ThePOWDERHULK

image: 06_devereux_aim.jpg

[Illustration: He rested his revolver over the horse's body, and took careful aim. Knowing that a slow and fearful death would follow recapture, he vowed he would not be taken alive.]

For a moment Devereux was thunderstruck. An hour after theMoonshinereceived its copy theIntelligencewould be blank as far as its war news was concerned.

Yes, Craddock had scored.

Devereux gave a hasty glance in the direction of the Berber encampment. There were several hieries still left unscathed, and were peacefully browsing on the spot where they had been left hobbled. But the Englishman dared not trust himself to seek safety in flight on the precarious perch that a racing camel affords. Good luck! There was a horse—a swift, powerful-looking beast by its appearance.

Casting off the halter the Englishman vaulted into the saddle and urged the beast into a gallop, using the leather thong in place of spurs. Nobly the animal responded, and soon Devereux had left the mountains behind and was speeding over the sandy, tree-dotted waste.

Just then a rifle cracked, and a bullet whistled over his head. The Berbers were in close pursuit. Bending as far over the horse's neck as the high-peaked saddle would permit, Devereux urged his steed by word and action. One rapid glance behind showed him that the pursuers—for the most part mounted on hieries—were hot in his tracks. In the soft sand he knew that the swiftest horse would stand a poor chance against the ship of the desert.

There were nine of the pursuers; enough, in all conscience, and the odds were greatly against him. They were gaining.

Drawing the Frenchman's revolver Devereux swung himself round, took rapid aim, and fired. A bullet singing past his ear affected his aim, and the shot was thrown away; but the second brought a camel and his rider headlong to the ground.

This mishap caused the Moors to hesitate, and the pursued gained a little; till, with redoubled spirit and furious erratic firing, the pursuers resumed the chase with renewed energy.

With four cartridges left in his revolver, and eight Moors to be accounted for, could he hope for safety? The sickening truth came home to the fugitive: his horse was floundering.

Suddenly the animal's legs gave way beneath it, and it sank to the ground, throwing Devereux over its head. Fortunately the ground was soft and broke his fall; and in an instant the Englishman had regained his feet, a shot grazing his ribs as he did so. One glance showed him that his horse was dead.

Throwing himself down behind the carcase of the horse Devereux rested his revolver over the body, and took careful aim. He realised that if he could get in three successful shots the Berbers might draw off. If not, there would be only one cartridge left, and the Englishman, knowing that a slow and painful death awaited a recaptured prisoner, swore that he would never be taken alive.

The Moors were dismounting from their lofty steeds, with the evident intention of surrounding and rushing their solitary foe.

Bang!Down went one white-robed figure, pitching heavily into the sand.

Bang! Bang!Two more. Devereux handled his weapon ostentatiously, yet durst not discharge his remaining cartridge.

A regular fusillade came from the rifles of the remaining Berbers; but, although the range was short and many of the bullets came perilously close, none actually hit the desperate man at bay.

Seeing this the attackers made ready to resort to their natural tactics, and, placing their rifles on the ground, drew their swords and grasped their spears, and began to extend, preparatory to rushing their foeman's position.

"Another half a minute will see the wind-up of Jack Devereux," muttered the young Englishman, as he took careful aim at the nearest of his assailants—although he had no intention of using his last cartridge on him. But the action was thrown away, for the Moor, scorning the levelled weapon, bounded forward with a fierce yell, his companions following his example.

Devereux hesitated. He felt unwilling to turn the weapon on himself until his foes were almost within striking distance.

But the rush never matured. The Moors suddenly checked their furious onslaught.One swarthy Berberpointed with his scintillating blade in the direction of the city, and the five turned and ran towards their hobbled camels.

Devereux looked over his shoulder, scarce daring to hope when hope seemed dead.

Speeding across the desert was a troop of heavy French cavalry. He realised that he was saved in the nick of time.

* * * * *

In the stifling heat of the courtyard of the Press Censor's office at Fez, Devereux rewrote his dispatch with feverish haste. The chance of a great scoop was once more in his favour, for he learnt that the monoplane, through a mishap, had come to earth about four miles from the city. Craddock and his rescuer were in no real danger, and might be expected to arrive at any moment.

In his shirt-sleeves, his head throbbing like a steam-engine, and his limbs as stiff as a rusty piston-rod, Devereux wrote as he had never written before. He had seventeen minutes to complete his task, for he knew that the Censor's office closed at a quarter to five, and at any moment he himself might be forestalled by his journalistic rival.

Metaphorically blind to the world, heedless of what was going on around him, Devereux stuck gamely to his task till the final sentence was completed. It was twenty minutes to the fateful hour.

The little lean-faced French officer took the proffered "copy," and began to read it in quite a leisurely manner.

"Good!" thought Devereux; "take your time. Now you've started you must finish; but I hope you won't before closing time."

At exactly the three-quarters the Censorviséedthe dispatch, and handed it back to the correspondent. With a hurried expression of thanks, Devereux took his leave, saw with satisfaction the officer motion to an orderly to close the door, and continued his way to the post and telegraph office.

"Hurrah! TheIntelligencewill have it in time for the morning edition," he exclaimed; as he stumbled out of the telegraph office, having waited to make sure that the operator had made a move.

Meanwhile Craddock, mounted on a wretched transport mule, ambled into the city. He grumbled mightily when he discovered that the Censor's office was closed for the night; but reflecting that gold might do the trick, he borrowed some money from an obliging officer, and made his way to the telegraph office.

"Pardon, monsieur, but this dispatch does not bear the official stamp," said the operator, suavely. "Without beingviséedI can do nothing but refuse to accept it."

Craddock was checkmated. Persuasion and bribery alike were thrown away, and disgustedly he prepared to return to his quarters.

"Anyway, to-morrow will do," thought he. "I've scored, after all's said and done. I'm sorry for that youngster, though. He was green, but he had grit. It's a pity he's gone under. Well, it's the fortune of war, I suppose."

Entering the quarters assigned to the Press representatives the American suddenly pulled up and stood stock still, with his eyes bulging out of his head, and his mouth wide open.

He was face to face with Jack Devereux.

"Done you this time, Craddock," exclaimed theIntelligenceman, affably.

"Snakes! You don't mean to say that you've——"

"Certainly," replied Devereux, throwing himself wearily upon his couch, and stifling a yawn. "To quote your own words: personal feelings must stand aside when journalistic reputation is at stake."

"How," began Craddock, bewildered and angry; "how——" He stopped abruptly, for his successful rival was sound asleep.

* * * * *

Next morning theIntelligencecame out with two and three-quarter columns of news from the front, while theMoonshine'sspace reserved for the latest war news was as vacant as the expression on the face of its puzzled editor.

Jack Devereux had made his scoop and his reputation in one stroke.

THE END

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ThePOWDERHULKByPercy F. WestermanIllustrated by E. S. HODGSON

"IT'S no use, Harry. We're losing on every tack."

"Yes, I know. We've drifted quite fifty yards from that buoy. Shake her up while I let go for'ard. We'll bring up here for the night and carry on up to Flapperham with to-morrow's flood tide."

Harry Armitage, owner and skipper of the little 3-ton cutterSpray, made his way for'ard. The head sails were quickly lowered, with a rush and a rattle the chain cable flew through the fairlead, and with her mainsail flapping in the keen breeze, theSpraybrought up head to wind and tide.

"Now then, bear a hand with the mainsail, Jack; the sooner we get this business over the better, for we're in for a dirty night." Jack Standish, who filled every capacity on board theSpraythat the skipper didn't, joined his companion and began to cast off the throat-halliards.

"Aren't we too close to the powder-ship?" he asked, indicating a hulk that loomed up darkly against the evening sky—a sky full of angry tints from deep indigo to pale yellow.

"Too close? We're more than the prescribed 200 yards off. If you're afraid she'll blow up, we may just as well be here as any other part of the harbour, for I believe she has over a thousand tons of cordite on board."

"I don't mind if you don't, only——"

"Only what?"

"I wish we were a little further off. I don't know why, but the fact remains that I do."

The powder-hulk, whose name and description appear in the Navy List, under the list of hulks available for harbour service, asBikanir, 4th rate, 2,720 tons, hulk, floating powder magazine, R.N. Ordnance Depot Sandborough.

She was one of five vessels built of teak in Bombay. Shorn of her tapering masts, "housed in," and painted a bright red,she lay mooredin upper Sandborough Creek. Day and night a red flag fluttered in the breeze, and day and night reliefs of two water-policemen belonging to the Metropolitan Police, keep watch and ward over the highly explosive cargo, the ignition of which would mean the total destruction of every vessel and building within two miles of her, and immense damage done to the town and dockyard of Sandborough. Apart from the deadly monotony of an eight hour watch the two ship-keepers whose duty compels them to be on board from ten at night till six in the morning have a most uncomfortable time. Without lights or fires they have to exist—keeping a sharp look-out for possible danger, while they have instructions to make use of their revolvers if suspicious characters come within a certain distance of the floating magazine.

Should a fire break out, the ship-keepers have a few patent extinguishers and an obsolete manual pump. While one man has to do his best with these appliances, the other has to take a boat and row off to a smaller hulk. Here are kept lanterns, rockets, and matches. Three red lanterns displayedare the signal that aconflagration has broken out, but the regulations say nothing as to what is likely to occur between the discovery of the flames and the completion of the lengthy task of procuring and exhibiting the danger-lamps.

Within a quarter of an hour from the time they let go the anchor, theSpraywas snugged down, the riding-lamp was hoisted to the fore-stay, and the crew turned into the small but comfortable cabin for supper.

At about a quarter to ten the two lads—both of them were eighteen years of age—heard the shrill blast of a steam-whistle above the howling of the wind.

"There's the police-launch taking the reliefs," said Jack. "Let's turn out and have a look at the poor bounders."

"All right," assented Harry, but as he gained the well, he turned and exclaimed hurriedly, "Look sharp—hand me that light. Our riding-lamp's blown out, and the launch is bearing down straight for us."

It was an anxious moment, but to the lads' relief the red and green steaming lights of the launch changed to red alone, and the craft swept past the yacht at less than five yards distance.

"Good night, sergeant," shouted Harry, as the glare from the boat's furnace lit up the rugged features of the coxswain. Both lads knew the man well, for theSpraywas a frequent visitor to Sandborough Harbour.

"Good night, sir," replied the sergeant. "Where's your riding light? We——"

The remainder of the sentence was lost in the howling breeze.

"Bring that riding-light down. I never knew the thing to play me this trick before," exclaimed Harry.

But with unaccountable obstinacy the lamp refused to burn.

"We must stand by till the launch returns," said Jack. "After that I don't think there will be any more traffic till morning. Besides we are close in to the edge of the mud."

Some minutes later the police-launch with the relieved men passed, and was lost to sight in the darkness. The hulk, too, was invisible in the blackness of the night. Except for the distant arc-lamps in Sandborough Dockyard, where men were working in successive shifts upon a battle-ship now nearing completion, theSpraywas surrounded by a veil of impenetrable night.

"We may as well turn in," remarked Harry, "especially as we have to be up early if we are to catch the young flood."

"Going to leave the lamp in the cabin?"

"No, what for? It's rotten having to sleep with a light swinging to and fro three feet above your head."

Ere long Harry was sleeping soundly, but Jack lay awake upon his narrow bunk. Though used to the lap of the water against the yacht's side and the mournful moaning of the wind through the rigging, there was something—which he could not explain—that drove slumber from him. Even the ticking of the clock seemed to add to his inexplicable feeling of uneasiness.

Presently he heard the sound of oars; not good lusty strokes, but cautious, half-hearted pulls. The dip of the blades was just audible above the noise of the wind, but the usual sound of creaking of tholes or rowlocks was absent. Whoever it was rowing at this time of the night, they were up to no good, thought Jack, because the oars were muffled.

"Perhaps it's some beachcombers coming to sneak some of the yacht's gear," he muttered. "I'll rouse Harry." But ere he could make up his mind to do so the sound of the dipping blades grew fainter and fainter. No doubt the yacht, showing no light, had been unnoticed in the darkness.

"I'm hanged if I can stand this any longer," exclaimed the sleepless youth. "I'll turn out and have a look round."

Fumbling in the darkness he found an oilskin coat with a sou'wester stuffed into one of the pockets. After a tough struggle with the refractory coat, which had stuck together in many places, Jack managed to scramble into the obstinate yet serviceable garment. Well it was that he did so, for on gaining the well he found that a light driving rain was falling.

"Might just as well stick it," he continued, and sheltering behind the after bulkhead of the cabin he looked into the darkness. He tried to locate the powder-hulk. Her approximate position he knew, but there was no visible sign of the storehouse of potential energy.

A thousand tons of cordite. The words seemed to revolve in his mind with persistent frequency. One pound of cordite, under pressure, would blow a man to smithereens; there are 2,240 pounds in a ton; in a thousand tons——

"Whatever is the matter with my nerves to-night?" he exclaimed. "They seem all on edge. To-morrow I'll——"

Suddenly a lurid red flash, quickly followed by a second, pierced the darkness. A brief instant later and two muffled reports, just audible above the now strong gale reached his ears. They were revolver shots, and they came from the powder-hulk.

"WAKE up, old man!" exclaimed Jack, darting into the cabin and shaking his comrade.

"What's up?" asked Harry, awake in a moment.

"There's something up on board the powder hulk. They're firing."

Harry deliberately struck a match, lit the cabin lamp, then looked his chum squarely in the face. But Jack, blinking in the light, seemed too genuinely excited to play a practical joke; besides, his streaming oilskins showed that he had been outside for some considerable time.

"What do you think is the matter?"

"Goodness knows; but—rather a strange thing—a boat passed us some time ago."

"Why strange?"

"She was rowing with muffled oars."

"Oh! We may as well go and have a look at the hulk. Are you game?"

"Yes," replied Jack simply. His sense of uneasiness had now entirely left him, and beyond a tingling sensation in his throat he felt fairly calm and collected.

"Cast off the painter, then," ordered Harry, as he completed his hasty toilet. "I may as well take my revolver, though it's not up to much."

TheSpray, like many other small yachts, carried a revolver, for use in case of emergency. As the skipper remarked, you might have the weapon on board for a lifetime and never require it. On the other hand, you might find it useful for summoning assistance. This particular pistol had seen its day. It was an old-fashioned percussion-capped Colt, taking nearly five minutes to load. Its owner habitually kept one chamber, upon which the hammer rested, empty; three were loaded with powder only, the remaining two had cylindrical bullets in addition to the charge. If the weapon did not miss fire—which was more than possible—it could be relied upon to make a deafening row, if nothing else.

Thrusting the revolver into the pocket of his thick pea-jacket, whence its muzzle projected a good two inches, Armitage jumped into the stern-sheets of the nine-foot dinghy. Jack shipped the oars and pushed off in the direction of the invisible hulk.

It was a strong pull, for the light cockleshell had to make headway against a strong wind and tide, but Standish stuck to his task and "kept his eyes in the boat," guided only by the direction of his companion's extended hand.

"Steady now," cautioned Harry, as the bare outlines of theBikanirbegan to loom up in the darkness. "We're out of the tide here."

"And a thundering good job too," muttered Jack, pausing for one instant to wipe the raindrops from his face.

Rowing with the utmost possible silence he brought the dinghy under the stern of the hulk. Here, sheltered from the wind, the lads held on to a massive mooring-chain, and waited.

Beyond the shrieking and hissing of the wind as it eddied past the old two-decker, there was nothing to be heard. The hulk seemed a silent as the tomb.

"I believe you're mistaken," whispered Armitage; "perhaps those fellows you heard in the boat were wild-fowling by night."

"That won't do," replied Standish. "Firing is prohibited within the limits of the Dockyard Port of Sandborough, and this part lies well within the boundary. Come on—let's pull round to the gangway, only, if we're challenged, we must reply pretty promptly, or the consequences might be awkward."

As the two lads approached the wooden ladder they found that there weretwoboats made fast to the gangway. This looked suspicious, for the watch-keepers were allowed one only, for the purpose of communicating with the lamp-boat in case of emergency.

"That's not a government boat," whispered Armitage pointing to the outside one, a kind known as a wherry. The boat was now within arm's length, and taking hold of the gunwale, Harry peered into the mysterious craft.

With a stifled exclamation he released his hold with a strong shove, and the dinghy immediately drifted down stream.

"Pull in under the stern again," whispered Armitage excitedly.

"What is it?" demanded Standish.

"There are two dead men lying on the bottom-boards of that boat."

"Then the police have shot them. Those were the two shots I heard."

"Do you think so?" asked Harry. "It's the other way about, I fancy. If the water-police had fired the shots they would have signalled for assistance as soon as possible. No, Jack; I'm afraid it's like this. Some rascals have shot the two watchmen and are up to some villainy."

"Perhaps they are not dead after all."

"May not be," assented Harry. "Come on; I've got over the shock now. We'll see what's to be done."

Curiously enough both lads had no thought of rowing off to the nearest ship for assistance. The fact that two unfortunate beings might perhaps be badly injured, and in want of immediate aid urged them to renew their investigations.

image: 08_hulk_police.jpg

[Illustration: As their boat rubbed sides with the mysterious craft, the boys saw two motionless figures lying on the bottom-boards. Armitage clambered in, and cautiously touched the form nearest to him. "They're the water-police!" he cried]

Once more the two boats rubbed sides. Standish held on while his comrade clambered softly into the larger craft, and bent over the two motionless forms lying on the bottom-boards.

They were the water-police. Armitage could distinguish the peaked cap of one of the men. As he cautiously touched the form nearest to him the man writhed. He was bound and gagged.

"Steady there!" whispered Harry. "I'm Armitage. You know—the fellow in the yacht."

The man nodded his head in assent; and his rescuer, now satisfied that he would not receive a blow from the brawny fist of the policeman, deftly removed the gag and severed the man's bonds.

"Be careful with my mate, sir," said the first policeman. "He's been plugged."

The second watchman was quite conscious, and when released, Armitage found that the man had been shot through the left arm. The wound was caused by a small-bore automatic pistol, and had cut so clean a hole that there was very little bleeding.

In a few words the first man, whose name was Smith, whispered the story of what had occurred. Five men had boarded theBikanir, and unperceived had gained the upper deck. Attracted by the voices of the watchmen, who were conversing under the poop-deck, the rogues made a sudden attack upon the unprepared ship-keepers. Smith was thrown on his back, without a struggle, but Adams, the other man, drew his revolver to fire at his assailants. Ere he could take aim he was shot through the left arm, and the sudden sting of the bullet caused him to press the trigger of his weapon and send the charge into the air. A sharp tap on the head knocked all power of resistance out of Adams, and the two men, bound and gagged, were placed in the boat alongside.

"Hadn't we better row you ashore?" said Armitage.

"Won't do," replied Adams grimly. "This wound of mine isn't anything to speak of. We've made a mistake in getting taken unawares, but the Force don't recognise mistakes. Come along, Tom—let's tackle the fellows."

"I'm game," replied Smith, "Blest if the silly fools ain't left me my revolver!" Sure enough, the weapon was still in the man's holster. "Look here, gents, if I was you I would clear off as fast as you can. There's no knowing what them chaps are up to with the magazine."

"Not I," replied Armitage quickly. "I've a revolver with me—not much of a one—but it may come in handy. How about you, Jack?"

Standish thought of the thousand tons of cordite, but in quite a different way from what he had done in the night. He meant to do his best to save the stuff from doing incalculable harm to life and property.

"I'm with you," he replied.

"Then the sooner we tackle the job the better," continued Smith. "Those cowardly brutes may look over the side at any moment, although it's precious dark down here."

Revolver in hand Smith crept softly up the ladder; Armitage, who had turned the chamber of his weapon so that one of the loaded charges would be fired first, followed at his heels; while Standish and the wounded policeman brought up the rear.

Unobserved they gained the entry-port. The five rascals were bending over the main hatchway, beneath which the explosives are stored. The stout padlock and securing bars were rapidly giving way under the persuasion of a file and a couple of crowbars.

"Make your way aft," whispered Smith, "We'll pepper 'em from there."

Just as the hatch-cover was burst open the four made a dash for the shelter of the poop-deck. Standish tripped over a ring-bolt and fell headlong, but Smith turned, picked him up as easily as if he were a mere child, and dragged him under cover, to the accompaniment of a regular fusillade of shots from the automatic pistols of the five determined villains.

"What are you afraid of?" shouted one of the men in a guttural voice, for some of the desperadoes were running forward. "Come with me and settle them properly. They have no pistols."

With that the men stopped their flight, hung together for a few seconds, then advanced, firing wildly as they did so.

Fortunately the poop deck was barricaded off by a 5 in. oak bulkhead, sheathed with steel, that extended down to the hold, thus completely isolating the magazine from the after part of the ship.

Revolver in hand Tom Smith waited, but Armitage, in his inexperience, was not so cautious. Raising his weapon he fired intothe cluster ofadvancing men. The revolverdidgo off this time, with a lurid tongue of flame and a livid report that completely out-voiced the sharp crack of the automatic pistols. But the bullet found no human billet. It had the result of causing the attackers to turn tail and make precipitately for the shelter of the fo'c'sle.

"Pity you didn't reserve your fire, sir," said the policeman reprovingly. "We might have bagged a couple of them at the least."

"I'm sorry," replied Harry.

"Maybe someone ashore will hear the report," continued Smith. "It was like a small cannon going off."

"I'm afraid not," said Jack. "I could only just hear the sound of the first shots, and we are lying less than three hundred yards off. The wind is so high."

"Then perhaps they'll see the flashes," added the man optimistically. "At any rate, we can keep the brutes from tampering with the magazine. They won't dare come aft since they know we've firearms, the white-livered skunks!" Then came a lull. The desperadoes lay still within their defences, while their antagonists kept on thequi viveready to open fire at the first sign of renewed activity on the part of their foes.

"We've trapped them!" exclaimed Armitage, who was busily engaged in breaking out bullets from the policeman's cartridges and ramming them into the chambers of his revolver. "It will be daylight in an hour."

"The relief boat doesn't turn up till six," observed Adams. "I reckon they won't wait till then. They will make a bolt for it."

"We'll cut off their retreat then," added his comrade. "Look here, sir," addressing Standish. "Do you think you could manage to pull off to the light-boat and get the lanterns and the rockets?"

"I'll have a shot at it," replied Jack, although he did not relish the idea of making his way across the upper deck to the gangway and being the target for five automatic pistols.

"No, not that way," exclaimed Smith hurriedly, as Jack prepared to make a dash across the danger zone. "Can you swim? Good. Slip your things off and I'll lower you from the stern gallery. You can then swim to your boat and row off for the gear."

"Look here," exclaimed Standish as he was divesting himself of his clothing. "I wonder if I could tow the other two boats with our dinghy? Then the rascals' retreat would be fairly cut off."

"Not against this wind, even though the tide has turned," replied Smith. "You'd find yourself blown half way up to Flapperham in a brace of shakes. But I'll tell you what. There's plenty of rope on board. You might run off a line to the light-boat, and haul the other boats off to her. When you get to your dinghy pull up under the stern and I'll drop a coil down to you."

"Now I'm ready," announced Jack.

"Bill," exclaimed the policeman, addressing his comrade. "Hang on to my pistol for half a shake, while I lower this gent. How's your arm?"

"Fairly nippy, but it's of no consequence, being my left," replied the man. "When you've been shot through the stomach with a Mauser bullet and through the forearm with a soft-nosed bullet like I have, a little scratch like this don't signify."

It was horribly cold, being lowered feet foremost into the water. Jack would have much preferred to take a header, but once fairly in the chilliness vanished, and he struck out for the gangway, keeping close to the barnacled side of the towering hulk.

Clambering into the dinghy, he rowed to the stern of theBikanirand took the coil of rope on board. The execution of his plan necessitated a double journey; first to the light-boat, then to the two boats tied to the gangway; then back to the light-boat, to which he hauled the sole means of the desperadoes' escape. This done he took the three red lanterns, half a dozen rockets, and a box of matches, and returned to the powder hulk.

"Now what's to be done with the dinghy?" he exclaimed, after he had fastened the procured articles to a rope and sent up to Armitage who was ready to receive them. "We can't leave her made fast here, and we don't want to turn her adrift."

"Throw up your painter and make fast the rope to the after ring-bolt—we'll haul her up to the stern-gallery," replied Harry. "Look sharp; they're going to send up a rocket and then the fun will commence. The lanterns are already lighted."

"I thought the fun commenced a long time ago," remarked Standish as he swarmed up the rope and gained the stern-walk.

"Now then, sir, stand by for a rush," continued Smith, gripping his revolver resolutely, as Adams struck a match and held it to the touch-paper of the rocket.

Swish!With a rush and a roar the rocket soared skywards, and, bursting, gave out a brilliant blue light that threw the deck of the hulk into strong relief.

It was like disturbing a nest of wasps. The five men emerged from the fo'c'sle. Four of them ran blindly for the gangway. Smith's revolver cracked, and one pitched forward on the deck, jerked his limbs once or twice and then lay still. This time the shot failed to stop the rush. The policeman fired again while Armitage, cocking and discharging his antiquated weapon as fast as the could, joined in the attempt to repulse the rush. But, apparently unscathed, the three gained the entry-port and disappeared down the ladder.

"Bad luck to 'em!" exclaimed Smith as he ejected the smoking cylinders from his weapon. "They've got to choose now between death by drowning or penal servitude for life. I——"

"Look out," yelled Standish, in accents of alarm.

The fifth man had, unperceived by the defenders, retraced his steps to the fo'c's'le, and now, with a hissing fuse in his hand, was creeping stealthily towards the partly covered main hatch.

"Wing him, or he'll blow the ship to atoms," shouted Smith, as he feverishly thrust fresh cartridges into his revolver. But Armitage had fired his last shot.

The miscreant, knowing by the policeman's shout that he was discovered, bounded over the remaining distance betwixt him and the gaping hold. Then with one foot upon the coaming he raised the lighted fuse.Bang! Bang!Smith's revolver kickedtwice in quicksuccession.

"Got him, by George!" exclaimed the policeman, and the man staggered and clapped his hand to his chest.

But the exclamation of exultation was changed to one of horror as the desperate scoundrel, still grasping the spluttering fuse, lurched forward and disappeared down the hold.

image: 09_hulk_fuse.jpg

[Illustration: Realising he was discovered, the miscreant bounded over the remaining distance between him and the powder hold, and raised the lighted fuse.]

FOR fully thirty seconds the policeman and the lads remained rooted to the spot, gazing with horror-stricken faces at the gaping hatchway. The momentary expectation of the explosion—the swift upward blaze of fiery light; the awful concussion, the disintegration of the hulk, was pictured under fearfully realistic conditions. A swift death, yet terrible to contemplate.

Even as they waited they saw the fuse, fanned into flame by its flight, had ignited a part of the hold, and a dull glare was playing upon the sides of the coamings. Yet the explosion had not taken place.

Smith was the first to find his voice.

"Perhaps the fire has fallen clear of the cordite," he gasped. "Man the pump; it's our one chance."

The hose of this relic of years past was fortunately already connected, and the two lads frantically turned the heavy crank while the policeman directed the muzzle. Meanwhile Adams had remembered the extincteurs; but in his excitement he threw them down the hold without attempting to unscrew the patent heads, and this means of fighting the flames was absolutely wasted.

But a few revolutions of the pump resulted in a steady flow of water. The flames turned to smoke, and in a few minutes the danger was passed.

But now the tardy assistance was at hand. Steam-launches and pinnaces from the ships in harbour tore pell-mell towards the signals of distress. Bluejackets, scorning the risk they ran, swarmed up the decks of theBikanir. Additional hoses were brought into action, and in less than a quarter of an hour the hold was flooded.

Daylight was now breaking. Jack, pale-faced and breathless, pointed to where theSpraywas now plainly visible, riding to the flood-tide.

"Let's scoot," said he. "I've had enough of this to last me a lifetime."

"Smith," exclaimed Armitage, "we're off. Mind, we don't want to be dragged into this business."

"Very good, sir, and thank'ee for what you've done," replied the man, earnestly. "I'll tell my mate to keep his mouth shut as far as you are concerned."

Half an hour later theSpray, with her exhausted crew, was beating up channel towards Flapperham.

* * * * *

Strange to relate, it afterwards transpired that there was not a pound of explosive on the hulk. A week previously the ordnance people had removed the cordite to the shore magazine. It was no business of the water police to know what the ordnance men did, and by an oversight that department failed to notify the superintendent of police that the watchmen might be withdrawn.

Who the desperadoes were was never known. The body of the most daring of the miscreants was found, badly burned, in the hold. The man who was shot during the rush to the gangway died in hospital the next day without regaining consciousness; while at low water the bodies of the three men who fled down the ladder were found lying on the mud, so the whole of the active members of the gang were accounted for.

As for Smith and Adams, they did well out of the business, both being made sergeants in recognition—so the report states—"of their bravery in frustrating,when absolutely unsupported, a daring attempt by five unknown miscreants upon the powder-hulkBikanir."

THE END.

Transcriber's Notes:"THE CAPTAIN, A MAGAZINE FOR BOYS & 'OLD BOYS.'"was a monthly magazine for young boys. It contained articlesabout how to make things yourself, about schools, photographyand short stories by different authors. The magazines werealso published collectively as half-year volumes. In 1912volume XXVII appeared that included three stories byPercy F. Westerman.Those stories are presented in this ebook, with theaddition of a contents-list and an illustrations-list.This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprint has been corrected:[an attempt will made to] —> [an attempt will be made to][ejacuated Devereux] —> [ejaculated Devereux][asked the American, cutely,] —> [asked the American, acutely,][One warthy Berber] —> [One swarthy Berber][she ay moored] —> [she lay moored][are th signal that a] —> [are the signal that a][the cluste of] —> [the cluster of]Obvious punctuation/spelling errors were corrected without note.

"THE CAPTAIN, A MAGAZINE FOR BOYS & 'OLD BOYS.'"was a monthly magazine for young boys. It contained articlesabout how to make things yourself, about schools, photographyand short stories by different authors. The magazines werealso published collectively as half-year volumes. In 1912volume XXVII appeared that included three stories byPercy F. Westerman.Those stories are presented in this ebook, with theaddition of a contents-list and an illustrations-list.This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprint has been corrected:[an attempt will made to] —> [an attempt will be made to][ejacuated Devereux] —> [ejaculated Devereux][asked the American, cutely,] —> [asked the American, acutely,][One warthy Berber] —> [One swarthy Berber][she ay moored] —> [she lay moored][are th signal that a] —> [are the signal that a][the cluste of] —> [the cluster of]Obvious punctuation/spelling errors were corrected without note.

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