THE BARON’S METHODS
Baron von Hiemskirk roared with laughter. “Splendid, Captain—splendid!
To use an American expression, Herr Captain—we pirates are not always as
dumb as we may look. I know all about that warship. It will take her
five hours, fast steaming, to reach this ship.”
He turned his back contemptuously on the furious skipper and walked to
the rail. A glance overside told him that the launch, crowded to the
gunwales with more men from the _Flying Fish_ was nosing the landing
stage below. He again approached the choleric officer.
“I now take over this ship. Order your crew to the forecastle and your
officers to their cabins. You and I, my friend, will repair to your
quarters. I want to look over your ship’s papers.”
By this time the second boarding party reached the deck, and commands
snapped from the Baron like reports from a machine gun.
Accompanied by an armed seaman from the _Flying Fish_, Bill and Osceola
followed the chief commissary steward below. The man had been told off
for the duty by the Baron, with a promise that if there were any
complaints upon their return, he would be shot. On second thought, he
had expanded Bill’s orders.
“You will attend to the oil and gas,” he said, “and in addition, you
will commandeer all stores leaving two days’ crews’ rations for the
passengers. Break out what men you need and get the supplies to this
deck on the port side. And just as quickly as possible, Mr. Bolton.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Arrived at the chief steward’s office, he was amazed to learn from the
man’s lists the vast amount of eatables carried by the liner.
“Gosh, there’s everything here from caviar to oatmeal!”
“Well, orders are orders,” said Osceola. “While you’re deciding what to
take and what to leave, I’ll get hold of the crew and meet you below in
the storerooms.”
“Right-o! I’ll be with you in a jiffy. I hate to have to do this, but if
we don’t make a clean job of it, you and I will finish out this cruise
in the well-known brig!”
For the next few hours, both lads worked like beavers superintending the
transportation of supplies. Leaving Osceola in charge below, Bill went
up to the deck where the boxes, barrels and crates from the storerooms
were being stacked by members of the captured liner’s crew. The _Flying
Fish_, now transformed into her guise of submarine, came along side, a
hoist was brought into use and the provisions lowered to her.
It soon became evident that the underseas boat’s cargo capacity would
take but a fraction of the plunder, so Bill ordered the _Orleans’_
lifeboats to be lowered. One by one, these were loaded. The first boat
to receive its quota of goods was secured to the _Flying Fish_ by a
tow-line, and the bow of each succeeding lifeboat made fast by a line to
the stern of the one ahead. When the last load of crates was being
lowered overside, Bill found Osceola at his elbow.
“That tears it, I reckon. Good plan that—using the boats. I wondered how
you were going to load all that stuff in the _Flying Fish_.”
“I hated to do it,” admitted his friend, “but now that the _Orleans_ is
practically without provisions, she will have to return to New York, and
she can make port in less than twenty-four hours. With this fine
weather, there’s little or no danger of the passengers needing the
boats.”
“What are we to do now?” asked Osceola.
“Report to Herr Baron, I reckon.”
Bill hailed one of the submarine’s petty officers who was herding the
crew back to their quarters.
“Do you know where we’ll find Baron von Hiemskirk?”
“He is in the main dining salon, sir.”
“Come along, Osceola,” said Bill. “He must be pretty nearly finished
with his own particular job. I hope so, anyway. If that cruiser shows up
and we’re caught—well, it will take a lot of explaining to justify our
part in this. The chances are, I’d be handed my discharge from the Navy,
if nothing worse.”
Osceola nodded gloomily and the two made their way along an almost empty
deck to the main companionway.
“I wonder where the passengers have disappeared to,” mused the young
Seminole, as they descended the broad staircase.
“They’ve probably been sent to their cabins for the time being. If my
guess is a good one, the big boy is at present engaged in robbing the
entire first class of their valuables.”
“It’s certainly a bad bit of work, Bill.”
“Gee, I know it. But some day we may be able to get even with this
polite pirate. Just now all we can do is to smile and take orders.”
They found the Baron seated at the head of the captain’s table. An angry
gentleman, his wife and two pretty daughters, under guard of a seaman,
stood before him.
“Mr. Rodney Conway and family, of New York.” The Baron glanced at a list
he held. “I am glad to say that this little interview will conclude my
business aboard the _Orleans_.”
“Look here!” cut in the passenger. “This whole thing is preposterous!
Why, your men have ransacked our cabins and stolen nearly everything of
value we have with us. If, as you seem to be, you are German citizens, I
shall certainly make a complaint in person to the German ambassador,
when this ship lands us in England!”
The Baron von Hiemskirk smiled, but the smile was not a pleasant one. “I
do not recognize the present German government,” he said sneeringly,
“and it also may interest you to know that they are quite as keen to
apprehend me and put a stop to my business ventures as you are.
Furthermore, Mr. Conway, you and your family are not going to
England—not by this ship.”
Mr. Conway started visibly. Then he drew himself up: “I do not care for
myself—but I must beg of you to spare my wife and daughters—”
The Baron put up a restraining hand. “There is no cause for alarm, Mr.
Conway. Unless, of course, you prove to be unreasonable. Who’s Who tells
me that you are president of the Western Hemisphere Bank in New York
City, and that you are on the board of directors of other important
financial institutions. Now, there will be a small matter of ransom to
go into before we part company. At present, time presses. You and your
family will go for a cruise with me—an agreeable one, I trust—until this
business of ransom can be attended to. You will go on deck with this
seaman now. Your cabin baggage has already left the ship. That will be
all, I think.” He stood up in dismissal, and bowed.
“Good afternoon,” he beamed, “and bon voyage!”
The Conway family, under guard, left the salon. Baron von Hiemskirk
beckoned to Bill and Osceola who had been silent witnesses of this
charming scene.
“I have to report, sir,” said Bill at once, “that the supplies have been
placed aboard the _Flying Fish_ and the lifeboats. They are now ready
for transport to the _Amtonia_.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bolton, and you, too, Chief. I was certain that I could
trust you with the job. That was a good idea to use the lifeboats. If a
heavy sea had been running the greater part of the stuff must have been
left behind.”
“I should think,” said Osceola, “that you would have brought up the
_Amtonia_ and placed the stuff aboard her direct.”
The Baron smiled goodhumoredly. “Mr. Bolton can you tell him my reason
for not doing so? I am not really a blood-thirsty person by nature,
Chief.”
“Baron von Hiemskirk does not wish vessels like the _Orleans_ to know
that the _Amtonia_ is in his service, Osceola.”
“But what has bloodthirstiness got to do with it, if I may ask?”
Bill answered this too. “I suppose the Baron feels it would be necessary
to sink such vessels whose crews or passengers guess his secret. Am I
right, Sir?”
“Quite, Mr. Bolton. That warship, for instance, will arrive here in an
hour or so. All that she can learn from those left aboard this ship is
that the _Flying Fish_ and the _Orleans_ boats have departed in such and
such a direction—which, of course, will not be the one they will
eventually take.”
“But won’t they wireless that news to the _Stamford_ just as soon as we
leave the ship?” inquired the Chief.
“Nobody,” replied the Baron gently, “will use the wireless after we
leave, for the simple reason that this ship’s wireless will not be in
working order. Now we will go on deck.”
He led the way up the staircase without speaking further. At the
entrance to the companionway, they were met by one of the Baron’s men.
“Beg to report, sir, that all decks have been cleared. Passengers and
crew are locked in their cabins. The fires have been drawn and the
wireless has been put out of commission.”
“Good. We shall shove off at once.”
The officer preceded them toward the gangway where a squad of armed
seamen were drawn up.
“By Jove!” cried Osceola. “What’s become of the _Flying Fish_? She’s
disappeared. Surely she can’t have submerged and carried the boats down
with her.”
“No such luck,” muttered Bill sotto voce. “There she is, with her
blooming boats in tow, off to the westward. She probably got underway
about the time we went below. What’s the matter, Osceola? You seem to be
in the dumps.”
“Well, I hate this work we’ve been doing, that’s all, Bill. Unless we
can act pretty soon—do something to stop this robbing of innocent
people, I’ll be so low, I’ll have to reach up to touch bottom!”
“Gosh, I’m with you. I could hardly keep quiet when that interview with
the Conways took place. But tonight, we’ll talk. Keep smiling now—here
we are at the gangway. Gee, we’re swiping the _Orleans_ launch! I
wondered how we were going to get back to the _Amtonia_.”
“These guys,” said Osceola disgustedly, “snatch everything that’s loose.
What’s nailed down they pull up and charge the owners for the nails!”
Following the Baron, who was conversing with an officer, they went down
the steps of the gangway, and took seats in the waiting launch.