DEAR BROADMAYNE,—I suppose by the time you receive this you will have had a hand in sending theAlerteto her long, last home. Really, I don't envy your job, but it will be interesting to hear how it happened when you return home, which I suppose will be before very long.
"We—old Primmer and I—had quite an exciting time at Mousehole. We found Porthoustoc's swag, but hanged if the Customs and police didn't butt in, and we spent a night in the cells at Penzance before the admiral at Devonport got us released! I'll tell you all about it in due course.
"I've received the insurance money for the poor oldIbex, and I'm in treaty with a fellow at Burnham for the purchase of a smart little motorcruiser—paraffin engines this time, so perhaps you'll find an opportunity and help me bring her round.—Cheerio, yours ever,"ROLLO VYSE."
Sub-Lieutenant Broadmayne smiled as he replaced this missive in his pocket. TheAlerteaffair had already seen Rollo twice under arrest. ... Perhaps old Vyse would have a third similar experience in connection with the pirate...Hardly likely, though. TheAlertewas finished and done with. His chum was wrong in his surmise. The unenviable job had been carried out without any direct action on the part of H.M.S.Canvey.
The decoy-ship was homeward bound. She had put into the Canaries to pick up her mails and had proceeded. Already the famous Peak of Teneriffe was dipping beneath the southern horizon. Broadmayne, leaning over the taffrail, was in a pensive mood as he watched the water froth in the ship's wake.
Even as he looked, the ship began to circle to starboard. There was nothing very unusual about that. Possibly she was giving way to an approaching craft. But when the turning movement continued, the Sub began to show an interest in the matter. Still more did he—as did a hundred others—when theCanvey, having turned sixteen points, steadied on her helm and began to retrace her course to the south'ard.
Leaving the deserted poop, Broadmayne went for'ard. Groups of curious ratings were discussing the seemingly unaccountable turn. Several of the officers off duty, who were smoking on deck after "seven-bell tea," were also in a state of perplexity over the business.
It was not long before the secret was out and had spread the length and breadth of the ship.
A wireless message had just been received, stating that, since nothing had been reported of the s.s.Bronx Cityfollowing her account of the destruction of theAlerte, theCanveywas to proceed in search of the American vessel, keeping a sharp look-out on the coast as far south as the fifteenth parallel.
"Rotten stunt," grumbled the engineer-lieutenant, who was eagerly looking forward to theCanvey'sreturn to Devonport—to an event that would result in, amongst other things, the hoisting of a garland between the ship's masts. "We were sent out here to chase a pirate, not to act as nurse to a Yankee tramp."
"Well, why didn't she show up at Teneriffe or Funchal?" demanded Allerton. "'Sides, something must have happened to her, or she'd have wirelessed again."
"Bows stove in by the collision," suggested the paymaster-lieutenant.
"But she reported she was proceeding," rejoined the engineer officer. "Proceeding where? That's what I want to know."
"You'll probably find out, if we're here long enough," said Broadmayne chaffingly. "It'll take six months or more to carry out orders. We can't examine the coast in the dark. That means we'll have to stand off every night and close the land at the same spot at daybreak. 'Sides, there are hundreds of little harbours we'll have to explore——"
"Oh, shut up, do!" interrupted the exasperated engineer-lieutenant.
For three days and nights theCanveyran south, speaking several vessels, none of which could give any information concerning the sought-forBronx City.
During the morning of the fourth day, Broadmayne, who was officer of the forenoon watch, received a report that a vessel's smoke was to be seen on the port bow.
This was somewhat unusual, for off this part of the African coast shipping gave the land a wide berth on account of the dangerous and unlighted Lazarus Shoal. TheCanveywas, in point of fact, standing in closer than prudence demanded, although in order to carry out her instructions to watch the coast in the event of theBronx Cityhaving run aground, she had to run a certain amount of risk.
"What do you make of her?" asked Broadmayne of the yeoman of signals, as the stranger's hull drew above the horizon.
"Flying Yankee colours, sir," replied the petty officer, after a prolonged look through his telescope. "There's a double-barrelled tally on her bows, though I can't make it out yet. She ain't 'arf 'opping it."
A few minutes later, for the two vessels were approaching each other at an aggregate speed of twenty-eight knots, the yeoman of signals exclaimed:
"Crikey, sir! She's theBronx City!"
Dispatching a messenger to inform the captain, Broadmayne levelled his binoculars upon the approaching vessel. As far as he could make out, there was nothing wrong with her outward appearance. Her bows were certainly not stove-in; which, considering she had claimed to have rammed and sunk theAlerte, was what the Subhad a right to expect. Her wireless aerials were in position.
Just as Lieutenant-Commander Raxworthy gained the bridge, a three-flag hoist rose to the foremast head of theBronx City: INM—Chased by a privateer. Then, before theCanveycould display the answering pennant, the code flag over the letter E, signifying that the following words were in plain spelling, fluttered in the breeze.
"ALE——"
There was no need to complete the name.
"Sound off 'Action stations'!" ordered the owner.
Raxworthy formed a shrewd idea of what had occurred, but he was too wary a skipper to leave much to chance. The approaching vessel bore the nameBronx City. It might or might not be her rightful tally. If, as might possibly be the case, theAlertehad captured the Yankee vessel, it was quite likely that the pirate submarine had turned over her crew and armament to her prize. Or theBronx Citymight be theAlertedisguised.
On the latter point Broadmayne was able to inform his skipper that such was not the case. TheAlerte, however cleverly camouflaged, could not assume the length and lofty superstructure of the approaching craft.
In double-quick time theCanveywas cleared for action. The guns were unmasked and trained upon theBronx City. "Present use" ammunition was brought up on deck and placed beside the quick-firers, while the torpedo-tubes on the port side were charged with their deadly missiles,ready at the first sign of aggression to deliver a mortal blow at the huge target presented by the stranger's hull.
TheBronx Citywas still a mile off when a second vessel was sighted a good five miles astern of her. Although she, too, was evidently travelling fast, there was a noticeable absence of smoke from her funnel.
Borrowing the signalman's telescope, Broadmayne had a good look at her. He was bound to admit that the second stranger resembled the pirate submarine. There were a few trifling alterations in her appearance since the Sub had last seen her.
"She's theAlerte, sir," he declared confidently. Lieutenant-Commander Raxworthy was on the horns of a dilemma. Should theBronx Cityprove to be manned by a piratical crew and he allowed her to go on her way while he headed off her supposed pursuer, the opportunity of laying the former vessel by the heels would be lost. On the other hand, if he stopped to examine the craft flying American colours, the presumedAlertewould seize the opportunity of turning tail and disappearing. Again, he was not justified in ordering a United States ship to heave to, for it might result in an unpleasant international incident between the Government of Great Britain and that sitting at Washington. Having been once tricked completely by theAlerte, he was doubly cautious lest there be a repetition of the ruse that had succeeded almost beyond belief.
At the captain's orders, a signalman taking up aconspicuous position on the roof of the chart-house semaphored to the Bronx City, suggesting that for her protection the American vessel should turn sixteen points to port and follow theCanveyat a distance of ten cables astern.
To this theBronx Cityreplied by the single word "Sure."
The two ships were now abeam of each other. The stranger in the offing had turned and was retracing her course—additional evidence that she was not an honest craft.
The lieutenant-commander of theCanveyimmediately rang down for full speed. The chase—a stern one—had commenced.
"Bronx Cityturning to port, sir," reported the officer of the watch.
"Good!" ejaculated the skipper. "We'll drop her, of course, but it shows she's jonnick. Ask her what she's been doing, Mr. Broadmayne."
The Sub told off a signalman to semaphore theBronx City, which, having completed her turning movement, was dead in theCanvey'swake. For nearly half an hour the exchange of messages was maintained at high pressure. Captain Adams told briefly all that was necessary—the capture of theBronx Cityby theAlerte, and Cain's considerate treatment; the detention in Bahia Arenas and theAlerte'sbroken promise in plundering the ship.
"Was Cain in command?" inquired Broadmayne, through the medium of the hand-flags.
"Guess not," replied the Yankee skipper. "A mutiny, possibly. Pengelly was in command when we were ransacked."
The Sub returned to the bridge and reported events. By this time theAlertewas less than three miles away, thanks to the superior speed of theCanvey; while, on the other hand, theBronx City, unable to keep station, had dropped nearly that distance astern of the British decoy-ship.
Raxworthy could have sunk the pirate submarine by gunfire with the greatest ease, but he refrained. He wanted to head her into shallow water before delivering thecoup de grâce—unless she surrendered first. He therefore ordered speed to be reduced to that of the chase, the guns to be secured, and piped all hands to dinner.
Two bells in the afternoon watch found the relative positions of theCanveyand her chase unchanged. TheBronx City, in spite of theCanvey'sreduced speed, was still dropping astern.
Realising that no useful purpose would be served by the Yankee ship attempting to keep in company, theCanveysignalled for her to resume her former course, with the additional intimation that as theBronx City'swireless was disabled, theCanveywould report her position to Teneriffe station.
Almost immediately upon receipt of the signal, theBronx Citystarboarded helm and dipped her ensign. Twenty minutes later she was hull down away to the nor'ard.
TheCanveynow increased speed. There was no need for disguise. Bravely her battle-ensigns streamed in the breeze, while her guns were again manned and trained as far ahead as possible, ready, if need be, to hurl their deadly and destructive missiles upon the already doomed pirate submarine.
It was now a foregone conclusion that theAlertewas doubling back to her former anchorage in Bahia Arenas. She could not submerge outside without going to the bottom, and since the depth without the bar is everywhere not less than sixty fathoms, such a manoeuvre would result in the submarine being crushed like an eggshell under the terrific pressure of water. It was extremely doubtful whether she would fight. Her solitary six-inch gun would be hopelessly outmatched against the superior ordnance of her pursuer. Short of taking to the boats and scuttling theAlerte, the pirates had no alternative but to endeavour to reach the sandy bay and evade detection by submerging.
Raxworthy was playing his own game. Apart from destroying theAlerteby gunfire or torpedo, he could have headed her off-shore by reason of theCanvey'ssuperior speed and carried her in the good old-fashioned way by boarding. Such a measure, involving a certain risk of casualties amongst theCanvey'sship's company, would have appealed to most of the men; but the lieutenant-commander had other plans. He meant to compel theAlerteto surrender if it were possible. In any case, he wanted to take as many of the pirates as possible prisoners. To slay ruthlessly was against his principles. Prisoners, even if they were pirates captured red-handed, were entitled to a fair trial, and in that event the onus of dealing with them was removed from Raxworthy's shoulders.
At seven bells (3.30 p.m.) theCanveygained sufficiently to enable one of her guns to fire a fewyards wide of the chase. Simultaneously, she hoisted a signal summoning theAlerteto surrender.
By the aid of glasses it was easy for theCanvey'sofficers to see most of what was going on on the deck of the pirate submarine. Pengelly and the gunner could be discerned crouching on the bridge. On the poop were several of the crew clamouring and arguing. Some of them were evidently advocating taking to the boats. Most of them had brought their personal belongings on deck, so that it looked as if they had no intention of offering resistance.
At length theAlertestarboarded helm in order to take the deep and narrow passage over the bar. As she did so, Broadmayne noticed a tall burly figure ascend the bridge, grasp the cowering Pengelly and literally boot him down the ladder.
"Now, we'll have a run for our money, sir," remarked Broadmayne, to the lieutenant-commander. "Cain's got his spoke in again!"
"UP aloft, one of you!" shouted Marchant. "See if the swine's in sight."
TheAlertewas pitching as she faced the long Atlantic swell after crossing the bar in pursuit of theBronx City. A few—a very few—of the crew were sober; the majority were befuddled in the transition stage between drunkenness and sobriety; while four or five, helplessly intoxicated, lay rolling in the scuppers.
One of the hands, pot-valiant, made an attempt to go aloft. Before he had ascendedhalf a dozen ratlineshe slipped. Luckily for him, theAlertewas at the limit of her roll. Instead of dropping into the sea he slithered helplessly round the aftershroud and subsided heavily upon the gunner. The pair fell in a heap on deck. The drunken seaman, none the worse for his involuntary descent, sat up and looked around as if seeking applause. Marchant staggered to his feet, his right shoulder dislocated.
Pengelly, from the bridge, saw the incident. It cheered him considerably, for with Marchant renderedhors de combathe was able to reassert his lax authority on the undisciplined crew.
A seaman, less drunk than his predecessor, went aloft. Before he reached the cross-trees he shouted, "There she lies—a point on our port bow.
"Sure she's theBronx City?" inquired Pengelly anxiously.
"Do you call me a liar?" shouted the lookout man in reply. "If I says she's the Bronx, then she is. That's all about it."
With the oil-engines running "all out," theAlertestood in pursuit of the fugitive. A couple of hours enabled her to gain on the Bronx City to such an extent that the latter was barely six miles ahead. At that rate, another hour and a half would enable the pirate submarine to overhaul her prey.
Although Pengelly had no liking for Marchant, he was forced to admit that the gunner's proposal to abandon theAlerteand take the Bronx City over to some obscure South American port was a sound one. The question of fuel largely influenced his decision. TheAlerte'stanks were seriously depleted; theBronx City'scoal bunkers were three-quarters full. It was on that account that Pengelly refrained from opening fire upon the Yankee vessel, otherwise he could have ended the chase half an hour ago.
At intervals, Pengelly raised his binoculars and watched the chase. It was on one of these occasions that he noticed a faint blur of smoke on the horizon at less than a degree to the left of the Bronx City.
Cursing under his breath, the pirate called tothe gunner to come on the bridge. Marchant, his right shoulder swathed in bandages, complied, grumbling and wincing as every step shot a sharp pain through the injured part.
"There's another vessel," announced Pengelly. "She's coming this way, I think. What's to be done?"
"Done?" repeated the gunner. "Why, collar the pair of 'em. We'll make a fine haul, I'll swear."
"But if she's a warship?" objected the other.
"Is it likely?" rejoined Marchant. "What would a warship be doing on this part of the coast? Seein' as Cain reported us sunk—say what you like, that chap's got a head on 'im—there'll be none lookin' for us. Where's that glass of yours?"
Steadying the telescope on the bridge-rail, the gunner, groaning with the effort, bent his head and applied his eye to the instrument.
"Tramp of sorts," he announced. "She's flying no colours. Odds are theBronx City'll tip her the wink. That being so, we'll have to send her to the bottom.... Yes, hang me, if she ain't closing."
For the next minute or so the gunner kept his eye glued to the telescope. Suddenly he dropped the glass and sprang to his feet.
"She's a British cruiser, blast her!" he shouted. "Put about and leg it, Pengelly. If she spots us, it's all UP!"
Without waiting for Pengelly to give the order, the quartermaster put the wheel hard down.Round swept theAlerte, listing heavily to port as she swung to starboard.
The hands on deck, surprised by the sudden change of course, were clamouring to know why the pursuit had been abandoned.
"Why?" shouted the gunner. "'Cause we're being chased. No blessed Dago destroyer this time, but a British cruiser. We'll have to be mighty smart to dodge the white ensign."
"She's spotted us!" exclaimed Pengelly, in a high-pitched voice. "TheBronx Cityis slewing round, too.Confound Cain!If he'd crippled theBronx Cityinstead of just running her gently on the mud, there'd have been none of this business."
"We'll be glad to have Cain on board before long," said the bo'sun, who had joined Pengelly and the gunner on the bridge. "I reckon our only chance is to submerge. Without Cain, how's it to be done? You couldn't take her down, nor can I."
"Soundings are too deep for diving in any case," declared Pengelly. "Seems to me we're holding her, even if we aren't gaining. What's the time?"
"Close on one bell," replied the bo'sun.
"Time to make Bahia Arenas well before dark then," continued Pengelly. "See here, Mr. Barnard, go aft and sound that swine Cain. Don't tell him I sent you, but ask him if he'll take charge of the ship for submerging."
The bo'sun departed on his errand. Presently he returned.
"Cap'n Cain says he'll consider the matter if you go and ask him yourself," he announced.
"Then you'd better go," added Marchant.
"Not I," said Pengelly.
While theAlerteheld her own, Pengelly adhered to his resolution not to eat humble pie. But when, in the course of the afternoon, the pursuing vessel began to gain rapidly, he yielded to the importunities of the gunner, the bo'sun, and the majority of the crew.
"Look here, Trevorrick," he began, addressing his former partner and skipper by the name by which he was known at Polkyll Creek; "'spose we let bygones be bygones? Will you take charge of the ship and submerge her when we make Bahia Arenas?"
Cain looked him straight in the face. Pengelly could not bear the other's gaze. Unsteadily he averted his eves.
"I'll submerge when I'm captain of theAlerteagain, not before," replied Cain.
"Three cheers for Cap'n Cain!" shouted one of the hands, several of whom had followed the deputation aft.
At that moment a plugged shell shrieked past the pirate submarine, throwing up a huge column of spray as it ricochetted to strike the surface of the water a good five hundred yards ahead of the ship.
Pengelly made no protest to the demonstration in favour of the ex-captain. Followed by Marchant he returned to the bridge.
"Carry on, sir!" shouted half a dozen of the pirates.
Some one cast off the lashings that secured Cain's wrists. The bo'sun slipped an automatic into his hand. With a grim smile, Cain went forward and ascended the bridge ladder.
"Now then!" he exclaimed, sternly addressing the trembling Pengelly. "Who's skipper now!"
"You are," admitted the thoroughly scared man. "For heaven's sake, don't shoot!"
"Good lead is too precious to waste on rats," retorted Cain, thrusting the automatic into his pocket. "Get down, you treacherous swab!"
Pengelly began to descend the bridge-ladder, his progress materially assisted by the application of the reinstated captain's boot. The crew, notwithstanding their imminent peril, applauded lustily.
"Avast there!" shouted Captain Cain. "Shout when you're out of the wood—not before. Strike and secure masts! Look lively, there!"
While most of the crew were engaged upon this task, Cain beckoned to the bo'sun.
"Look here, Barnard!" he exclaimed in a low voice; "remove the rapid-flooding valves from all the boats. Take one below; heave the others overboard."
This the bo'sun did, unshipping a hinged plate that when secured by two butterfly nuts rendered each boat watertight. When open, the valves allowed the boats to take in water rapidly, so that their natural buoyancy was destroyed and did not hinder the submergence of the submarine. The solitary valve that was not thrown overboardwas placed below, under the conning-tower hatchway ladder.
"Well done, Mr. Barnard!" said Cain approvingly. "Now, tell Cross and Davidge to go below and secure both the for'ard and after hatches on the inside. Also tell Cross to inform the engine-room staff from me that as soon as I ring down for 'Stop' they are to come on deck through the conning-tower hatchway with all possible speed. Is that clear?"
The bo'sun repeated his instructions and went off to see that they were carried out. By the time he returned the crew had lowered and secured the masts and funnel for diving and were standing by, anxiously dividing their attention between the pursuingCanveyand their reinstated skipper's next order.
"All hands fall in in the waist!" shouted Cain.
The deck hands trooped to the place indicated, with the exception of Davidge and Cross, who, acting under orders, were standing by the valve actuating gear of the ballast tanks.
Deliberately, Cain thrust the telegraph indicators to stop, gave one quick glance at the vessel in pursuit and descended from the bridge.
By this time theAlertewas over the bar and about half a mile from the land-locked shore. TheCanvey, none too sure of the entrance, had slowed down, the leadsman sounding as she cautiously smelt her way in.
As soon as the men whose duty lay in the engine-room came on deck, Cain made a slight imperceptible movement with his hand. Unconcernedly, the bo'sun stepped to the wake of the conning-tower and took three steps down the ladder. There he waited.
"Now, you treacherous, mutineering swine!" thundered Cain. "I'll give you one minute to get your lifebelts. You're to choose between being eaten by sharks or hanging by your necks in a British prison."
Before the astounded men could realise the significance of their captain's words, Cain made for the only open hatchway. There he stopped, his eyes roving whimsically overthe dumbfounded men, a supercilious smile lurking in his heavy bulldog features.
Marchant fumbled for his automatic. But for his injured shoulder he might have achieved his object. The pistol cracked, the bullet mushrooming on the armour-plated conning tower.
"Forty-five seconds more!" announced Cain, in cold, level tones.
The next instant Captain Cain disappeared from view. The conning-tower hatch descended with a metallic clang.
With the closing of the last means of entering the hull of the submarine the spell was broken. The crew, realising the fate that awaited them, were seized with panic. Some began to struggle into their cork lifebelts, others made a mad rush for the davit-boats, to find to their consternation that they were no longer capable of floating.
A shell, evidently of light calibre, struck theAlertea few feet abaft the bows, demolishing the dummy fo'c'sle like a pack of cards. It wasfortunate for the men that they were either in the waist or on the poop, for no one was hit; but the exploding missile warned them that their pursuer was getting to work in earnest.
"Lower that cursed rag!" shrieked Pengelly, pointing to the skull and cross-bones which, on the masts being lowered, the gunner in reckless bravado had hoisted at the end of a boathook. "Has anybody got anything that'll do for a white flag? No? Then, for heaven's sake, some of you in the poop hold your hands up, or she'll blow us to bits."
Several of the hands did so, while the signalman, clambering on the bridge, frantically semaphored that the ship had surrendered.
Even as the message was being signalled, theAlertebegan to settle. In less than half a minute she disappeared beneath the surface, leaving the agitated water of the Bahia Arenas dotted with the heads of her mutinous crew.
The pirate submarineAlertehad made her final plunge.
"BY the mark seven... Less a quarter... By the deep six!" chanted the leadsman, as theCanveyapproached the bar.
"Starboard! Meet her at that!" ordered the lieutenant-commander, telegraphing for speed to be still further reduced. "Any signs of armed resistance?"
"No, sir," replied Broadmayne; for now that theAlertehad swung through eight points, her quickfirer could be seen from the bridge of theCanvey. "The poor bounders have got the wind up badly," he added.
"They'll get it worse, if they don't chuck up the sponge," rejoined Raxworthy. "By Jove! If they don't strike that Jolly Roger there'll be trouble. For'ard starboard gun, there! One round at the enemy's bows!"
The shell, a seven-pounder, shrieked as it sped on its errand of destruction. A flash, a cloud of black smoke and a shower of pieces of metal announced that the missile had accomplished its work. Practically the whole of the for'ard superstructure of the pirate submarine had vanished.
"Black flag's struck, sir!" announced the gunnery-lieutenant.
"They're doing the 'arms up' stunt," supplemented another of the group of officers on theCanvey'sbridge.
TheAlertewas losing way rapidly. A solitary figure appeared on the hitherto deserted bridge.
"We—surrender," came the semaphored message.
"Wise men," commented Raxworthy, as he faced aft to order away the boats containing the prize-crew.
"She's submerging, sir!" exclaimed Broadmayne.
The lieutenant-commander turned abruptly. He was about to order every gun able to bear upon the pirate submarine to open fire, when he observed that men were leaping overboard in a state of uncontrollable panic. That altered matters. Had the crew of theAlertebeen at diving stations, he would not have hesitated to hasten her departure by means of half a dozen high-explosive shells. The fact that the pirates were swimming for dear life in a shark-infested sea, compelled him to stay his hand.
"Away lifeboat's crews!"
To the shrill trill of the bo'sun's mate's whistle the bluejackets rushed to man the boats. The excitement of the chase had vanished; in its place was the whole-hearted eagerness to save life.
TheAlertedisappeared with very little noise or commotion. Although the water was considerably disturbed, there was hardly any suction.The swimmers, although impeded by their cumbersome cork lifebelts, had little difficulty in getting clear of her as she submerged.
"What's young Maynebrace doing?" asked the lieutenant-commander as the loud report of a revolver rang out, followed by three shots in rapid succession.
Broadmayne, also attracted by the reports, saw the midshipman in charge of the second cutter standing up in the stern-sheets and firing apparently at some of the swimmers. Apparently several of the pirates thought that they were about to be shot as they swam, for they turned and began to strike out away from the rescuing boats.
There was a wild, almost unearthly shriek. One of the wretched men threw up his arms and disappeared. A patch of blood appeared on the surface over the spot where he had vanished. Again Midshipman Maynebrace fired, his objective being the head of an enormous shark, just as the monster turned on its back to seize another victim.
Right amidst the straggling crowd of swimmers dashed the two boats, their crews engaged between dealing spanking blows with the blades of their oars upon the water, and hauling the terrified pirates over the gunwales.
Cain had revenged himself upon his mutinous crew. Only fifteen escaped the jaws of the ferocious tigers of the deep, and these were almost mad with the horror of the scene.
Among those who fell victims to the sharks was Marchant the gunner. Pengelly, wearing only ashirt and trousers, was one of the survivors. His hair had turned white during his desperate swim.
The late second in command of theAlertehardly hoped to pass himself off as one of the ratings of the pirate submarine. He realised that he was far from being popular with the crew. Sooner or later they would "give him away." But the attempt was worth trying.
As he came over the side of theCanveyhe was interrogated by a stern-faced lieutenant, who demanded his name and rating.
"Smith, Tom—deck-hand," he replied.
TheCanvey'sofficer noted the particulars without comment. Pengelly went for'ard under arrest, ignorant of the fact that Sub-Lieutenant Gerald Broadmayne was watching him from the bridge.
"There's no sign of Cain, sir," remarked the Sub to the owner. "That fellow just gone for'ard is Pengelly. Marchant the gunner and Barnard the bo'sun don't appear to be present."
"Hang it all!" ejaculated Raxworthy, "you don't suggest that three of the pirate officers, including the ringleader, are still on board the submarine? Pass the word to Mr. Hamley to send Pengelly to the quarter-deck under an armed guard."
The lieutenant on the gangway received the message. Consulting the list he had made, he found that no one answering to that name had been received on board. He sent a message to that effect to the captain.
After considerable delay, Pengelly was foundand brought aft. The moment he saw Broadmayne standing behind the lieutenant-commander, he knew that the game was up as far as concealing his identity was concerned.
"Where's Cain?" demanded Raxworthy, without any preliminaries.
Pengelly explained what had occurred, spinning an elaborate yarn that he had done his utmost to persuade Captain Cain to surrender, and trying to excuse himself for having ever set foot on board theAlerte.
The lieutenant-commander brought him up with a round turn.
"Enough of that!" he said sternly. "Where is the gunner of theAlerte?"
Pengelly shook his head. That was a question that he could not answer. He was still unaware of the fate of Mr. Marchant.
"And the bo'sun—Barnard, I believe, is his name?" continued Raxworthy.
Again Pengelly let his tongue run riot, dwelling on Barnard's action in siding with Cain and going below with him.
"For what reason?" asked the lieutenant-commander.
"Cain will probably try to bring theAlerteto the surface when he thinks the coast is clear," replied Pengelly readily enough.
"Two men cannot do that," interrupted Raxworthy.
"There may be more," rejoined the pirate. "I remember two hands at least going below. I did not see them come on deck again. Please remember, sir, I've done my best to answer your questions. I deeply regret——"
"Remove the prisoner," said Raxworthy sternly.
He waited until Pengelly had been taken for'ard, then he turned to Broadmayne.
"I suppose you are quite certain that theAlertehasn't electrical propelling machinery?" he asked.
"There was none when I was on board, sir," replied the Sub.
"I don't suppose four men will be able to disconnect the clutches and turn the propellers sufficiently to make the submarine move," remarked Raxworthy, half-seriously, half-jokingly. "She's there right enough. Well, I've given Cain a fair chance; he wouldn't accept it. What happens now is his funeral, not mine."
Raxworthy returned to the bridge. It was now about an hour before sunset. The sheltered bay was as smooth as a millpond. There was nothing to indicate that the elusive pirate submarine lay ten fathoms deep except a small mark-buoy that had been placed over the spot where theAlertehad disappeared.
His orders were plain enough—to capture or destroy. He had done his best to carry out the first part of his instructions. Cain had foiled him in that direction by submerging. Short of powerful salvage craft and plant there was no means of bringing the submarine to the surface and then effecting her capture. TheCanveycould wireless to Gibraltar dockyard for thenecessary gear, but days—weeks perhaps—would elapse before the cumbersome salvage lighters could be towed to Bahia Arenas. There was no help for it but to act upon the second alternative—to destroy.
"There's one consolation," soliloquised the lieutenant-commander, "the poor brutes won't know much about it. It's a quick end."
Slowly theCanveyturned until her bows pointed nearly end-on to the mark-buoy. On the starboard side of the poop was a squat-looking object somewhat resembling the old-time siege mortar, its wide muzzle grinning upwards at an elevation of forty-five degrees. The weapon—a depth-charge projector—was loaded with a missile set to explode at sixty feet beneath the surface.
"All ready, Mr. Garnett?" sang out the lieutenant-commander to the gunner who was in charge of the apparatus.
"Ay, ay, sir!"
The engine-room telegraph bell clanged. Almost immediately theCanveyincreased speed. The mark-buoy bore abeam, a cable's length to starboard.
Crash! went the propelling charge.
Like a gigantic salmon-tin, the missile described its parabolic flight—so slowly that observers on the bridge could see the huge canister turning over and over in mid-air.
It struck the water with a resounding thud, flinging up a shower of spray. Already theCanveyunder fifteen degrees of starboard helm was rapidly increasing her distance from the mark-buoy.Slowly the intervening seconds passed; so slowly that Broadmayne began to think the fuse of the depth-charge had proved defective.
Then came a truly stupendous roar. A slender column of water was hurled quite two hundred feet in the air. The hull of theCanveyshook under the terrific blast of displaced air. The tranquil waters of the bay were transformed into a mass of agitated waves.
The column of upheaved water fell with a loud hissing noise. For nearly half a minute the turmoil continued. Then, in the midst of the maelstrom, appeared a patch of calm, iridescent oil spreading steadily in all directions, while multitudes of fish, killed or stunned by the detonation, floated belly-upwards upon the surface.
"Away, diving-party," ordered Captain Raxworthy.
"With your permission, sir, I would like to accompany the divers, sir," said Broadmayne.
"Are you qualified?" asked the lieutenant-commander.
"Yes, sir," replied the Sub. "I did a diving-course at Whaley when I paid off from theArcturus, and I've been down to fourteen fathoms."
"Very good," was the rejoinder.
Broadmayne saluted and went off to make the necessary preparations.
TheCanveywas equipped with two types of diving dresses, both designed and made by the firm of Siebe, Gorman & Co. One was of the common variety, in which the air is pumpedthrough a pipe from a pump above the surface of the sea. The other was of the self-contained type; the air supply, judiciously combined with oxygen, is contained in cylinders strapped to the back of the diver. Thus he is independent of air-tubes, life-lines and other contrivances likely to impede his movements.
The Sub chose the latter type of dress. The depth in which theAlertehad sunk was between fifty and sixty feet at low water, the maximum distance below the surface at which the self-contained diving-suit can be used without undue risk.
One of the seaman-divers was already being garbed in a similar suit by his attendants; the other man was preparing to don a dress with lifeline and air-tube, the helmet being provided with a telephone by means of which he could engage in conversation with the above-water party in the boat.
The descent was to be made as speedily as possible before more sharks appeared upon the scene of the wreck to feast on the bodies of their less fortunate kind who had been killed by the explosion. Nevertheless, Broadmayne and his companions were warned to keep a sharp look-out while under the surface. As a rule, a shark will hesitate to attack a diver, but there have been instances in which a terrible submarine struggle has taken place between a diver and the tigers of the deep.
The diving-boats pushed off and anchored fore and aft as close as desirable to the wreck. Thediver with the air-tube type of dress was the first to descend, sliding at a steady pace down the shot-rope.
A tug on the life-line gave the attendants warning that the man had reached the bottom. "Ready, sir?" asked a petty officer.
"Right," replied Broadmayne.
The glass plate in the front of his helmet was screwed home. He was now cut off from the outside world as far as the air supply was concerned, and the sensation was not a pleasant one.
Unlike the first man to descend, whose helmet had been closed only when he was waist-deep in water, the Sub had to be finally equipped while in the boat. Assisted by the attendants—for his movements were hampered by the weight of his helmet, chemical-containers, chest and back weights, and leaden-soled boots, the whole amounting to 190 lb.—Broadmayne scrambled awkwardly and ponderously over the gunwale, grasped the shot-line used by his predecessor and began the descent.
In spite of the weight of the dress in air, it now had so little weight in water that the Sub had no difficulty in retarding the downward movement. Even the inconvenience caused by the unaccustomed air supply passed away after a few seconds.
Presently his leaden-soled feet touched the bed of the Bahia Arenas so lightly that he could hardly credit that he was standing on a floor of hard sand. So transparent was the water that he had no difficulty in seeing objects five or six yards off, all grotesquely distorted and exaggerated.
Grasping the second of the three distance lines, the Sub commenced his submarine walk, following the cord that the first diver had paid out. Evidently the man had not erred in his sense of direction, for the line lay motionless on the sandy floor. All around were pieces of jagged steel-plating, copper pipes and other débris from the ill-fatedAlerte.
Presently an enormous dark grey mass loomed up in front. It was the hull of the pirate submarine. The seaman-diver, with bubbles rising from his helmet, was standing by. His job lay outside the hull; Broadmayne's and that of the third diver, inside.
In less than two minutes the third member of the party appeared. The first man, turning to reassure himself that his air-tube and life-line were clear of the jagged plates, worked round towards the stern. It was here that the full force of the powerful depth-charge had expended itself. Thirty feet or more of the after-portion of the submarine had been completely blown apart, together with most of the propelling machinery. There was not the slightest doubt about the destruction of the after-part of the submarine. It remained to be seen whether the water-tight bulkhead separating the motor-room from the 'midship and fore compartment had withstood the strain.
Signing to his similarly-equipped companion to follow him, Broadmayne clambered up the sloping side of the considerably-listing vessel. The ease with which he performed this feat rather surprised him.
Once again the Sub trod the deck—or, rather, what remained of the deck of theAlerte. The bridge had disappeared and the whole of the bulwarks and deck aft, leaving bare a full fifty feet of the massively-built submarine hull to where it terminated abruptly in a jagged edge of twisted steel. Most of the raised fo'c'sle had been blown away by shell-fire before theAlertesubmerged, but between the rise of the fo'c'sle and the conning-tower, which was practically intact, the false deck was still in position.
Making his way to the forehatch—it was originally the torpedo-hatch—Broadmayne tried to open it. Being secured from below, the metal cover resisted his efforts. Foiled in that direction, the Sub retraced his steps to the conning-tower hatchway. As he did so, a dark object above the rail attracted his attention. It was Cain's ensign—the skull and cross-bones—still lashed to a boathook. When theAlertesubmerged, the natural tendency of the ash stave was to float, but the metal hook engaging in one of the shrouds of the housed foremast had held it down. Even the explosion of the depth-charge had failed to dislodge it.
Drawing his knife, Broadmayne cut the emblem of piracy adrift and secured it to his belt. Then he resumed his investigations.
The conning-tower was also secured and clipped from the inside. Was it possible, he wondered, that Cain and his companions were still alive in the apparently intact and air-tight for'ard compartment of the hull?Going aft, the Sub lowered himself cautiously over the riven edge of the hull-plating, lest a sharp projection should penetrate his inflated dress. Then, signing to his fellow-diver to remain, he switched on his submarine electric lamp and crept forward inside the hull.
The first twenty feet or so was greatly encumbered with wreckage, but on passing through the transverse bulkhead, the watertight door of which had been blown inwards, Broadmayne found that there was little damage done to the 'midships section.
As a matter of precaution and to save negotiating the debris-strewn motor-room again, the Sub unclipped and threw open the conning-tower hatch. Then proceeding for'ard he found that the door between the 'midships section and the bow compartment was wide open. It swung freely on its hinges, although the straining the hull had received made it impossible for the usually close-fitting door to close.
In the bow compartment, Broadmayne searched diligently for the bodies of Cain and his companions, but without success. Then he came to the door of the air-lock, by which a man in a diving suit could leave the submarine when the vessel was lying on the bottom. The door was shut. Usually six diving suits and twenty-four life-saving helmets were ranged along the bulkhead. The latter were there, jammed against the curved roof under the deck, but four of the self-contained diving-dresses were absent.
Prising back the locking-gear of the door of theair-lock the Sub entered the compartment. It was, as he expected, empty, but the hinged flap on the outside hull-plating was open.
Captain Cain had made a bid for life and freedom. Whether he had succeeded or had been caught by the explosion before he had got well clear of the ship remains an unsolved problem.
There was no need for further investigation. Broadmayne returned to his companions by means of the conning-tower hatchway. Together they dropped over the side and found the other diver waiting by the distance cords.
In single file, the man with the air-tube leading as the attendants in the boat slowly heaved in his air-tube and lifeline, the three made their way to the shot-rope.
Then came the tedious ascent. To go up quickly and without a pause was not to be thought of. The great risk of being killed by excessive blood-pressure on the brain had to be guarded against. Slowly Broadmayne was hoisted, kept hanging for several minutes and then hoisted a few feet more, until at length he felt himself being grasped under the arms and assisted into the boat. Then his helmet glass removed, he sat and gasped, gratefully inhaling copious draughts of fresh air.
As soon as the other divers were in the boat the anchors were weighed and a course shaped for theCanvey, which was steaming slowly in wide circles round the scene of the wreck.
"Satisfactory job?" inquired Raxworthy laconically.
"After-part blown clean away, sir," repliedBroadmayne. "All the other compartments are full of water."
"Any signs of bodies?"
"No, sir."
"Did you see any?" inquired the lieutenant-commander, turning to the seamen-divers.
"No, sir," answered the man who used the air-tube pattern dress. "I went right round the wreck on the outside—starboard side first and then port to the full extent of my life-line. No doubt, sir, the men in her were blown to bits. There was a plate torn right out close to her bows, I noticed. That shows how strong the force of the explosion was."
Captain Raxworthy nodded.
"Then there's no possible doubt about it," he remarked to the officers standing by. "Well, our work's done. TheAlerte'sdestroyed." He paused and glanced over the side across the tranquil waters of the bay. "I'm rather sorry for that chap Cain," he continued. "He evidently was a bit of a sport. I'd like to have met him." Before sunset, H.M.S.Canveywas steaming to the nor'ard, homeward bound.