessly, unable to send out a wireless call for assistance.
For the three men hiding in the steerage-flat the time passed very slowly indeed. They could talk in low tones; they were able to leave their cramped quarters behind the tank and stretch their benumbed limbs. They had food of a kind; for liquid refreshment they had to content themselves with the steady drip from a leaky joint, the tank being covered in with a steel lid that could only be removed by the aid of a spanner. Theywere in Cimmerian darkness, for with the closing of the overhead hatch even the subdued light that had previously been filtering in was entirely cut off. The air, too, was none too pure, mingled as it was with the stench from the bilges, the still present odour of burnt gun-cotton, and a penetrating reek of garlic.
Broadmayne and his companions had no idea of the time. Their watches had long since disappeared. Occasionally they heard the bells struck, but the Spaniards' method of keeping ship's time appeared to differ radically with that of British-owned vessels. And since the flat was in utter darkness, the fugitives were at a loss to know whether it were day or night.
"Think it's safe to go on deck?" inquired Vyse
"No, I don't," replied Broadmayne, emphatically. "The Dagoes have quieted down a bit; but the sight of us would probably be likethat of a red ragto a bull. We couldn't explain; they wouldn't listen, if we could. No; we must stick it. The tanker's bound to be picked up and towed into port, and from her position it's an eighty per cent. chance in favour of a British port."
Not very long after there were unmistakable signs that theMendez Nunezwas being taken in tow. The sluggish rolling motion gave place to a succession of jerks. The water no longer splashed against the hull plating. It gurgled as it ran past the rudder, while the clanking of the steam-steering gear announced that the tanker was again using her helm.
"That's good!" commented Broadmayne."Who's for a caulk? I'll keep watch if you would like to have a snooze."
This suggestion was acted upon, Soames relieving the Sub at the end of about two hours, as nearly as he was able to guess the passing of time. Then Vyse took on, and at the end of his trick all three finished up the remains of the last loaf.
They were feeling ravenous again when they felt the tanker's hull bump against something, and heard the crew running along the deck and the dull thud of wire-hawsers being brought to the winches.
"We're alongside," exclaimed Broadmayne. "Listen!"
Placing their ears to the hull plating, they could hear the sound of an engine shunting trucks, then—to their unbounded satisfaction—a voice shouting:
"All fast! Look alive with that brow, lads!"
"Time we shifted," declared Broadmayne, kicking out to work the muscles of his cramped legs. "We've got to slip ashore quietly and without any of the crew spotting us."
Mounting a few rungs of the ladder, the Sub with a powerful thrust threw back the hatchcover. There was no one in the alleyway. A cloud of steam issuing through the engine-room fidley cut off the view of the deck; but it was sunlight, not artificial light, that played upon the oil-reeking vapour.
Keeping together, the trio made their way for'ard. Just abaft the mainmast they could see the inboard end of a brow inclined at a steep angle. Close to it stood two of the Spanish officers and acouple of civilians. Several of the crew were at the guard-rails looking down at the crowd of sightseers on the quay-side.
"Now!" whispered Broadmayne.
The three made a mad rush for the gangway. One of the Spanish officers started when he saw two weirdly-garbed men followed by a third in strange rig making for the brow. Too astonished to attempt to bar their way, he could only shout and gesticulate to the Spanish seamen standing by.
One of the latter did endeavour to stop the fugitives. Broadmayne charged him, sending him crashing against a second Spaniard. In a trice the three Englishmen were running down the steeply-inclined brow.
"Hi—there!" shouted one of the two civilians who were conferring with the Spanish captain. "Stop those men!"
None of the crowd showed any inclination to obey the peremptory request of the individual who, Broadmayne subsequently discovered, was one of the Spanish Consulate staff. It was not on account of the powerful physique of the three fugitives that the crowd made way. Perhaps they guessed that the hurrying trio were in some way connected with the pirate crew who had held up the Spanish tanker. At all events, the sympathies of the onlookers were with the fugitives, not the foreigners. Had Broadmayne and his companions wished, they could have got clean away.
But this was not their intention. Apart from cutting ridiculous figures by careering through the streets in garments that, like parallel lines, wouldnever meet on their bulky frames, Broadmayne and Vyse had no cause for flight or concealment now that they were safely on British soil.
"It's quite all right," shouted the Sub reassuringly. "We are not going to take to our heels. Is there a policeman about? Will some one please fetch a taxi?"
He had no occasion to ask what port they had arrived at. He knew the place well. It was Falmouth. TheMendez Nunezwas berthed alongside the quay, almost under the shadow of Pendennis Castle.
A policeman hurried up and produced a notebook.
"What's all this?" he demanded, looking askance at the nondescript pair.
"Pirates! That's what they are!" shouted the consular official from the tanker's gangway.
The policeman put away his notebook and measured the bulk of the two oddly-attired men with his own size. He was a stalwart specimen of the Force, but not to be compared in height and weight with his would-be prisoners.
"In the name of the law!" he exclaimed. "I warn you. Any statement you may make will be used in evidence against you. Now, are you coming quietly?"
"Yes," replied Broadmayne. "In a taxi?"
He looked round to see where the ex-stoker was, but saw him not. Slogger Soames had quietly walked off and was well on his way towards the town—the first stage of his journey back to his native Plymouth.