THE RENDEZVOUS
"SAIL on the starboard bow, sir!"
Captain Cain, binoculars slung round his neck, clambered up the
almost vertical teak ladder to the temporary bridge.
It was in the forenoon watch--seven bells, to be exact--of the day
following the pirate captain's visit to Devonport. The _Alerte_,
ploughing along at an easy five knots, was abeam and nearly five
miles to the south'ard of Bolt Tail. All that iron-bound coast
betwixt Bolt Head and Bolt Tail stood out clearly in the sunlight.
To the west'ard the lower lying ground bordering Bigbury Bay was
invisible, while to the east'ard the Start was fading into the grey
mists that sweep down when the cold Dartmoor air mingles with the
warm atmosphere of the English Channel.
The mist was certainly spreading. Unless Captain Cain was very much
mistaken, soon the granite cliffs of Devon would be blotted out by
the watery vapour.
"I'll risk it," he decided.
At an aggregate speed of eleven knots, the _Alerte_ and the strange
vessel rapidly closed. Soon it was apparent that the latter was a
collier; more, she was well down to Plimsoll mark. From the data
Captain Cain drew the following conclusions:
She was bound foreign. Evidently she hailed from the Tyne, and since
the Welsh coalfields supply the iron furnaces around Swansea with as
much coal as they want, it was as futile for a Tyneside collier to
carry coals to the Bristol Channel ports as it would be for her to
carry that commodity to Newcastle. She was standing too far out to
be shaping a course for Plymouth, while her size and draught
indicated that she was not an ordinary coasting collier.
"Make our number, Mr. Barnard!" sung out the skipper.
The "number," consisting of four flags of the International Code,
was already toggled ready for instant use. The first letter was H,
but the combination did not appear in the pages of the list of
shipping. Captain Cain had seen to that.
The four-flag hoist had hardly reached the halyard block when the
stranger replied with her number.
"KJVT, sir," sung out Mr. Barnard.
Reference to the list revealed the stranger to be the s.s. _Pickfast_
of Newcastle, a subsequent signal, AXSR, indicating that she was
bound for Kingston, Jamaica.
The _Alerte's_ next move was to hoist her Code flag over the letter
"H," signifying "Bring-to, I have something important to
communicate." To which the collier replied by the single flag "C"
indicating "Yes," and at the same time altering helm and stopping
her engines.
"Lower away a boat, Mr. Pengelly," ordered Captain Cain. "A couple
of hands below there and bring Jones on deck."
In two minutes the boat, steered by Pengelly and with Jasper Chamfer
in the stern-sheets, was bounding towards the collier _Pickfast_.
Without a word, the grim Northumbrian mate of the _Pickfast_ caught
the heaved bowline and took a turn. As the _Alerte's_ boat swung
alongside, a rope ladder was lowered to the accompaniment of an
invitation to come aboard.
The _Pickfast's_ Old Man had descended from the bridge and was
awaiting his visitors. He was a short, thick-set Tynesider, with
huge shoulders and bowed legs, a shrewd face and a taciturn manner.
"Eh, lad!" he exclaimed, addressing Pengelly. "What dost want?"
"A passage to Jamaica for this man," replied Pengelly, feeling that
it would be a waste of time to beat about the bush. "We'll pay you
fifty pounds in cash."
The Old Man threw a quick comprehensive glance over the little
Admiralty inspector. He noted also that the would-be passenger was
without luggage.
"I'll ha' nowt to do wi' him," he declared bluntly. "I've no call
for passengers myseen. Police after him?"
"No, no," Pengelly hastened to reassure him. "All aboveboard,
Captain. He came aboard us in a hurry, I'll admit. We were bound for
New Orleans, but had our orders countermanded at Falmouth. Jones is
his name; ordered a long sea voyage for the benefit of his health.
Come on, Captain. Fifty pounds easily earned."
"Coals an' bananas; them's my freight," remarked the skipper of the
_Pickfast_. "Passengers aren't in my line. Still, it's easy money if
he'll take things as he finds 'em. All right, Mr. Jones, I'll take
you."
And with the air of a man who has conferred a great personal favour,
the captain pocketed the notes and waddled in the direction of the
bridge. With equal alacrity Mr. Pengelly clambered over the side and
dropped into the waiting boat. The painter was cast off and the
collier's propeller began to churn the water.
Mr. Jasper Chamfer had started on his involuntary voyage to Jamaica.
Eight hours later the _Alerte_ dropped anchor in Studland Bay. Here
she was not likely to be disturbed, nor would her presence excite
much attention. Since she flew no signal for a pilot, the pilots for
Poole Harbour let her severely alone. A vessel might lie there for a
week without attracting official notice, since that anchorage is
frequently made use of by craft bound down Channel. Provided the
wind kept between sou'sou'-west and north it was a secure berth, but
should the wind fly round to any other point a heavy swell soon
rolls into the bay, making it a matter of urgency for the vessels
lying there to up-anchor and proceed.
The anchorage suited Captain Cain admirably. He was within a couple
of hours' run of his rendezvous with the _Fairy_, and by this time
Captain Silas Porthoustoc ought to be on his way down-Channel with
his cargo of arms and ammunition. Until the _Alerte_ received the
_Fairy's_ Belgian cargo little could be done to augment the pirates'
treasury.
At length the evening fixed for the meeting of the pirate ship and
her tender arrived. Seven in the evening, with neither moon nor
stars to mitigate the darkness of a November night, the _Alerte_
weighed, gave Old Harry Rocks a wide berth and shaped a course to
carry her well clear of St. Alban's Head.
At ten o'clock she was at the rendezvous. The prearranged signals
were made, but no reassuring reply blinked through the darkness.
Midnight came and went. At 4 a.m. the Middle watch was relieved, but
still no sign of the motorlugger _Fairy_.
"Old Porthoustoc's let us down, Pengelly," declared Captain Cain
petulantly. "He's made a lash-up of things. Shouldn't be surprised
to hear that he's under arrest either at Dover or Dunkirk."
"Not he, sir," replied Pengelly confidently.
Both men had remained on deck all night, in their eagerness to
welcome the _Fairy_ alongside. Every quarter of an hour the flashing
signals from the _Alerte_ stabbed the darkness, but not the suspicion
of an answer was received.
There was practically no wind. It was a belated St. Martin's summer.
The air was warm and moist, with patches of haze sufficient to
obscure the rays of Anvil Point light a bare twelve miles off.
"Flashing light on our starboard quarter, sir!" shouted one of the
hands.
"That's her, then," declared Pengelly.
"What's the silly fool doing so far to the west'ard?" demanded
Captain Cain, whose temper had not been improved by his long vigil.
"Port twelve, Quartermaster. Watch for the next flash and keep her
on that."
A quarter of an hour later the two vessels met, the _Fairy_ with her
canvas stowed and her motor coughing noisily.
"Sorry we'm late," said Silas apologetically, as the _Fairy_ was made
fast alongside her big consort. "Wind fell light up-along. Motor
jibbed sudden-like. Never knowed 'un to play the fule afore. Tide
carried us well to loo'ard afore us could get un gwine agen."
"All right, I hope?" asked Captain Cain.
"Ay, an' why not?" rejoined Silas Porthoustoc, as if the question
were unnecessary, and that running a cargo of munitions was a mere
bagatelle. "I'll come aboard. She'll lie nicely there," he added,
jerking his thumb in the direction of the _Fairy_, which was grinding
softly against the fender-protected side of the _Alerte_.
Silas, who like many another of his fellow-fisherfolk would have
related anecdotes of his wife's sister's husband's cousin or other
remote connection, kept up a running fire of family history. Without
the slightest provocation, he would launch out details of relatives
whom one never knew, never wanted to know and in all probability
never did know. But when it came to what he had done he was almost
as mute as an oyster. There was precious little _Ego_ in Silas
Porthoustoc's _Cosmos_.
"What's the matter with your hand, Silas?" asked Pengelly, noticing
in the lamplight that the old man's left hand was encased in
bloodstained bandages.
"'Urt 'un," was the reply, surly and almost resentful, as if the
skipper of the _Fairy_ had been called upon to make a confession of
professional incompetence.
He did not think it necessary to add that the injury had been
sustained thirty-six hours previously, when, in a nasty lop off the
Nord Hinder, the precious cargo consigned to Captain Cain was in
danger of making a swift passage to the bed of the North Sea. Only
Silas Porthoustoc's prompt action in jamming the slipping sling had
prevented the disaster; but it was at the expense of a crushed hand
and a badly lacerated finger.
As soon as the _Fairy_ was secured alongside the _Alerte_, the latter's
foremast derricks were swung outboard with the necessary tackle
rove. There were cases of automatic pistols, each weapon concealed
in an air-tight tin and packed in tallow. The tins bore the name of
a well-known firm of tinned beef exporters and the cases were
entered in the manifest as containing pressed beef. Three thousand
rounds of small-arms ammunition followed, similarly disguised. Then
came a crate with a card nailed to it, describing its contents as a
sewing-machine. It was: "It sowed death broadcast"; for on the case
being broken open there was revealed a machine-gun, firing the same
calibre ammunition as that of the pistols, automatic in action and
air-cooled. This had been ordered as an afterthought. As that class
of article went it was cheap.
The mate and the boy of the lugger next set to work to shovel aside
a thick layer of coal in the _Fairy's_ hold. This done, they laid bare
what appeared to be the lugger's kelson, a long, roughhewn piece of
timber. Under this was passed wire slings. The eyes of the slings
were engaged in the hook of the lower block of the _Alerte's_
derrick-purchase.
"Handsomely now, my lads!" cautioned Captain Cain, to the man
manning the running part of the tackle. "Walk back with her--here
she comes."
Torn from its bed of coal the huge bunch of timber rose slowly. By
means of grips one end was dipped sufficiently to allow the
twenty-five feet of woodwork to clear the hatchway coamings. Higher
and higher it rose, the _Fairy_ listing acutely during the operation,
while even the _Alerte_ heeled under the strain on her masthead.
"At that!" shouted Captain Cain. "Swing her gently, lads!"
Inboard swung the derrick, its load swaying eight feet above the
deck in spite of the efforts of the hands at the grips.
"Ease away handsomely!" exclaimed the pirate captain. "Stand from
under!"
With a dull thud the baulk of timber was deposited upon the steel
deck of the _Alerte_. The slings were cast off, and while some of the
hands lowered and secured the derrick, others set to work seemingly
to dismember the twenty-four feet of rough pine.
It was an easy task. Snugly hidden between the slabs was the
much-wanted six-inch quick-firer. Its mounting followed, and was
immediately bolted down to the deck just abaft the rise of the
fo'c'sle.
"Carry on, Cap'n Porthoustoc," exclaimed Cain, after the necessary
exchange of banknotes had been effected. "Look out for us on the
1st, and we'll have a rare cargo for you. Chenal du Four at sunset.
It'll be slack water at nine."
"Very good, Cap'n," replied Silas, touching his grizzled forelock.
"Us'll be there."
The warps were cast off, the _Fairy's_ motor began to cough and
splutter, and ten minutes later the lugger was lost to sight in the
darkness.
But the night's work was far from being accomplished as far as the
_Alerte's_ crew were concerned. The six-inch quick-firer was mounted;
it had to be concealed from outside observation. To attempt to
screen the weapon from any one on deck would have been a senseless
task. The construction of the submarine prevented that. Even her
conning-tower stood out gaunt and unashamed when viewed from the
deck; but from another vessel that armoured structure seemed to be
merged into the 'midship superstructure and bridge.
A cutter, hitherto carried abaft the 'midship deckhouse, was
man-handled for'ard. Unlike the other boats, it was clench-built of
elm; but in order not to impede the _Alerte's_ diving capabilities,
the garboard strakes had been cut away. It was a simple though
lengthy task to saw through the timbers next the keel and cut
through breasthook and transome, with the result that the cutter was
longitudinally divided into two parts. Quick-release clips of
gun-metal were then fitted to keep the two portions into some
resemblance of a boat. The reunited parts were then placed keel
uppermost over the quick-firer, a tarpaulin being stretched over all
to hide the missing garboards.
Throughout the long night the hands toiled, Captain Cain giving
practical assistance besides directing operations. He worked his men
hard--he believed in it--but he never spared himself.
It wanted an hour to dawn when the task of making all snug was
completed. Dawn ought to reveal the _Alerte_ as a harmless tramp, her
powerful ordnance stowed away under the boat. But Captain Cain was
not satisfied.
"We'll submerge before we stand easy, lads," he shouted. "Eighteen
fathoms'll find bottom. Diving stations, all hands!"
Down sank the _Alerte_, the tell-tale débris of splinters, shavings,
an sawdust floating away as she submerged. She rested on the bottom
in a very faint tideway, certainly not more than one knot. The crew
piped to breakfast, completed the meal and expected a "stand easy."
They were disappointed. The _Alerte_ was to break surface before dawn,
lest the operation be seen by a passing vessel. Then and only then,
as she cruised towards the French coast, were the hard-worked men
allowed a brief spell of leisure.
"Anything in sight, Mr. Pengelly?" sang out the captain, as he
slithered over the weed-encumbered deck to the bridge-ladder.
The second in command was sweeping the horizon with his
night-glasses. It was pitch dark--the period of intense darkness
between the false and the true dawn.
"Nothing in sight, sir!" reported Pengelly.
The words were hardly out of his mouth--in fact, Captain Cain had
not time to telegraph "Easy ahead," when a loud voice, coming from
close alongside, hailed:
"Ship ahoy! Throw us a line!"