THE WRECKERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN
"Well, Eric," said Homer Tierre to his friend, as they stood together
one evening a few days after the rescue of the survivors of the
_Luckenback_, watching the phosphorescence of the sea, "we're getting
down to the old Spanish Main, now."
"Isn't that a great word for bringing up ideas!" exclaimed Eric in
reply. "It makes one think of the old stories we used to read as kids,
of the black flag with the skull and crossbones and all that sort of
thing. Too bad there aren't any pirates left!"
"I suppose you'd want us to go chasing them!"
"Of course. We should have to, if there were any, wouldn't we?"
"Certainly," his friend answered. "Don't you remember how the old bos'n
of the _Itasca_ used to tell us about the early days of the Revenue
Cutter Service when chasing pirates was a regular part of its duties?
Officially it is still, I suppose, but there aren't any more pirates to
chase."
"What has put them all out of business?" Eric said thoughtfully. "I've
often wondered."
"Steam, mainly," his friend replied, "that 'insult to a seaman's
intelligence,' as our friend the fluent skipper of the _Northwestern_
called it."
"But I don't see why," persisted Eric. "After all, in the days of
sailing ships, the pirates only had sailing ships--and they weren't
always such an awful lot faster. Why couldn't pirates to-day have
steamships, just as fast in comparison to the steamers of to-day as
their clippers were to the sailing ships of old? They'd get much bigger
hauls. Why, one good hold-up of an Atlantic steamer would make a pirate
crew rich for life!"
"You'd better take to the trade," suggested his companion.
"I'd sooner do the chasing," replied the boy; "it's much more fun,
anyway, and I'd rather be on the right side, every time. But don't you
think that there really would be a chance for a big Atlantic greyhound
pirate?"
"I don't think so," the other answered meditatively. "For one thing,
we'd have pirates if there was any such chance. After all, Eric, you've
got to remember that a pirate was successful because of his own
personality. They were a mighty forceful lot--Kidd, Blackbeard,
Lolonnois, and all those early pirates. On a big steamer, the pirate
captain wouldn't have the same sort of chance. There's too many in a
crew, for one thing. Then he'd be practically at the mercy of his
engineers and engine hands. In a mutiny, he'd be up against it for
fair."
"But if a pirate captain could bluff a couple of mates and forty sailors
in his crew, I don't see why he shouldn't he able to bluff a couple of
engineers and fifty stokers," suggested Eric.
"Even supposing he did," said the other, "suppose he had every man on
board terrorized, or so heavily bribed that they would obey him to the
letter, still his troubles would have hardly begun. In the old days, as
long as there was food and water aboard, a sailing ship could cruise
around for months at a time. A steamer needs coal."
"She could take the coal from the bunkers of the ships she held up,"
suggested the boy.
"It would be a good deal more of a job than you reckon," the other
answered. "She couldn't do it at all if there was any sea running, and
even on a calm day, it's a tricky proposition. If you've ever seen a
man-o'-war on a sea cruise trying to coal from a naval collier, that's
built just for that very purpose, you'd get an idea how hard it is.
Meantime, what would the crew and passengers of the liner be doing?"
"Putting in coal, or getting shot down if they resisted."
"You've a bloodthirsty turn of mind," his friend rejoined. "I know the
idea, 'scuppers pouring blood,' and that sort of business, eh?"
"Sure," answered Eric.
"You're forgetting a lot of things," the other said. "An old time
sailing-ship just had the one deck. When a boarding pirate crew had won
the deck, they were masters of the ship. But a modern steamer is like a
building with several floors, one on top of the other. A pirate crew
which could put aboard a steamer as many men as the steamer itself
carried, and still handle itself, would be a small army. What's more, on
a modern steamship, with half a dozen stairways and the whole inside a
labyrinth of rooms, the pirates would be ambushed like rats in a trap a
dozen times over."
"Yes, there's something in that," the boy agreed.
"Then there's the wireless," continued Homer. "Supposing a pirate
steamer hailed a craft. Long before the first boatload of men could
board, or before the ships could have grappled, the wireless operator
would send an 'S O S' call, with a description of the piratic vessel and
the latitude and longitude. The pirate couldn't get coal aboard in less
than twelve hours, and by that time half a dozen vessels would be
steaming at full speed to the spot."
"What difference would that make?" said Eric. "If the pirate were armed
with heavy guns, she could stand off a fleet of commercial vessels that
didn't have any armament."
"Your imagination is working in great shape, Eric," his engineer friend
replied. "It's a pity you don't think far enough ahead."
"How's that?"
"I suppose you'd have your pirate vessel chosen for speed?"
"Of course," the boy answered. "She'd have to be fast in order to make a
getaway."
"Here's where you're forgetting your ship-building," his friend warned
him. "Could she have speed if she were armed with heavy guns? Wouldn't
she necessarily have to be partly the build of a man-o'-war, say a
cruiser?"
"Perhaps she would," said the boy thoughtfully.
"And if she had the build of a cruiser, would she have the speed of an
Atlantic greyhound?"
"That's true," admitted Eric, "she wouldn't. Still that wouldn't matter,
if the only craft that could chase her was a craft without guns."
"Wouldn't it?" his friend queried. "Do you know how they chase wolves in
some parts of Western Canada?"
"No."
"They use a couple of greyhounds and two or three heavy dogs, like
bulldogs or Airedales or wolfhounds. The wolf can easily outrun the
heavy dogs, but when it comes to real speed he isn't in it with a
greyhound. The greyhounds overtake Mr. Wolf in less than no time, nip at
him, worry him, anger him until he turns on them. They won't even try to
fight and he hasn't a chance of catching them. Meantime, the heavy dogs,
following up the scent, come pounding along the trail. The wolf sees
them and lopes off again, the greyhounds after him. They badger and
worry him again, and again he turns. By the time this has happened three
or four times, the heavy dogs have caught up to their quarry, and the
fight is on. Two or three minutes and it's all over, and there's one
wolf the less to harry the flocks of sheep."
"Well?"
"That's just about what would happen to this pirate of yours. Suppose he
did stop an Atlantic steamer, suppose he did board her successfully,
suppose he got his coal bunkers full, suppose he carried a heap of
treasure to his own vessel flying the Jolly Roger and got away with it.
He'd have the other ships around, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose he would," Eric admitted.
"You can bet your last dollar he would. And their wireless would be
working overtime, wouldn't it?"
"Of course."
"Piracy is a matter that every maritime nation is interested in. The
newspapers of the world would have the story by wireless the next
morning, the governments of the world would know almost as quickly. By
noon the next day half a dozen warships would be steaming from different
directions in search of the pirate, led as straight as a magnet to the
pole by the radio information constantly being sent from the light
passenger steamers that were pursuing. If the naval fleet included a
destroyer with a thirty-knot speed, where would your pirate get off at?"
[Illustration: FOAM--THE DERELICT'S ONLY TOMBSTONE.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
[Illustration: MINING A LURKING PERIL.
A submerged derelict, waterlogged, scarcely visible, for which a diver
must be sent down to place the mines.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
"He wouldn't have a show. I see," continued Eric, regretfully, "I'll
have to give up the hope of being able to join in a real pirate chase."
"Of course," the young engineer said thoughtfully, "a pirate in a
submarine might be able to do something."
"Now there's a real idea," exclaimed Eric. "Maybe there's a chance yet!"
"I'm afraid not, even there," answered the other, smiling at his
friend's eagerness, "mainly because of that same question of fuel. The
captain of the submarine would have to be in cahoots with some supply
station, and with the howl that would be made all over the world by
modern piracy, it would be hard for the fuel contractor to hide his
output. The only way that I can see would be for such a pirate to watch
out for ships loaded with what was most needed, run up and threaten to
torpedo the craft with everybody on board unless they took to the boats,
put a prize crew aboard and run that steamer to a lonely beach on an
uninhabited island and start a supply depot of his own there."
"But a submarine couldn't carry a large enough crew to conquer a
steamer."
"They wouldn't need to," said Homer. "It would be enough to send one man
aboard to demand the treasure."
"Well?"
"The submarine could lie to, with her submerged torpedo tubes pointing
full at the vessel. If within a given space of time the treasure was not
shipped and the pirate lieutenant returned safe, a torpedo would be
fired which would send the steamer to Davy Jones with all hands. As a
captain is more responsible for the lives of his passengers than for
their gold, he would have to consent. One might easily get half a
million dollars from one of the larger vessels. Three or four cruises of
that kind would be quite enough, and our friend, the imaginary pirate
captain and all his crew, could retire from the profession."
"But do you really think such a thing is possible?"
"It's very unlikely," his friend replied, "but there's no doubt that
it's possible. Several submarines have been sunk in the Great War, and
one or more of these might be fished up by wreckers. Being hermetically
sealed, no water would have got in, and their machinery would be as good
as ever, even if they had been lying under the water for some months. As
for crew--if the pay were big enough, there would be always enough
desperate fellows to be found to make the venture. Yes, that plan is
feasible enough. And, what's more, it would be hard to stop. Really, the
more you think of it, the more possible it seems. The only weakness is
the coaling."
"It seems to me," Eric said, "that if she could coal at sea, sink the
ship and tow the boats containing the crew within reach of land, she
would be pretty safe."
"Yes," his friend answered, "if she could stay at sea indefinitely until
treasure enough had been accumulated, I believe a submarine could get
away with it. There might be difficulty afterwards in getting rid of the
bullion and the jewels, but, after all, that's a different question. It
has nothing to do with the piracy."
Eric peered into the darkness, putting his hand over his eyes as though
to look intently.
"Pirate, ahoy!" he called softly. "Three points off the starboard bow!"
The young lieutenant of engineers laughed.
"You'll be dreaming of pirates in your next watch below," he said, as he
turned away, "or you'll be running up the skull and cross-bones instead
of the Stars and Stripes and we'll have to court-martial you."
"Little chance of that," replied the boy, "but maybe there'll be a
submarine pirate some day that we'll have a chance to chase. I'll live
in hopes!"
By a somewhat curious coincidence, a few days after this conversation,
the _Miami_ passed the Dry Tortugas, the old-time capital of that
Buccaneer Empire which for forty years held the navies of the entire
world at bay. It was a curious chapter in the history of the seas, and
Eric caught himself wondering whether the future of navigation held any
such surprising and adventurous period in store. He was to learn
shortly, however, that the Coast Guard was thoroughly fitted to meet
similar emergencies and that her naval powers could be made swiftly
operative even in times of peace.
As the cutter was proceeding to her station at Key West, she sighted a
schooner, which, by signal flags, reported that she had that morning
passed a bark flying the reversed ensign, with her yards awry and her
sails aback. On running close to the schooner the _Miami_ learned that
the bark had changed her course when the schooner approached, and when
the schooner fell on her course the bark came aback again. A second time
the schooner went to her relief, and again the bark squared off on her
course.
"Queer thing," said Eric, after the flags had been read. "What do you
suppose it is?"
"Looks like mutiny," said his chum. "I suppose we'll chase her and find
out. Too bad the schooner never got near enough to see her name."
"What's the odds? We've got a description. Hello! Forced draft, eh?"
"Yes, it looks like trouble. You wanted to see a pirate chase, Eric. I
don't believe that's on the boards, but at least a mutiny chase smacks
of the old days."
The information given by the schooner proved to be startlingly correct,
for a couple of hours later the lookout in the crow's-nest reported,
"Sail on the port bow!"
"Where away?" asked the chief officer.
"Nearly dead ahead, sir," was the reply.
The captain leveled his glass at the craft. Eric watched him closely,
for his expression was puzzling. In an hour's time the _Miami_ which,
under forced draft, was flying through the water, overhauled the vessel.
Just as the schooner had reported, the bark was in irons, with her yards
braced athwartwise and her sails aback. The British merchant flag was
flying at her mizzen-gaff, with the ensign down.
No sooner was the _Miami_ within a mile or two of the bark than the
vessel squared around her yards and began to scud before the wind. She
had a good pair of heels and it was not surprising that the schooner had
not started to pursue. There was no real reason why she should
interfere. But with the Coast Guard cutter it was another matter. A
signal of distress had been seen, an American vessel had called on the
cutter, and now the suspected craft was running away. The chase began.
No sooner did the bark realize that she was actually being chased than
men were sent aloft, and the fore-royal and main sky-sail were set, a
heavy press of the sail for the full breeze. This absolutely determined
the fact that the Coast Guard cutter would chase, for the bark was
fleeing. It was getting late in the afternoon, and within a couple of
hours darkness would close down. The moon would not rise until nearly
midnight, so that there would be two or three hours in which the sailing
vessel could give the cutter the slip. Little by little, however, the
_Miami_ began to close up. The breeze freshened, increasing the chances
of the fugitive, but still the cutter lessened the distance between
them.
Immediately after dinner, a few minutes before eight bells struck in the
second dog watch, the first lieutenant, at the captain's direction, gave
orders to clear away the bow gun. The gun crew sprang to stations, and a
moment later the sharp crack of a rapid fire six-pounder sounded across
the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, an order from Uncle Sam for the
fleeing bark to stop.
But the stranger paid no heed. With the glass, figures could be seen on
the main deck and on the poop, but it was too far away to determine what
they were doing.
The captain turned suddenly to the officer of the deck. "Did you see
anything, Mr. Keelson?" he asked.
The officer, who had his eyes glued to his glass, replied,
"I thought I saw the smoke of shots!"
"That's what I thought," the captain answered. Then, in a quick voice
of command, he added,
"You may use solid shot!"
A few seconds sufficed to carry out the work.
"Try for her upper spars!" was the next order.
The sharp crack of a shot from the six-pounder was the reply, and
simultaneously, holes appeared in the gaff topsail and the main
topgallant staysail. The wind immediately slivered the sails to ribbons
and they began lashing about the rigging. At this, the main yards were
swung round, the mainsails came aback and ten minutes later the _Miami_
was alongside.
Two boats' crews, fully armed, were sent aboard. The situation which
greeted Eric, in the second lieutenant's boat, was unusual. A rope
ladder had been thrown over the ship's side from the main deck. Above
the ladder was an excited group, all shouting at the top of their
voices. The senior second lieutenant, who was in charge of the boat to
which Eric had been assigned, took command of the party. He asked for
the captain. One of the men pointed to the helmsman.
"Are you the captain?" the Coast Guard officer demanded.
"Si, signor," the man answered, "I the captain."
"Johnson," said the lieutenant, "relieve the wheel!"
One of the Coast Guard men saluted, stepped forward and took the wheel.
The vessel was hove to.
"Are you English?" the lieutenant asked, when this manoeuver had been
completed.
"Italiano!" the captain of the bark replied.
"Then what's that flag doing there?" the Coast Guard officer asked,
pointing to the reversed British merchant flag which still hung at the
gaff.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"The only one I have. The mate he take the others," he answered.
"Where's the mate?"
An evil-looking fellow with rings in his ears and a long knife stuck in
his belt slouched forward. He did not come alone. Half a dozen sailors,
evidently part of a gang, came aft with him.
Thinking that a little example might be salutary, the lieutenant turned
to the file of men who had come on board with him. The men had their
rifles at the carry.
"'Tion! Order arms!"
The butts of the rifles came down on the ship's deck with the precision
of clockwork and the rattle was ominous. The Coast Guard officer had a
steely note in his voice, as he continued.
"You're the mate?"
"Yes," the man said sulkily, but in good English, "I'm the first mate,
all right."
"Did you remove the signal flags from the locker?"
"What if I did?"
"Did you receive orders from your captain to do so?"
"Not exactly--"
"Yes or no!"
"N-no!"
"And was he on deck at the time?"
"Yes."
"Did he order you not to haul down the flag?"
"I don't have to do everything he tells me."
"Did he order you not to haul down the flag? Yes or no?"
"Well, yes."
"And did you haul it down several times?"
"Yes, but--"
"I don't want to hear your excuses or your reasons. That's mutiny,"
the lieutenant said, simply. Then, turning to the captain, he said,
"Do you accuse him of mutiny?"
"Yes," the master answered, "he mutiny."
"Put the irons on him, Quartermaster," said the lieutenant, and
handcuffs were snapped on the first mate's wrist.
[Illustration: STRANDED! AFTER STORM HAS CEASED AND TIDE HAS EBBED.
The end of a gallant bark driven on a lee shore, but from which the
Coast Guard rescued every one on board.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
"Any more of your men mutiny, Captain?" asked the lieutenant.
"I tell you whole story," the shipmaster answered. "You speak Italian?"
"French," the Coast Guard officer answered, "but not Italian."
"French? Fine!" the captain replied, and stepping forward, he told the
story of the trip. It appeared that the ship had part of her cargo
consigned to Vera Cruz, consisting of cartridges, designed for the
Mexican government. The mate had practically seized the ship and
demanded that the captain sail her to Puerto Mexico, one of the southern
ports, in the hands of the Zapatistas. The Mexican rebel general was to
pay a good price for the ammunition, and then the captain was to be
allowed to proceed with the ship unmolested on the rest of his cruise.
As the ammunition had been shipped from an American port, the Coast
Guard lieutenant realized that complications might ensue. Accordingly,
since it was only a few hours' run to Apalachicola, and the wind was
fair, the lieutenant advised the Italian captain to run for that port
and deal with the question of the mate and the other three mutineers
before the proper court.
A file of men, under command of Gunner Sternow, was left on board the
bark to preserve order. The mate and the three other mutineers were
thrust in irons into the carpenter's shop, which was converted into a
prison for the purpose, one of the cutter's men standing on guard. The
following morning, the harbor authorities of Apalachicola having been
notified by wireless, a tug came off bearing authority for the formal
arrest of the four men, who were taken ashore and put in prison, pending
action by the Italian consul and the civil authorities.
"I suppose this mutiny business is rather rare," said Eric to Homer, as
the _Miami_ swung out of Apalachicola Bay.
"Not so rare as you'd fancy," his friend answered. "There's not a season
goes by that some of the cutters don't have to take a hand in settling
mutiny. Why, only last year, a crew seized a vessel, in the real
old-fashioned pigtail and tarred-trousers style, imprisoned the master
in the cabin, and started to sail the ship back to the United States on
their own hook."
"Where were they bound for?"
"'Frisco, from Philadelphia, round the Horn. She was the _Manga Reva_,
an American full-rigged ship with a crew of twenty-three men. She was
about 600 miles out when the men mutinied and sailed her back to
Delaware Breakwater. The master succeeded in running up a distress
signal, which was reported to the _Onondaga_. You know her station is
just north of Hatteras. The _Onondaga_ put an armed crew on board, and
took the mutineers on board the cutter, steamed up the river to
Wilmington, Delaware, where they were turned over to the Federal
authorities to await trial."
"What did they get?"
"Pretty heavy terms of imprisonment," the other answered; "mutiny on the
high seas is a mighty ticklish thing."
"What do you suppose this mate we collared will get?"
"Hard to say," the other answered. "After all, he's an Italian, sailing
under Italian colors. Uncle Sam's always careful about international
law. But the Italian maritime laws are very strict, and if he's sent
back to Italy, I'm sorry for him."
For the next two months, little of adventurous importance occurred. The
_Miami_ disposed of several more dangerous derelicts in the gulf of
Mexico. She assisted a small steamer belonging to the Public Health
Service of Key West, which had anchored in an exposed position, and
towed her to safe moorings. She rescued two men in a small motor boat,
out of sight of land, who had drifted after the machinery had broken
down. In addition to this, she floated and towed to harbor three
sailing-vessels which had struck on the treacherous reefs of the waters
of the Florida Keys. The work was constant, and the Coast Guard cutter
was on the job without ceasing, but there was little to stir the
complement to their utmost.
Then came trouble. From the wireless station,--that continuous recorder
of difficulty and disaster, came word that a Norwegian steamer was
ashore on Twisted Cay, and asking for immediate assistance against
native wreckers. The _Miami_ immediately started for the scene of the
disaster, and about noon of the next day arrived in sight of the
vessel.
"They've been having trouble of some sort," said Eric, as the cutter
steamed up to the scene of the wreck. "And look at the nerve of them;
they don't seem to pay any attention to us!"
The boats' crews were ordered out, and Eric, as before, was in the
smaller craft. The two boats pulled to the side of the vessel, and the
boy accompanied the second lieutenant on board. The steamer was lying
with her head to the southward and westward, with a decided list to
starboard. Twenty or thirty small sailing-boats were clustered round
her, like ants round a piece of sugar. What was still more daring, while
most of the wreckers had left the stranded steamer on the arrival of the
cutter, others actually stayed on board. They were an evil-looking lot,
and heavily armed.
The scene on board was a striking one. The first thing noticed by Eric
was the presence of two men propped up against the starboard rail, pale
and roughly bandaged.
"Where's the captain?" was the lieutenant's first question.
"I'm Captain Jorgsen," was the reply, as a finely built, ruddy
middle-aged man advanced. "Glad to see you on board."
"Good morning, Captain. You reported by wireless having trouble with
these wreckers," the Coast Guard officer remarked; "are these men of
yours badly hurt?"
"One of them is," the captain answered. "Have you a doctor in your
party?"
"We've one aboard. Mr. Swift," he continued, turning to Eric, "will you
please take the boat and bring Dr. Fuhrman here?"
Eric saluted and was in his boat almost on the instant. The doctor,
guessing that possibly the call might be for him, was waiting at the
ladder with his instrument-bag in case he should be needed. Formalities
were unnecessary, so that when the boat pulled alongside and Eric,
looking up, saw the doctor at the rail he called,
"Couple of patients for you, Doctor."
"Right you are," was the answer, and the surgeon came down the ladder as
nimbly as Eric could have done himself. On arriving at the wrecked
steamer, it was found that the injuries were knife-wounds, one of them
deep and necessitating an immediate operation.
As there was a good deal of likelihood that the steamer might go to
pieces on the reef if a storm blew up, it was decided to take the two
injured men to the _Miami_, where the doctor could give them better
attention. Owing to the difficulty of the steamer's position on the
reef, with the surf breaking over her to the windward and the rocks to
lee, this trans-shipment of the injured men was not accomplished without
difficulty, but by three o'clock in the afternoon, the men were safely
on board the cutter.
Meantime the lieutenant had been trying to place the responsibility for
the crime, but this was impossible. All that the captain of the steamer
could say was that, during a fight with the wreckers the preceding
night, these two men had been knifed. In response to questions, Captain
Jorgsen expressed the hope that some of the wreckers had got hurt
themselves, but he regretted that his crew had been defenseless, with
nothing but belaying pins and such like weapons for their protection. As
the belaying pins in question were iron and twice as heavy as a
policeman's club, Eric could not help smiling at the suggestion of
inoffensiveness that the captain conveyed.
At the request of the captain of the steamer, the _Miami_ agreed to lie
by her through the night, until the arrival of a wrecking tug from
Havana, a message having been received by the _Miami_ that the tug had
started for the scene of the disaster. Steam had been kept up on the
wrecked steamer for the handling of the winches and so forth.
Suddenly, in the middle of the night, about two bells in the middle
watch, a succession of short, sharp whistles from the steamer pierced
the darkness. The first lieutenant of the _Miami_ was on the deck in a
few moments. Meantime, the officer of the watch had ordered the
searchlight thrown on the steamer.
The light revealed the deck a struggling mass of men. In the darkness
all the wreckers had gathered to board their victim, and at a given
signal not less than a hundred and fifty men had swarmed on to the
vessel's decks.
The crew was pinned back into two groups, fighting like wild-cats. Most
of them, powerfully built Scandinavians, were sweeping aside the natives
before them, but the odds were overpowering. The negroes shouted and
yelled as they tried to beat the sailors down. Already the main hatch
had been forced open and a stream of men was pouring down, for the
wreckers knew of valuables which formed a part of the cargo.
A few sharp orders, and the cutter's boats were off to the wreck, the
crews armed, their rifles loaded with ball. At the same time, one of the
six-pounders was let loose and sent a few shots whistling over the
steamer, illumined only by the patch of intense white light thrown by
the searchlight of the _Miami_.
The boats were half-way across to the steamer, where there was a sudden
cessation of the fighting, and over the side of the vessel the wreckers
came swarming like rats leaving a sinking ship. But the _Miami's_ men
had been too quick for all to escape and more than a dozen of the
natives were pinned on board.
As soon as the wreckers had heard the _Miami's_ guns and fled, the tide
of battle turned, and on the dozen which remained, the crew of the
steamer had taken a swift vengeance. None of them was seriously hurt,
but they had been beaten up in a way that they would remember to the end
of their days. Captain Jorgsen, who had been in the thick of the fight,
was to the front when the cutter boats landed.
"I wish you'd put a hole in every one of those thieving boats," he
growled.
"They deserve it, all right," the Coast Guard officer answered, "but I
doubt if the Department would approve."
"If I had a gun like yours," said Captain Jorgsen, grimly, "I'd fire at
'em an' keep firing until I didn't have a shot left in the locker."
"I'm afraid we can't very well send you over one of our six-pounders,"
said the other, "but it seems to me you have a right to protect yourself
from being boarded in this way. I'll send over some small-arms and
ammunition in the morning and we'll stand by you and keep these black
rascals in order. But I wanted to ask you, Captain Jorgsen, how did you
come to be so far out of your course?"
"I was right on my course," the skipper growled. "That's what makes me
so sore. But when I passed Cross Keys light, I thought I must have
figured wrong. I never stopped to think why the light was nearly a
quarter of a degree from where she should have been by my reckoning, and
I changed my course by that."
"Well?"
"One of my men heard those chicken-livered black-hided cowards laughing
to themselves about the way they fooled vessels with their 'patent
light.'"
[Illustration: THE SIGNAL OF DISTRESS THAT WAS NEVER SEEN.
The missing lifeboat from the burned steamer, Columbian, abandoned. Note
the coat at the masthead.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
"You mean that the wreckers have put up a false light to lead vessels on
to the reefs?"
"It's that decoy light that brought me here," said the skipper, "and if
you hadn't come when you did, I reckon every one of us would have had
our throats cut and the vessel would have been skinned by this time."