AT four o'clock in the afternoon of the same day on which theMendez Nunezwas towed into Falmouth harbour, Gerald Broadmayne, "clothed and in his right mind" (to be precise, he had bathed, shaved and shifted into naval uniform) passed through the wicket-gate of Devonport Dockyard on his way to interview the Commander-in-Chief.
Rollo Vyse had gone home to assure his parents that he was not drowned, and that, if Mr. Vyse had ignored Captain Cain's demands for ransom, he might with perfect confidence continue to do so.
The chums' detention had been of short duration. At the police-station they had asked the inspector to send for two local residents whom they knew well, and who were ready to give their assurances that the two suspects could with safety be released. In the interval, ready-made and ill-fitting suits were sent to the station to replace the borrowed garments belonging to El Capitaño José Lopez.
A powerful car was hired and brought round to the police-station. To it Broadmayne and Vyse were escorted between crowds of curious spectators and followed by a knot of eager pressmen,who vainly sought an interview with either or both of the Englishmen who had come ashore from the Spanish tanker.
At Fowey the chums parted, Rollo to his home, the Sub to his, whence after a bath, a change into the uniform of a sub-lieutenant, and a square meal, Broadmayne resumed his car journey to Devonport Dockyard.
With mixed emotions the Sub traversed the familiar cobblestones of the dockyard, past the gigantic figureheads that served in a measure to remind the New Navy of the deeds of the Old, and ascended the steps of the Georgian portico of the admiral's official residence.
It was hard for the Sub to realise all that had occurred during the comparatively brief interval from the time the lucklessIbexleft Fowey harbour. He was in a rather unenviable position. Captain Cain had undoubtedly saved his life and that of his companion. That, in Broadmayne's opinion, outweighed the pirate's cavalier treatment of his involuntary guests. In spite of his threats, Cain had respected their scruples and had not compelled them to perform any act amounting to piracy. And, with reference to the threatened flogging, the Sub was none too sure that the pirate captain would have proceeded to extremes.
And now Broadmayne had been officially called upon to give evidence against Captain Cain and his rascally crew. Ought he, he wondered, to reveal everything, even the secret of Cain's former association with the Senior Service as a commissioned officer?
Cain was a pirate, a freebooter, an absconding swindler; but there was this in his favour—he had never molested a British ship, and he had not been guilty of murder, for even in the engagement with theSurcoufhe had given directions controlling the fire, so that although the Frenchman had been badly mauled, none of her crew had been slain, the casualties, as subsequently given out, amounting to five men wounded.
It was a perplexing problem for Sub-Lieutenant Broadmayne. More than likely, from his intimate knowledge of theAlerte, he would be appointed to some vessel detailed to accomplish either her capture or her destruction. He did not hanker after the job; but he decided, if it were to be his mission, he would do his utmost to carry it to a successful conclusion. With Broadmayne, Duty, spelt with a capital D, was the one object of his life as far as the Service was concerned.
Then his thoughts turned to Pengelly. It did not take long to dismiss him. Pengelly, he decided, was a mealy-mouthed, double-faced blighter, hand in glove with Cain, speaking fair to his face and yet never scrupling to cheat him out of his ill-gotten gains behind his back. No, he had not the faintest sympathy for Paul Pengelly.
There was that other character, Silas Something. Broadmayne did not remember his surname, but he knew the number and name of his lugger. So did Vyse, who had overheard the plotting conversation between Silas and Pengelly. Very well, then; Rollo Vyse could tackle that part of the business. It would be something for him to do.Broadmayne had not the detective instinct; Vyse had.
Giving his name to a messenger, Broadmayne was taken with little delay into the Commander-in-Chief's private office. Here, in addition to the admiral, his secretary and flag-lieutenant, were several lieutenant-commanders, including Raxworthy, of the destroyerWindrush. A couple of civilian shorthand writers completed the gathering.
"Now, Mr. Broadmayne," said the admiral, after a few preliminaries, "we want your story. Take your time and don't omit details. They may seem unimportant, but in the long-run they may be of great service. Now, fire away."
The Sub did so, keeping nothing back, with the exception of his knowledge of Captain Cain's previous history. By the time he had finished, both the shorthand writers, although they worked in relays, were visibly fatigued; but the naval officers showed no signs other than those of intense interest.
Broadmayne was then subjected to a lengthy string of questions. Charts were produced and studied, plans of condemned submarines, and lists of when and where they were sold for breaking-up purposes were consulted. Notwithstanding the fact that the admiral usually dined at seven-thirty, it was nearly nine o'clock before the "levee" broke up, Broadmayne being "requested"—otherwise ordered—to report at the Commander-in-Chief's office at nine-thirty the following morning.
Broadmayne was putting on his greatcoat whenRaxworthy, breaking off a conversation with another officer, came across the vestibule to him.
"Where are you putting up?" inquired the lieutenant-commander.
"At the Club, sir," replied the Sub.
"So am I," rejoined Raxworthy. "I'd like to have a pow-wow with you over this business."
"Very good, sir."
The two left the dockyard together, hired a taxi, and were soon bowling along Union Street to a residential club frequented by naval officers when sleeping ashore.
"You're dog-tired," remarked Raxworthy, noting the strained look in the other's eyes. "We'll have a meal and then you had better turn in. We'll defer our private conference till the morning."
"Better get it over now, sir," said Gerald, with a laugh. "Probably I'll be as fat-headed as an owl in the morning. And I've to see the Commander-in-Chief."
"Well, look here," said Raxworthy, "this is a sort of private tip; the admiral's going to have you appointed to one of the destroyers told off to hunt theAlerte. Any objection if I apply for you?"
"No, sir," replied Broadmayne. Since he was to be one of the hunters, it did not matter which ship he was appointed to. "Only I'd like to point out that, with his previous experience, Cain isn't likely to be caught napping by a destroyer again."
"We'd fix him by directional wireless."
"I've never known him to send out a message,"declared the Sub. "He'll receive them gladly if they gave him an indication of the approach of a possible prize."
"How about the co-operation of a seaplane or flying-boat."
"Might, if the water's clear enough," admitted Broadmayne. "But there's one way—if I might suggest——"
"Carry on," urged Raxworthy.
"Do the old Q-boat stunt, sir. A tramp well armed with concealed Q.F.'s and disguised as a French or Belgian African cargo boat."
"By Jove, the very thing!" exclaimed the lieutenant-commander. "I'll mention the suggestion to the admiral, tell him that the credit of it belongs to you, and try and get him to give me command. He'll probably start with ticking me off and finish up with doing his level best to get me the appointment. Of course, you'll be willing to serve with me?"
"Well, sir," replied Broadmayne, "you did your level best to send me to Davy Jones. I'll return good for evil and try to help you pull off the little stunt. We want to capture her, I presume?" he added anxiously.
"To capture," confirmed the lieutenant-commander gravely. "It will probably mean a hanging job for Cain and Pengelly. The others would certainly get a term of penal servitude. Failing capture—that is, if we fall in with theAlerte—we'll have to destroy her."
At the appointed hour Broadmayne reported to the admiral. This time it was a fairly short interview, but none the less important. Not only did the Commander-in-Chief promise to apply to the Admiralty for the Sub's appointment, but he approved warmly of the suggestion that a disguised and armed tramp should be employed as a decoy ship.
"There's another matter I want to mention," said the Commander-in-Chief. "I think you stated that a Silas Somebody was acting as a sort of intermediary, and that he was going to hide part of the pirates' booty to the benefit of himself and—let me see, who is it?" He broke off to refer to a type-written report of the previous evening's evidence. "Ah, Pengelly; that's the man. You've no idea where the place is?"
"My friend Vyse might be able to give you additional information, sir."
"Then I'll have a wire sent to him," decided the admiral. "Perhaps he would be able to assist us while you are on particular service afloat."
"I think he'd be delighted to do so, sir," replied Broadmayne.
"Very well, then. You can carry on with your leave for a few days, but I wish you to be present when Mr. Vyse is here. We have your address?" At two the same afternoon, Broadmayne was "rung up" from the dockyard, the message stating that Mr. Vyse had arranged to call at Admiralty House at three; would Mr. Broadmayne be present?
Rollo Vyse was able to give some important information, namely, the number of theFairy—PZ 4452b. Communicating by telephone with theRegistrar of Shipping at Penzance, it was found that the owner's name was Silas Porthoustoc, and that he lived just outside the village of Mousehole. The registrar also added the somewhat disconcerting information that the individual under discussion was dead and buried, and that his house was to be sold by public auction on the following Monday.
"But I don't suppose, sir," he concluded, "that that will interest you."
"Won't it, by Jove!" exclaimed the Commander-in-Chief, when Penzance exchange had "rung off." "It will. It rather simplifies matters. If we can lay our hands on the specie or bullion without the public getting wind of it, so much the better for us, and so much the worse for that scoundrel Pengelly. By the bye, the Captain Cain, as he calls himself; do you know by any chance what his name is? Is it Trevorrick?"
"I've never heard him called by the name, sir," replied Broadmayne, while Vyse replied in a similar strain.
"Because," continued the admiral, "if it were Trevorrick, then we've fixed the precious pair. They ran a shipbreaking concern on the river Fal. Of course, it is only a surmise. There are heaps of Pengellys in the West Country. I know several, and they are men of unimpeachable character. Very well, Mr. Vyse; if you'll be so kind as to put your services at the Admiralty's disposal, I think you'll see the end of the Porthoustoc business."
This was on a Wednesday. Since the sale of Old Silas's cottage was fixed for the following Monday, there was little time to be lost. Thematter of recovering the booty could, of course, be managed by the use of a search-warrant, but for certain reasons the Commander-in-Chief decided to deal with it without invoking the aid of the law. Once the booty were taken possession of, then the Admiralty Courts could take up the case and restore the plunder to its lawful owners—the Norddeutscher-Lloyd Company.
The complicated machinery of Whitehall was set in motion at high pressure, with the result that early on Friday morning the Commander-in-Chief at Devonport was given authority to purchase the cottage without a limit being placed upon the amount to be paid.
Two hours later the admiral sent for a retired boatswain named Primmer, an honest, reliable and discreet old man, who had previously served three commissions under the Commander-in-Chief before the latter attained Flag rank.
"Primmer," began the Admiral brusquely, "I want you to buy a house."
The ex-bo'sun looked considerably surprised.
"Very good, sir," he replied. "But I beg leave to state, sir, I've already a little house at Mutley."
"Buy a house at Mousehole, near Penzance, and live in it," continued the Commander-in-Chief. "But only for a month—perhaps less than that. You'll have all expenses paid and fifty pounds in addition. Change of air will do you a world of good, Primmer. Take the missus and a vanload of furniture and you'll have quite an interesting holiday."
"Very good, sir," said the pensioner again.
Then the admiral explained matters and introduced Rollo Vyse as a supposed paying-guest.
"You two can work together splendidly," declared the admiral. "If you require additional assistance, wire at once."
The sale by auction was at eleven. At two o'clock came a wire from Primmer addressed in a precautionary measure to a private address at Plymouth—that of one of the Commander-in-Chief's staff. The telegram was to the effect that Primmer had secured the house and had paid the necessary deposit to Messrs. Jeremiah Built & Co., Auctioneers and Surveyors, of Penzance.
Directly Primmer reported that his furniture had arrived and that his temporary abode was ready to receive his guest, Rollo Vyse took train to Penzance. After making arrangements for his luggage to be sent on, Vyse set out to walk to Mousehole.
His rôle was that of an artist wishing to make seascapes under winter conditions. There were, he knew, swarms of artists in Newlyn and Mousehole, so that by making out that he was one of them, his presence amongst a strictly conservative body of fisherfolk would not attract so much attention as otherwise.
It was a pleasant walk. Although December was well advanced, the air was mild. The bay looked a perfect picture in the slanting rays of the sun.
"Wonder where Silas's former abode is?" he asked himself as he rounded a bend in the cliff path and saw the secluded little harbour of Mousehole nestling under the cliffs. "I'll ask. It may save my having to retrace my steps."
The first man he met after the decision was a tall bronzed man wearing fisherman's rig, including thigh boots.
"Up-along, Maaster," was the reply. "You'm see chimbly over atop o' yon wall."
Vyse thanked him and went on.
"I've seen that fellow before," he soliloquised. "Where? Dash it! That's done it. He's the mate of theFairy. I thought he looked a bit straight at me. If he's spotted who I am, then there's trouble ahead."
The recognition had been mutual, and the former mate of the lugger was considerably perturbed at finding Vyse on his way to the cottage where Porthoustoc lived.
"Wot be 'is game, us 'ud like to know?" he muttered.
Since Silas's death, the former mate had become the master and owner of the luggerFairy, his share on the various nefarious transactions undertaken by Porthoustoc enabling him to find the purchase-money. The new owner was hoping to continue in the former skipper's business. Reticent and apparently slow-witted, he had formed a shrewd idea of the nature of theAlerte'sactivities; but the difficulty that confronted him lay in the fact that he did not know the medium of communication between Captain Cain and his agent. He was willing to become Porthoustoc's successor in the business; Cain would have been only too glad of his services. But the connecting link had snapped, hence a complete deadlock.
"Welcome, sir, welcome!" exclaimed Mr. Primmer, on Vyse's arrival.
"Well, how goes it?" asked Rollo.
"Terrible queer place, this, sir," replied the ex-bo'sun. "People hereabouts tell you everything you don't want to know. If you do want to know anything they are as tight as the intercepted thread of the breech-block of a fifteen-inch gun, if you understan' my meanin'. I'm taboo—sort of leper amongst this little lot. They don't take to newcomers."
"Well, I hope we shan't be here long, Mr. Primmer," said Rollo. "I'd like to get away before Christmas."
"Same 'ere, sir," agreed the new tenant cordially. "We'll get to work soon as you like. I've got crowbar, picks and spades an' such-like. An' I brought a sack of cement up from Plymouth. Thought it 'ud make 'em think if I got it hereabouts."
"I'll change, and then we'll have a look at the kitchen," decided Rollo. "It'll make a bit of a mess, I fancy."
"My missus she don't mind," said Mr. Primmer reassuringly. "Fact is, we've been doin' all the cooking in the spare room—proper sort o' galley it makes."
Having completed the necessary change of clothing, Rollo, accompanied by his host, went to the room under discussion. It was about twenty feet in length and fifteen in breadth, stone walled and stone floored. A doorway gave direct access to the garden; another into the living-room.There were two narrow windows, which gave the place a look of perpetual gloom. One wall was blank, the kitchen having been partly let into the steep hillside at the back of the cottage.
"That's our task," declared Rollo, pointing to the blank wall.
"I've been a-lookin' at it, sir," said the ex-bo'sun. "Wall's made of stone set in cement. It don't look as if it's been touched come these fifty year—maybe longer."
"I'll get a torch," said Rollo. "It's too dark to see much without artificial light. We'll have to curtain those windows pretty heavily when we work at night. Any one coming along that path—it's a public one, I take it?—can see right in if we don't screen the windows."
Throwing the rays of his electric torch upon the mass of masonry, Vyse saw that the ex-bo'sun had good reason for his statement. The stones were black with smoke, the cement as hard as iron. Further examination showed that there was a small rectangular aperture in the roof close to the wall. Evidently the former occupants were in the habit of kindling a fire on the open hearth adjoining the wall and allowing the smoke to escape through the hole in the roof.
"'Fraid the Admiralty have made another bad bargain, sir," remarked Mr. Primmer.
"It looks like it," admitted Rollo, scraping the cement with the back of the blade of his penknife. "I suppose the cave does exist? Wonder if the entrance is under these flagstones?"
"We'll soon find that out, sir," declaredthe other. "I've a pick and a crowbar close handy."
It was a long and difficult task chipping away the mortar between the flagstones. As Rollo toiled and sweated, he wondered what it would be like having to loosen cement. Mortar was hard enough.
At length, one stone was eased from its setting. With the aid of the crowbar it was lifted. Underneath was soft soil mingled with rock. Obviously that mixture would not hold over the mouth of a cave.
"Done there," admitted Vyse. "I'll swear old Porthoustoc said 'behind the kitchen,' not under it; but there's no reason why the entrance should or should not be in the centre. We'll try at one side and work right along."
Rollo had not been scraping more than five minutes when he gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"This is new cement, Mr. Primmer!" he exclaimed. "Look: it's quite clean underneath the surface. Silas has been doing a bit of camouflage; rubbing soot over the joints. The stuff hasn't penetrated the cement like it has elsewhere. However, we've done enough for the present. We'll start again to-morrow morning. I don't think we'll have much difficulty now."
That night Rollo slept heavily. He had had a strenuous day. Accustomed to plenty of fresh air, he invariably slept with the bedroom window wide open.
Suddenly he awoke with a start to find theroom full of moist vapour. A sea-fog, banking up after a warm, humid day, had swept inland.
It was not the fog that had aroused him. A curious horripilation, suchas he had never before experienced,gripped him. For some moments he lay with wide-open eyes fixed upon the dark grey rectangular patch of open window.
Something prompted him to get out of bed and go to the window. He did so. Above the fogbank, which perhaps was less than fifty feet from the ground, the stars were shining. The fleecy pall of vapour was moving, curling, and alternately diminishing and increasing in volume as it was urged landwards by the faint breeze. The fog, catching at his throat, made him cough slightly. As he did so, he distinctly heard the sound of footsteps moving rapidly and stealthily away.
His bedroom window was less than ten feet from the ground, the house being low. On his left was the front of the kitchen—a one-storeyed building. It was from that direction that the sound of the mysterious footsteps came.
Rollo's first impulse was to drop to the ground and go in pursuit, but calmer counsel prevailed. He was at an obvious disadvantage. He was not at all acquainted with the ground surrounding the house. He was barefooted and in pyjamas. There was also the question of arousing Primmer and his wife, since if he jumped from the window he could not regain his room except by the door, which was barred and locked. Besides, by thistime the intruder had gone a considerable distance, for his footsteps were no longer audible.
"Well, I think I scared him," he mused. "In future, while I'm here I think I'll have a bed made up in the old kitchen. Then, if any one tries to break in he'll feel sorry for himself."
Next morning Vyse related what had occurred. Examination of the kitchen door showed that no attempt had been made to force it. Apparently the nocturnal visitor had either been disturbed before he could get to work, or either he had contented himself with flashing a lantern through the window, which was too narrow even for a slim man to squeeze through.
The forenoon Rollo spent in "pottering around" the village and harbour with his easel and palette, simply to sustain his rôle of a painter. At the same time he kept a sharp look-out for theFairy'snew owner, but in this direction he was disappointed.
After the midday meal, Vyse and his assistant got to work. They were on the right track this time. Three hours' strenuous toil resulted in the removal of a couple of large stones set in very hard cement. Through the small aperture thus formed, they could discern a cavern of generous proportions.
It had taken Silas Porthoustoc half a day to build up the mouth of the cave, working single-handed. Eight hours intermittent toil on the part of Rollo and Primmer resulted in a hole big enough for them to crawl through.
Armed with a torch, Rollo led the way. It wasa matter of about a three-feet drop to the floor of the cave, the natural mouth of which was of oval section, seven feet in height and four in width. In length it went back nearly eighty yards, the width and height increasing at ten feet or so from the entrance.
There was the booty, packed as it was when it was transhipped from theAlerteto theFairy, with the exception of one or two sacks which had been opened by Old Silas, either for present use purposes or else to enable him to satisfy himself of the nature of their contents.
Working at high pressure, Vyse and his companion removed all the booty from the cave and stored it in one of the rooms. They then proceeded to wall up the cave, carefully discolouring the cement in order to impart the appearance of age.
At the same time, the new owner and master of the luggerFairywas composing an anonymous letter to the chief officer of the Water Guard at Penzance.
Rollo had another disturbed night. With an automatic pistol ready to hand, he slept on a camp-bed by the side of the large pile of booty; but although he kept waking and tiptoeing to the window, somewhat to his surprise there were no signs of the intruder of the previous evening. As soon as the post office opened, a telegram was dispatched to Devonport asking for a van to be sent to remove the "furniture"; while to allay suspicion on the part of his neighbours, Primmer spread the yarn that his recently-acquired cottagewas haunted, that his wife refused to remain there another night, and that he had arranged to clear out that very clay.
Just before noon a motor pantechnicon bearing the name of a well-known firm of furniture removers, but driven by a naval artificer in mufti and accompanied by four stalwart marines in civilian clothes (unfortunately their soldierly bearing discounted their rôle of furniture-packers), arrived at the late Porthoustoc's former abode.
Primmer's goods and chattels, together with the carefully-covered boxes and sacks of bullion and specie, were stowed in the van. His wife had previously gone on to Penzance station. Vyse and the ex-bo'sun were taking a final look round before locking up the cottage when a policeman walked up to the door.
"You haven't made a long stay," he remarked, addressing Mr. Primmer. "Seems to me you're taking away a sight more stuff than ye brought in a day or so back. D'ye mind if I have a look at some of those boxes?"
The ex-bo'sun, taken aback, glanced appealingly at Rollo, who merely shrugged his shoulders. In his part of an artist he could not very well assume any responsibility without giving himself away.
"Sure I do mind," replied Primmer, at a loss to say anything else.
"Then," continued the representative of law and order, "it is my duty to——"
He broke off suddenly, possibly thinking that the odds were too great for him to tackle single-handed. He gave a sharp blast on his whistle. Frombehind the stone wall appeared half a dozen men in the uniform of His Majesty's Water Guard.
"Contraband!" exclaimed the policeman, waving his hand in the direction of the loaded pan-technicon. "Caught red-handed you be!"
EXACTLY three weeks after the capture of theMendez NuneztheAlertearrived off the mouth of the Wad-el-Abuam, a small river flowing into the Atlantic a few miles south of Cape Bojador.
The estuary formed an ideal base for Captain Cain's new sphere of operations. Nominally within the limits of Rio del Oro—Spain's extensive, unproductive and loosely-held dependency, stretching from Morocco on the north to French Senegal on the south—the Wad-el-Abuam was hardly ever visited by vessels, except Moorish coasters and fishing craft.
The entrance to the river was a difficult one, a bar on which the surf broke heavily, extending practically right across it, although well on the starboard hand was a narrow channel carrying twenty feet at high water and protected by a long, narrow rocky island that not only served as a breakwater, but also effectively screened the estuary when viewed from seaward.
Within the bar the depth increased to sixty feet, with a bottom of firm white sand. Farther up, the bed was composed of mud that became moreobjectionable as the width of the river decreased. The banks were almost destitute of vegetation, consisting of sand with a few palms and a scanty scrub that afforded meagre food for goats belonging to the inhabitants. There were four or five small villages populated by a tribe of savages, half Arab, half Negro, who had long resisted any attempt at subjection on the part of the Spanish troops stationed at Villa Cisnero and other fortified posts of Rio del Oro.
Within two hundred miles lay the Canary Islands, with Funchal, the favourite port of call for ships running between Europe and the west and south coasts of Africa. Farther to the south'ard was Teneriffe, with Las Palmas, another frequented coaling-station. Both these were within theAlerte'swireless radius, so that the pirates hoped to obtain a fairly complete report of all vessels passing within striking distance of their proposed base.
"I suppose we haven't made a mistake," remarked Pengelly, as theAlerteslowly approached the land. "I can't see any sign of an estuary."
"It must be there," replied Cain, after consulting the latest but far from reliable chart of this part of the coast. "We'll stand in a bit more. If there's any doubt about it, we'll send a boat and take soundings. The sailing directions state that the island is hardly distinguishable from the mainland except at short distance."
He levelled his binoculars for the twentieth time during the last hour.
"By thunder!" he exclaimed. "Hanged ifthere isn't a sail coming round the point. Native craft, by the cut of her."
"That's awkward," remarked the second in command. "We don't want company of that sort. She's heading towards us."
"Let her," said Cain, with his characteristic grim smile. "Let her. Mr. Marchant, serve out the small arms. Get up the machine-gun, but keep it out of sight until it might be wanted. We'll nab that fellow and make the crew pilot us in."
Little guessing what reception awaited her, the boat approached. She was a roughly-built craft of about thirty feet in length, bluff bowed and with a high, ungainly stern. Her rig resembled that of a felucca, but with a boom in place of the loose-furled sail usually affected by craft of the type to be met with in the Mediterranean. it could be seen that there were three men on board. One, dressed in a loose garment of white, including a burnous, was at the long, curved tiller. The others, darker skinned, wore loincloths only.
While theAlertewas yet a quarter of a mile from her, the felucca ported helm, close-hauled, and stood off in a nor' nor'-westerly direction.
"What's her little game, I wonder?" remarked Pengelly. "I thought she was coming off to us."
"So did I," agreed Captain Cain. "But now I think she's a Moorish fishing vessel homeward bound. She had to stand out towards us to avoid running on the shoals. We'll collar her, Pengelly. If the old boy in the cotton nightgown is reasonable we'll pay him and let him go when he's piloted us in."
In obedience to an order from the bridge, theAlerte'sDiesel engines slowed down, till at a modest three and a half knots the pirate submarine gained position between the felucca and the shore. Having thus cut off the latter's retreat, theAlertestarboarded helm and, working up to twelve knots, began to overhaul the native craft with ease.
A cast of the lead gave nine fathoms, and since the chart showed that the soundings were remarkably even on this course, Captain Cain had no apprehensions of running his vessel aground.
The crew of the felucca seemed quite apathetic when they saw theAlertein pursuit. At a sign from the white-robed Moor the two blacks lowered the sails, one of them standing by to heave a line.
Declutching her propellers, the pirate submarine gradually lost way, coming to a dead stop alongside the felucca.
By means of a conversation conducted chiefly by signs, Captain Cain imparted his request for a pilot, and without the faintest display of hesitancy the Moor scrambled on board theAlerte, leaving his two men to drop the felucca astern. Nor did he betray any sign of fear when he saw the pirate crew armed with automatic pistols. Calmly, and in a dignified manner, he proceeded to find out the draught of the ship. This he did by producing a piece of cord about a yard in length and then drawing the rough profile of a steam vessel. With a much smaller piece of string he then measured off the draught on his plan, and then pointing first to the longer cord and then to theAlertehe managed to make his meaning clear.
Captain Cain replied by indicating the longer cord and then holding up six fingers. The Moor nodded gravely and motioned to the pirate skipper to order the ship to forge ahead.
Slowly theAlertemade her way inside the island, and thence through the channel over the bar. The while the lead was kept going, Pengelly and the bo'sun taking bearings and noting how the channel bore for future occasions.
"Stand by and let go!" roared Cain as theAlertearrived at her anchorage. "Is the buoy streamed, Mr. Barnard?"
"Ay, ay, sir!" replied the bo'sun.
"Then let go!"
With the rattle of chain tearing through the hawsepipe, the anchor plunged to the bed of the Wad-el-Abuam.
Pengelly turned to his captain.
"Snug little crib, this, sir," he remarked. "What about our pilot? Are we going to overhaul his boat in case there's anything useful? The blighter might have been pearling. One never knows."
"Certainly not," replied Cain, with a deep frown of disgust. "The fellow did us a good turn. Only an ungrateful, low-down swine would suggest such a thing."
Turning to the Moor, who was standing a couple of paces off, the pirate captain handed him a gold coin.
The pilot took the piece of money, made an elaborate salaam, and went to the side, the felucca having been brought to the gangway. Alreadythe two negroes were hoisting sail. With another salaam, the Moor boarded his own craft, the ropes were cast off, and the felucca headed for the open sea.
Directly the intervening island hid the anchorage, the hitherto grave features of the pilot were suffused with a broad grin.
"Start up the motor, Tom!" he exclaimed in English. "George, send the aerial aloft. By Jove! I had the wind up when that pirate bloke suggested overhauling the boat!"
In quick time the aerial was spread between the two masts and the "lead-in" connected to a powerful wireless set concealed between double bulkheads at the after end of the little fo'c'sle. A message was then dispatched in code to the Officer Commanding H.M.S.Canvey, giving the position of the pirate submarine's new base.
It was a smart bit of work. TheCanvey, formerly a tramp steamer, had been fitted out by the Admiralty as a decoy-ship, disguised as the Belgian passenger and cargo boatCandideand supposed to be running between Borna, in Belgian Congo and Antwerp. Commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Ralph Raxworthy, D.S.O., she was armed with six six-inch gunsand two submerged torpedo tubes, while for scouting purposes she carried in her hold two of the latest type of small flying boats fitted with folding wings. These aircraft could be hoisted out and ready to ascend within the space of twelve minutes.
But in order to locate theAlerte'sbase without exciting suspicion or giving any indication of herpresence in the offing, Raxworthy had applied for seven boats of a type in use on this part of the coast. Each of these was fitted with a paraffin motor and a wireless installation, and was placed in charge of either a junior commissioned officer or else a warrant officer. For crew, West Indian negroes with a good knowledge of being able to manage a boat under sail, were enlisted for temporary service, two or three being told off to each boat.
It was a job that Sub-Lieutenant Gerald Broadmayne would have given much to have undertaken; but in his case the risk was too great. Not on account of possible personal danger was he turned down. In spite of a skilful disguise he might be recognised by Captain Cain, should the two meet. In that case the pirate would realise that a British warship was hard on his heels and would take precautions accordingly.
Well before sunset the seven tenders, recalled by wireless, returned to their parent ship. Almost the first to arrive was the boat commanded by Sub-Lieutenant Allerton, who had served under Raxworthy in theWindrushwhen she claimed to have sunk theAlertein St. Ives' Bay.
Allerton was in high feather. It was he who had "trailed the tail of his coat" across the path of the pirate submarine and had piloted her into the estuary of the Wad-el-Abuam.
"Cain, as he calls himself, is rather a sport," he declared to his rather envious brother-officers. "But that fellow Pengelly is an out-and-out rotter—a cross between a broken-downmummer and pickpocket. You know the type I mean."
"How is Cain a sport?" inquired the torpedo lieutenant.
"He ticked the mealy-mouthed blighter off when he suggested helping himself to whatever he could find in the boat," replied Allerton. "Cain jumped on him properly, and gave me a German ten-mark gold-piece as a sort of backsheesh. He'd probably pinched it. I didn't ask questions. I'll have the thing made into a brooch when we get home."
Lieutenant-Commander Raxworthy did not receive the information of the pirate submarine's base with any degree of enthusiasm. In fact, he was rather down in the mouth about it. He had hoped that theAlertewould seek shelter in an obscure port in Morocco. Then theCanveycould go in and settle with her. The fact that the Wad-el-Abuam was in Spanish territory, however loosely held, complicated matters considerably. Without violating international law he could do nothing unless the Spanish Government agreed to allow the British warship a free hand.
Accordingly, theCanveyput into Teneriffe and reported to the Admiralty by cable lest a lengthy dispatch by wireless, even though it were in code, should alarm the pirates and prompt them to change their base.
For the next few days the decoy ship steamed to and fro between the Canaries and St. Vincent sending out fictitious messagesen clairin the hope that theAlertewould emerge from her retreat andcome outside the three-mile limit in order to seize a likely prey. But noAlerteput in an appearance.
Meanwhile, the Spanish Government had refused to accede to the British Admiralty's request. Since the pirate vessel had made use of a harbour in a Spanish colony, it was "up" to Spain to avenge the insult to her national dignity. Accordingly the destroyerVillamilwas ordered to leave Cartagena and proceed to Wad-el-Abuam to destroy theAlerte.
TheVillamilwas an old vessel of three hundred and sixty tons, with a speed of twenty-eight knots. Her armament consisted of five six-pounders, of which three could fire ahead and three on the beam. In addition, she carried two torpedo tubes.
While the Spanish destroyer was speeding south, theAlerteremained riding to her anchors in Wad-el-Abuam. It was not owing to inclination on the part of Captain Cain that she did not put to sea. Wireless messages were frequently being intercepted from vessels bound to and from the French and Belgian colonies on the west coast of Africa. Tempting prizes they appeared to be. But theAlertehad developed a leak where the post of the vertical rudder passes through the trunk. A gland had given out. It would have been a fairly simple business to effect repairs could the submarine be dry-docked. In present circumstances it was a tedious and difficult process, and until it were completed theAlertewould be unable to submerge without the almost certain result of being flooded. While on the surface theleak could be kept under control; but at any great depth the hydrostatic pressure would be irresistible.
While this work was in progress, Captain Cain had not allowed other matters to slide. One of his first steps was to establish a signal station on the rocky island guarding and screening theAlerte'sanchorage. Day and night armed men were on watch at the station, ready to signal to the pirate vessel the moment any sail appeared over the horizon.
Just before noon one morning, Captain Cain was informed that a craft looking like a destroyer was approaching from the nor'ard and steaming a course parallel to the coast.
Although fully conscious of the danger theAlertewas incurring by being caught in a disabled state, Captain Cain showed no sign of panic. He was trapped. He knew it. Unable to submerge, unable to ascend the river more than a few miles with a draught that considerably exceeded that of a destroyer, he realised that the only thing to be done short of scuttling theAlerteand chancing a doubtful refuge ashore in a barren country inhabited by fierce natives, was to fight it out.
In hot haste six men with the machine-gun were sent off in a boat to the island with instructions to keep under cover and not to open fire until the approaching destroyer came within a hundred yards of the rock, which she must do by reason of the tortuous course of the deep-water channel.
TheAlertewas swung athwart the river to enable her six-inch quick-firer to bear. With the exception of the captain, Mr. Marchant and the gun's crew, all the rest of the hands were ordered below to be ready to replace casualties amongst the men working the quick-firer.
Presently a signal came through from the island: "Destroyer holding on. Is flying Spanish colours."
"In that case we needn't worry much, my lads," exclaimed Cain. "She's probably going down the coast. If she isn't, then we're more than her match. There's not a single destroyer belonging to the Spanish Navy with a gun anything approaching our six-inch. We'll give it her in the neck if she tries conclusions with us."
After a brief interval, another message came through: "Destroyer turned eight point to port and is making for the bar."
"Good enough, my hearties!" declared Cain in his ringing, convincing voice. "Let her have it directly she pokes her nose round the bluff. What's the opening range, Mr. Marchant?"
"Two thousand yards, sir," replied the gunner.
Under the captain's orders one of the crew ran off with a bundle under his arm. Presently a flag was hoisted at the ensign staff. For the first time theAlertewas showing her true colours—the "Jolly Roger."
Alone on the bridge, Cain stood calm and confident. There was not the slightest tremor in his large, powerful handsas he graspedhis binoculars ready to bring them to bear upon the as yet invisible enemy.
From his elevated position he gave a rapid glanceat the gun's crew. The men had closed up round their weapon, the gunlayer bending as he peered through the sights. In the rear crouched the loading-party, each with his hands on a hundred-pound projectile, ready the moment the breech-block was opened to thrust the shell into the still smoking breech. And somehow Cain's thoughts flew back to a similar scene in the presence of an enemy. Then, he was fighting for a just cause under the glorious white ensign. Now, he was fighting for no cause but his own, his hand against every man's, and under the shadow of that emblem of dishonour—the skull and cross-bones.
Round the precipitous face of the island appeared the lean bows of the Spanish destroyer. Then her round bridge, mast and funnels came into view. Through his glasses Cain saw that her fo'c'sle gun was manned by a crew of white-clad, swarthy-faced men.... There was a deafening crash as theAlerte'ssix-inch sent the hundred-pound projectile hurtling on its way.... Even as he looked, Cain saw a vivid flash immediately in front of the destroyer's bridge... a cloud of smoke torn by diverging blasts of air.... The smoke dispersed, or rather the destroyer's speed carried her through it.... The crew of her fo'c'sle six-pounder had dispersed, too; with them the gun and its mounting.... The bridge didn't look the same as it had a few seconds previously—a bit lopsided. Flames were pouring from a heap of débris in the wake of the foremast.
At two thousand yards the appalling noise caused by the explosion of theAlerte'sfirst shell was inaudible to the solitary watcher on her bridge. The scene brought within a very short distance through the lenses of the powerful binoculars resembled a "close-up" picture on the cinematograph—unrealistic by reason of the absence of sound.
Two vivid flashes leapt from the Spanish destroyer's deck, one on the port side, the other to starboard. They were her reply to the destructive "sighting shot" from the pirate submarine.
TheVillamilhad received a rough awakening. Her crew, not one of whom had previously been under fire, were lacking in that courage and tenacity that marks the Anglo-Saxon race. Appalled by the havoc wrought on the fo'c'sle, the gunlayers of the remaining weapons that could be brought to bear certainly did make reply. Their aim was bad. One shell whizzed high above theAlerte'smasts, shrieking as it sped to bury itself harmlessly in the sand three miles away. The other, striking the water a hundred yards short of its objective, ricochetted and hurtled through the air full fifty yards astern.
Cain paid no attention to either. His interest was centred upon his attacker. He could hear the rapid crashes of theAlerte'squick-firer. He could see the results by the frequent lurid bursts of flame and the showers of débris as shell after shell struck the luckless Spaniard.
Still she came on, leaving an eddying trail of smoke. One of her six-pounders was firing spasmodically. She was reeling like a drunken man.
Suddenly Cain put aside his glasses and made a spring for the telegraph indicator, moving thestarboard lever to "full ahead." His quick eye had discerned a glistening object curving over theVillamil'sside. A torpedo was already on its way, travelling at the speed of a train in the direction of the pirate submarine.
Well before the action theAlerte'soil-engines had been started with the clutches in neutral position. It was a precaution that was justified in its results. Under the action of one propeller only theAlerteforged ahead, her stern swinging round as she overran her anchors.
Cain had no occasion now to use his binoculars. The double diverging wake of the submerged locomotive torpedo was plainly visible to the naked eye. It was approaching very rapidly; the ship was swinging very slowly—too slowly, it seemed.
For ten seconds the captain held his breath. Looking aft, the rise of the poop intercepted the wake of the torpedo. It seemed as if theAlertewas doomed.
But no explosion tore her asunder. By less than a couple of yards the deadly missile cleared her stern, to detonate harmlessly against the steep bank of the river half a mile away.
TheAlerte'squick-firer was now silent. The manoeuvre that had saved her from the torpedo had brought her almost bows-on to theVillamil, with the result that the former's fo'c'sle masked her line of fire.
By this time the Spanish destroyer had closed to about a thousand yards. She was yawing badly. Possibly her steam-steering gear had beendemolished and she was being conned from aft. Nevertheless, she was keeping to the channel which at this particular time brought her almost abeam. Her decks were a shambles, two of her funnels had disappeared. The rest of the bridge that had survived theAlerte'sfirst shell had collapsed. One gun well aft alone was spitting defiance. Either she meant to ram her anchored opponent, or else she was manoeuvring for a position favourable for the release of a second torpedo.
Again theAlerte'sengine-room telegraph bell clanged. With the port propeller going hard astern, and her cables tautened like harp-strings, she began to swing into her former position.
For the first time since the action commenced Captain Cain spoke. Leaning over the bridgerail he shouted to the gunlayer to aim for the Spaniard's aft torpedo-tube.
TheVillamilwas well down by the head and had a pronounced list to starboard. Her speed had appreciably fallen off. The menace of being rammed was now hardly worth taking into account; but the torpedo—— At that range, if the Spanish torpedo-gunner knew his job, it was almost a matter of impossibility to miss.
Cain could see four or five grimy figures bringing the loading cage to the after-end of the tube. The torpedo was launched home.... He could see the convex metal cover swing into the closing position... the torpedo coxswain was getting astride the tube... in another three or four seconds...
A deafening crash told the anxious skipper of theAlertethat the six-inch was again at work. At a range of six hundred yards the shell got home. A terrific flash—it was far too vivid for the explosion of a shell—leapt from the destroyer. An enormous cloud of smoke was hurled skywards, completely obliterating theVillamilfrom Cain's vision. A blast of hot air swept over the superstructure of the submarine. Pieces of metal tinkled on her steel deck. Heavier pieces were falling with a succession of splashes into the smoke-enshrouded water.
Slowly the pall of acrid-smelling vapour dispersed. Where the destroyer had been was an expanse of agitated water surrounding a broad and steadily-growing patch of black oil. Of the eighty men who formed her crew, not one survived.
The only casualty on board theAlertewas No. 3 of the gun's crew, and he had been knocked out only after theVillamilhad been destroyed. A fragment of steel descending with terrific force had struck him on the head, killing him instantly.
The action over, Captain Cain brought the rest of the hands on deck.
"My lads!" he exclaimed, "if we were out for glory, we've got it. It wasn't of our seeking. It's riches, not glory, we're after. Now, lads, although there's no one of our opponents left to tell the tale, we'll have to get a move on. One more good capture and we pay off. With luck we'll finish repairs by nightfall. To-morrow I hope our aims will be realised. There's a Belgian vessel due to leave St. Vincent at dawn to-morrow.She's ours for the asking. I propose to capture her and bring her in here until we can unload everything of value. All then that remains to be done is to hide the booty, make our way home and come out again as quite above-board West Coast traders. That's all I have to say, lads. No hanging on to the slack, but plenty of beef into your work for the next few hours and everything will be plain sailing. Pipe down!"