THE CHASE
By the time Bill reached his station on the poop, the quiet routine
aboard the liner had given way to activity. The _Amtonia_ was awake to
the heat and fever of desperate life.
Lieutenant Schneider, who was in command of the gun, seized Bill’s arm.
“Bolton!” he cried, “look there—she’s changed her course! She’s going to
head us off!”
Shading his eyes with his hand, Bill strained them toward the northern
horizon. The great molten surface of the sun was already half
obliterated by the spreading bank of fog that turned the sea to dull
amethyst.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “If that fog keeps increasing, the visibility
will soon be too poor for the cruiser to get our range.”
“There is Commander Geibel on the bridge. The ship is in good hands—that
is a blessing!” Lieutenant Schneider’s tone betrayed his excitement.
“We’re sheering off to starboard—” said Bill. “That’s good news. It’s
going to be a close thing, just the same.”
Schneider jumped on the rail and leaned outward in order to get a better
view of the forward end of the ship.
“The Exec. has left the bridge!” he cried. “What’s happened now?”
“Calm down! He’s probably run down the steps and crossed that gangway to
the foremast. Yes, there he is! See him? He’s climbed up to the lookout.
Gosh, that lad’s got a voice. You can hear him bellowing orders all over
the ship, I’ll bet.”
“He’s a good officer,” admitted the Lieutenant, getting off the rail.
“Too bad the Herr Baron is not able to take command. He would use the
_Flying Fish_ to get us out of this mess.” He pointed to the submarine
racing along off their starboard quarter. “_Donner und Blitzen!_ I
believe she is going to submerge!”
“The very best thing she could do, under the circumstances,” Bill
asserted. “What would you have her do—head over yonder and let go a
torpedo?”
“Wasn’t she built for that kind of thing?” Lieutenant Schneider’s tone
was still nettled.
“Perhaps she was, but not in a position of this kind. That cruiser would
blow her out of the water before she got near enough to make a torpedo
effective!”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you go aboard her and get busy with her
in the air?”
“And stop both the _Flying Fish_ and ourselves while a boat is being
lowered and I am ferried over to her? Even if the _Amtonia_ was able to
get away, the _Flying Fish_ would be blown to pieces long before she was
ready to take off. Weren’t you in the merchant service before you
shipped aboard this raider?”
“I was—but why?”
“Commander Geibel was an officer in the Imperial German Navy. He fought
through the war. I’ve never been in action before, but I’ve had a couple
of years at the U. S. Naval Academy and I know that our Commander is
doing the one thing possible to save his ships.”
“Then I suppose you think it a waste of time and effort for us to be
manning the guns?”
Bill laughed good-naturedly and clapped the incensed lieutenant on the
shoulder. “Let’s not fight about it. Clearing for action and manning the
guns is okay. It’s splendid discipline and helps the morale of the crew.
But you know just as well as I do, Schneider, that if we win out, coal
will do it, not gunpowder.”
“I’m sorry,” apologized the German, and offered his hand.
Bill took it, feeling rather silly.
“Here it comes!” he cried a moment later, as a white cloud of smoke
enveloped the cruiser’s forward turret.
“Missed!” exclaimed the lieutenant. “I can’t hand your compatriots much
on their shooting, Bolton. That shot didn’t come within a thousand
meters of the ship.”
“That was just meant as a warning,” explained Bill. “Those gunners know
they aren’t yet within range of this ship. It’s the next five minutes
that’s going to tell the tale.”
Lieutenant Schneider studied the battleship through his sea glasses.
“She’s steaming more to the eastward,” he remarked sharply.
“And we’ve sheered off a point or two. The fog’s coming our way—and
coming fast. It’s getting darker by the minute. The sun’s almost washed
out. Gosh, this is better than a horse race. Doesn’t it give you a
thrill, Schneider?”
The young officer grimaced. “Not the kind of thrill I enjoy, thank you.
If that cruiser suddenly blew up, I shouldn’t weep. There—she’s firing
again. Oh, if our guns could only carry over to her!”
This time the projectile struck the water a bare twenty yards ahead of
the speeding liner. So close was it that those aboard the _Amtonia_ felt
the spray from the geyser that shot skyward.
“We’re within their range, now, that’s a cinch!” Bill said calmly.
“Do you think they’ll hull us, knowing that there are passengers aboard,
Bolton?”
“They’re sure to, unless Commander Geibel puts on the brakes. It’s his
responsibility, not theirs. That last shot was an order to stop. The
Commander is paying no attention to it. He’s evidently decided to take
the risk. You can’t blame him. Give us another minute and we’ll be in
the fog. Those prisoners below-decks, or passengers, as you call them,
will have to take their chance with the rest of us—”
There came a terrific crash which jarred the ship from end to end. Every
man of the gun crew was thrown to the deck. For several seconds the
_Amtonia_ trembled like a live thing in agony. Her speed slackened
materially. But before the dazed men could scramble to their feet, she
was blanketed in a protecting cloak of fog. Bells rang, men shouted
orders, and the wounded ship swung round to the northwest with a
suddenness that sent her over at a sharp angle while the crew went
rolling into the starboard scuppers.
There was no more firing from the cruiser. The race, for the time being,
was over.
“That,” said Bill, as he picked himself up, “is what I call a direct
hit.”
“Don’t I know it!” stormed Schneider. “If my knee isn’t fractured it’s
no fault of this deck!” He limped over to the rail and leaned against
it. “Thanks be to Neptune for this fog—that’s a blessing, if nothing
else is!”
“Never mind,” chaffed Bill. “When the skipper wakes up he’ll pin an iron
cross on you. First casualty, you know. Wounded in the line of duty and
all that—which reminds me,” he went on more seriously, “that there are
likely to be other casualties aboard. That shot struck somewhere aft, if
I know anything about it.”
“Look here,” said Schneider. “I’ve got to remain with the gun crew until
we’re released from this duty. Suppose you go forward. See the
Commander, if you can. If he’s not on the bridge, speak to whoever is in
charge, and find out what the damage is. The ship is no more than
limping along now. I’m sure there is serious trouble somewhere. Tell the
Commander I’m standing by with these men and if extra help is needed,
they can get busy at once. There’s nothing to do here. Oh, I forgot to
say—give him my compliments. My knee is paining me so, I can hardly
think!”
“Don’t worry,” chuckled Bill. “I won’t disgrace you. Bye-bye. I’ll fetch
some liniment from the dispensary on my way back, if I can.”
He touched his cap and ran forward.
En route he met several parties of men hurrying toward companionways,
but without stopping to question them, he made his way with all possible
speed to the steps which led to the bridge and raced up. There he
encountered Lieutenant Commander Hoffman, the navigation officer. He
came to attention three paces in front of the frowning officer and
saluted him.
“Lieutenant Schneider’s compliments, sir,” he said crisply. “The
lieutenant wishes to know if his gun crew can be of service to you. He
knows, of course, that the ship was hit, but so far has received no
further information or orders.”
“Thank Lieutenant Schneider for me,” the officer replied with all the
ramrod formality of the Imperial German Navy. “Say to him that the
schwein-dog cruiser shot off one of our propellers. What other damage
has been done, I have not as yet ascertained, but I believe it to be of
a minor character. Commander Geibel has gone below to investigate. Until
he returns, it will be well for the Lieutenant to stand by with his gun
crew and await orders.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Bill had been standing rigidly at attention while Herr
Hoffman discoursed. His first salute had been of the type that any Navy
Man would term “seagoing,” but into his parting gesture, he put all the
snap that only an Annapolis Midshipman is capable of. Turning smartly on
his heel, he ran lightly down the steps.
“Perhaps that will hold him for a while,” he muttered, making for a
companionway. “Discipline is discipline, but that guy talks as if you
were bilge under his feet, the pompous, hard-boiled egg! Dollars to
ditchwater that pirate was either a C.P.O. or a Warrant when the
Dutchmen had a Navy. That kind are always the snootiest when they’re
sprouting gold stripes!”
Which was gross libel, as it happened, but it soothed Bill’s feelings,
and he found himself whistling Yankee Doodle as he ran down to the
ship’s dispensary.
“Lieutenant Schneider got a crack on the knee,” he told the mate in
charge. “Got a bottle of liniment handy?”
“There’s enough stuff here to stock a hospital, sir. If the Lieutenant
is willing, I’ll go with him. All I’ve done on this voyage is to hand
out medicine and hold basins for seasick women. It will be a real
pleasure, if my officer permits. Herman can look after the shop.”
“Your officer permits, all right,” laughed Bill. “Grab your bottle,
Jack, and come along.”
“Thank you, sir,” beamed the man. He picked up a large black bag and
heaving it to his shoulder, strode down the passage after Bill.
Back on the poop, Bill found Osceola talking to Lieutenant Schneider,
who seemed in considerable pain. While the dispensary’s man brought out
liniment and gauze and began to ease the young German’s suffering, Bill
delivered Lieutenant Commander Hoffman’s message. Then the two friends
moved over to the rail.
“I’ve just come up from the engine room,” said the Seminole. “There was
a good deal of confusion below when the propeller was shot off, and the
engines were racing and all. Things have quieted down a bit now. The
chief told Geibel that the propeller was taken off clean as a whistle.
He went down the shaft-tunnel and found she was leaking a little through
the stuffing-box, but nothing to write home about. His men are attending
to that and we’re running on the other propeller now. Nobody hurt, I’m
glad to say.”
“I don’t think the Commander will try to have another fitted onto the
shaft while we’re at sea,” remarked Bill.
“No. That’s why I looked you up as soon as I could. I heard him tell the
chief engineer that it was his intention to make at once for their base.
They didn’t go into detail, but from what they said I guess it’s an
almost landlocked harbor on the Maine coast.”
“That’s news,” declared Bill. “Good news! Once we’re in touch with land
our chances of escape will be a thousand percent better. Hello—” he
broke off, “what are these chaps up to?”
Six seamen, armed with rifles, a Chief Petty Officer and Lieutenant
Brinkerhoff, whom they both knew slightly, were advancing along the deck
toward them.
“Lieutenants Bolton and Osceola,” said the officer stiffly, “you are
hereby placed under arrest.”
Bill’s eyebrows shot up. “And by whose orders—may I ask?”
“By order of the Herr Baron von Hiemskirk,” thundered the officer. “You
gentlemen will come with me at once, if you please!”