A DASH FOR LIBERTY
JUST before sunset the _Alerte_ entered the Chenal de Four, a
dangerous and intricate passage between Ushant and the Brittany
coast. Not only does the water on either side of the deep channel
teem with jagged rocks--many of them submerged at various states of
the tide--but both flood and ebb set at from six to seven knots,
sometimes obliquely across the narrow passage. To complicate matters
further, the rise and fall of the tide is twenty-four feet at
springs and eighteen feet at neaps.
By taking advantage of certain states of the tides, a vessel bound
for Brest and the Biscayan ports from the English Channel could save
a long detour outside of Ushant by making use of the Four Passage,
but, in any case, the utmost caution is necessary. Strangers are, in
fact, warned that to attempt this channel without a pilot is
entailing great risk.
To Captain Cain this hazardous locality presented no terrors. Many a
time during his naval career he had taken submarines between Brest
and Portsmouth, and had lurked in the Chenal de Four waiting to turn
the tables on the U-boats that preyed on the shipping converging
upon Ushant. Now he was going to put the knowledge that he had
gained legitimately to a perfectly illegal use.
"Any sign of the _Fairy_, Mr. Pengelly?" he inquired.
"No sir."
"All right. I'll carry on. Quartermaster, keep those two towers in
line--S. 5 E. is the course. Mr. Pengelly, see that the anchor is
clear and fifty fathoms cable ranged on deck ready to let go."
The sun set in a vivid red sky. The lights of Kermorvan and St.
Matthieu towers sent out their guiding beams. In a couple of hours
the moon would rise.
Still the _Alerte_ held on. Presently the lookout reported a sail on
the starboard bow. Against the still strong afterglow in the western
sky the intervening stretch of water appeared to be studded with
rocky pinnacles.
"That's the _Fairy_," declared Captain Cain to Pengelly, who had
rejoined him on the bridge. "She's brought up in four fathoms off
Beniguet Island. No, we won't send out recognition signals....
Hard-a-port, Quartermaster.... Meet her!... At that!"
The _Alerte_, her speed reduced to five knots, appeared to be heading
straight for a saw-like reef. Another alteration of helm and she
slipped past within half a cable's length of this ridge of rocks,
eeled her way between two half-tide rocks and settled down on a
course S.S.W.
"Stand by!" shouted Captain Cain, ringing for the propellers to be
declutched.
Gradually the _Alerte_ lost way. A hoarse order from the bridge was
answered by the rattle of cable heaving through the hawsepipe.
Snubbing gently at the tautened cable, the pirate submarine swung
round head to tide within two hundred yards of the Falmouth lugger
owned by the redoubtable Cap'n Silas Porthoustoc.
The _Fairy_ had a riding-light on her forestay, but no hail came from
her deck. The _Alerte_, having extinguished her navigation lamps,
hoisted her anchor-light. To any observant Breton fisherman there
was nothing to excite suspicion. Small craft bringing up to avoid a
foul tide were fairly common objects in the vicinity of the Chenal
du Four.
Since Broadmayne's and Vyse's "promotion" to the starboard watch,
the chums had spent much of their time on deck. Their new messmates,
now that they recognised them as such, were apt to be either
patronising or rudely inquisitive. They looked upon the two chums'
predicament--being forced to work without payment--as a huge joke,
especially as Rollo and the Sub were obviously men of a different
social standing. Hence it was not surprising that the late crew of
the _Ibex_ kept to themselves as much as possible.
The Sub knew roughly the position of the _Alerte_. Although he had
never before been through the Four Passage, he realised from his
previous knowledge of Ushant Light that the anchorage was between
some of the islands off the westernmost part of the Brittany coast.
"Wonder what that vessel is?" he remarked, pointing to the _Fairy's_
riding-light. "If she's a Breton fishing craft, we might swim off to
her."
"Not in this tideway," objected Vyse, for the water was hissing and
seething past the side of the _Alerte_. "We might when the tide eases
off. It's bound to just before high water. 'Sides, the moon will be
up soon."
They waited and watched, conversing in low tones. The _Alerte's_ deck
was practically deserted. There was a look-out man on the fo'c'sle.
Occasionally some of the hands would emerge from the close
atmosphere of the crew's quarters for a breath of fresh air. But no
one seemed to take the slightest notice of the two chums.
Presently the moon rose behind the gaunt Brittany hills--a huge red
disc, that soon appeared to diminish in size and assume a vivid
yellowish hue. It was now one bell and the first watch.
"That's not a Frenchman," declared the Sub, as the slanting
moonbeams fell athwart the bluff outlines of the Penzance boat.
"She's a West-country lugger, I'll swear. Wonder what she's doing
here?
"Perhaps her skipper's a pal of the pirate captain," suggested Vyse.
"Not likely," objected Broadmayne. "They didn't communicate with
each other when we came in. I was looking out for that. 'Sides, it's
hardly feasible that a sailing lugger, if she were acting as tender,
would show up within a few miles of the great French naval port of
Brest. It would be far safer to get in touch fifty miles from land."
"That's so," agreed Vyse. "And that brings us back to our original
proposition. How's this for a scheme. The lugger's now almost dead
astern of us. The tide's easing a bit. The _Alerte's_ look-out is
for'ard, consequently he can't see what's goin' on aft. We can lower
ourselves over the stern, swim off to the lugger and get aboard by
her cable, if there's nothing better. We'll warn her master of the
undesirable nature of the _Alerte_ and offer him a hundred quid if
he'll weigh at once and give us a passage to England."
"Then the sooner the better," said the Sub briskly. "It will be
another hour and a half before the look-out is relieved. If he
misses us, he'll probably think we've gone below. His relief will
know we're not."
Their preparations were quickly and silently made. They sacrificed
their footgear. Broadmayne took off his black oilskin, rolled it
neatly and stowed it away under the platform of the sounding machine
aft.
The next step was to drop the after-fall of one of the quarter-boats
overboard. Had the _Alerte_ been a genuine tramp steamer the fugitives
would have to run the risk of being seen through the cabin scuttles,
but her cabins being within the hull of the submarine, were
artificially lighted.
Broadmayne gave a swift, comprehensive look for'ard. The look-out
man was still in the fo'c'sle. He was resting one leg on the low
bulwark, and was gazing stolidly in the direction of St. Matthieu
lighthouse. Evidently he considered his job a merely formal one, and
was making the best of his trick by indulging in fanciful
speculations of what he would do with his rapidly increasing wealth.
Giving his companion a reassuring nod, the Sub cautiously slid over
the rail, gripped the rope and lowered himself slowly.
"Ugh!" he mused. "Feet first; rotten way to take the water. I'll bet
it's beastly cold."
But to his surprise the sea was fairly warm. It made him shiver when
the water rose above his ankles and knees, but directly he was
immersed to his neck he felt no further discomfort.
It was true that the hot tide had slackened. It had decreased from
six to about three knots, or a rate equal to that of a brisk walk.
Still hanging on to the rope, he felt himself being swept aft until
his feet were almost showing above the surface.
He dare not let go until Vyse was almost at the water's edge,
otherwise he would be swept far to lee'ard before his chum was ready
to cast himself off. Keeping together for mutual encouragement was
part of the prearranged plan.
Down came Vyse, hand over hand. The two chums were now up to their
necks and still hanging on to the rope. Both realised that if they
were swept past the lugger by some not unusual freak of the tidal
current, they were as good as lost.
"Ready?" whispered Broadmayne. "Breast stroke; don't speak."
They released their hold and struck out. The towering hull of the
_Alerte_ seemed to be moving with great rapidity. Almost before they
realised it, they were clear of the shadow of the poop and were
swimming strongly in the moonlit sea.
Now they could clearly discern the lugger as she strained and tugged
at her tautened cable. The water was frothing against her stem-band.
But for the cable, it looked as if she were forging ahead under
power. Every now and again she would sheer madly, so that at one
time the swimmers were heading straight for her; at another--it
looked as if they would be swept half a dozen yards away from her.
By good luck, Broadmayne grasped the cable. With a jerk that
well-nigh wrenched him away, his body swung round in the fierce
current. The next instant, Vyse secured a hold.
Then the lugger commenced to sheer again. The cable dipped, dragging
both men below the surface. Not daring to let go, they hung on,
holding their breath until the iron chain tautened again, lifting
them both waist high out of the water.
"You go first," gurgled the Sub. It was a hazardous business,
clambering up on the underside of a vibrating chain at an angle of
about forty-five degrees. Although it was not far to go, the
difficulty increased as Vyse approached the vessel's bows. There was
a danger of being nipped between the cable and the small, iron-shod
hawsepipe, with the additional possibility of his arm being jammed
between the chain and the lugger's stem-head.
Keeping clear of these dangers, Vyse hung on, looking for a means of
getting in over the bows. Suddenly he caught sight of a stout piece
of line by which the chain bobstay had been triced up to prevent it
being chafed by the cable. It might hold--it might not. At any rate,
he decided, if it did carry away, he could make a grab at the
bobstay.
Desperately, Rollo made the attempt. The rope gave slightly as he
transferred his weight to it. The next instant he had thrown one leg
over the massive bowsprit. It was then a fairly simple matter to
haul himself up and across the heavy spar.
By this time, Broadmayne was attempting the ascent; water poured
from his saturated clothing as he drew himself clear. He was
breathing heavily, but the grinding of the cable and the rush of the
tide completely drowned his laboured gasps. With less caution than
his chum had shown, he allowed the knuckles of his right hand to be
barked by the surge of the chain. Had it not been for Vyse's prompt
assistance, the Sub must have relinquished his hold.
For quite five minutes the two men crouched on the lugger's
fore-deck, too exhausted to move. There was no one of the crew on
deck. A faint gleam was thrown obliquely from the half-closed
fore-peak hatchway. Aft, the fluted glass skylight over the
skipper's cabin was illuminated from within.
"Come aft," whispered Broadmayne.
In stockinged feet, they crept cautiously past the huge
old-fashioned windlass, made their way along the narrow space
between the tarpaulined hatch covers, over the hold, and gained the
small aperture leading to the cabin.
The Sub knocked softly upon the door.
"That be you, Garge?" demanded a deep, rolling voice. "Come in."
Accepting the invitation given to the absent "Garge," whoever he
might be, Broadmayne opened the door. Had it not been for the voice,
the Sub would have formed a first impression that the cabin was
untenanted.
Under the skylight hung a swinging lamp, with a polished brass
deflector. Immediately under the lamp was a table that at one time
had been polished mahogany. Now it was scratched, tarnished and
blackened, the captain evidently being in the habit of knocking out
the glowing embers of his pipe upon the table.
At the after end of the cabin was a long bookcase above a settee. On
either side were seats with lockers under, while above the seats
were cavernous recesses with large sliding doors.
One of the latter was partly open, revealing a hairy-faced man lying
fully dressed on a bunk, with a heap of blankets covering him from
his feet to the point of his chin. Apparently he was still wanting
additional warmth, for a coal fire blazed in a brass-lined
fireplace--the skylight was shut, and, until Broadmayne opened it,
also the door.
Cap'n Silas Porthoustoc's astonishment at the sight of two saturated
strangers was quite equal to that of the Sub and his companion, when
they caught a partial view of the old man "stewing" in the hot and
unpleasantly close air.
"Who are ye, an' what you'm wantin'?" inquired Cap'n Silas,
embellishing his inquiry with half a dozen totally different
adjectives.
"It's all right, Captain," replied Broadmayne soothingly, "we've
just swum off from the vessel brought up ahead of you."
"Desarters, eh?"
"Sort of," admitted the Sub.
"An' you'm thinkin' the _Fairy_ is a nursery for cut-an'-run
sailormen?" rejoined Captain Porthoustoc. "You'm come tu wrong ship,
you'm have. Best swim back along 'fore there's trouble."
"Look here, Captain," began Broadmayne firmly.
Before he could say more, the skipper of the _Fairy_ thrust back the
sliding-door of his bunk and rolled out, bringing with him an
avalanche of blankets, a heavy pilot coat, and an oilskin.
"Wot's this?" he demanded. "Threatenin' me in my own cabin, aboard
my very own ship?"
"Not at all, Captain," said the Sub hurriedly. "We want your
assistance. We'll pay you well."
"Pay me well!" echoed Captain Silas scornfully. "Can show the colour
of your money, belike?"
"We'll give you a hundred pounds if you'll put us ashore anywhere in
England," said Broadmayne. "Possibly the Admiralty will pay you
considerably more. The vessel we were on is a pirate."
"'Slong's she don't do aught to we, I'm content," replied Captain
Silas. "Howsomever, a hundred pun' is worth a-pickin' up. But if she
be a pirate, as you say, what happens if so be she sends aboard us
to look for ye?"
"If you up-anchor and get under way at once she'll be none the
wiser," suggested the Sub. "If you think she'll chase you across the
Channel, there's no reason why you shouldn't run for Brest. You'll
get your money just the same."
"Can't start afore the tide sets to south'ard," objected Captain
Silas. "But I'll tell you what: I'll stow you away. You can lay your
life on it, you'll not be found. A hundred, you said?"
The Sub reiterated his promise.
Without another word the skipper of the _Fairy_ kicked aside a narrow
strip of coco-matting, fumbled at a small circular hole in one of
the floorboards, and at length raised a double-width plank about
eighteen inches square.
The light of the cabin lamp revealed a cavernous space, with sloping
sides and massive oaken timbers. Floor there was none, the narrow
space above the kelson being packed with rusty iron bars. A cold and
evil-smelling draught ascended, while with every roll of the lugger
the bilge water sluiced and gurgled over the iron ballast.
"Our clothes are wringing wet," observed Vyse, stating what was an
obvious fact, for they were standing in puddles, while the heat of
the closed-down cabin caused the wet material to emit a regular haze
of vapour.
"Off wi' 'em, then," said Cap'n Silas shortly. "I'll hide 'em.
Blanket a-piece will serve till they'm dry."
The two chums were in the final stages of disrobing when one of the
hands tapped on the skylight.
"She be hailin' us to come alongside, Cap'n," he announced.
"Pretty kettle o' fish you've made," he exclaimed. "Pirate, you say
she be. Well, 'tain't no use us kickin'. We'll drop alongside of
'er, an' they can search till them's tired. They'll never find you.
Down you go. Keep clear of yon propeller shaft."
Gingerly the chums gathered the loaned blankets about them,
toga-wise, and dropped down upon the ballast. The trap-door was
replaced and the coco-matting relaid. In utter darkness the
fugitives crouched, listening to captain stamping about before going
on deck.
Soon the _Fairy's_ motor started, but the shaft gave no sounds to
indicate that it was revolving. Then came the clank of the pawls of
the windlass, as the cable came home, link by link. The gentle purr
of the engines increased to a loud, pulsating roar. The clutch was
engaged, the propeller shaft began to revolve--perilously close to
Vyse's feet it sounded--and the lugger began to forge ahead.
She had not been under way for more than three minutes when the
motor stopped and her stout hull quivered as she bumped alongside
the _Alerte_.
"Now what's going to happen?" thought Broadmayne. "The blighters are
coming on board."
There was a terrific din on deck. Men were stamping and running
about, heavy weights were dumped down, the hatch-covers over the
hold were thrown back.
The Sub could hear men's voices as they shouted to each other, but
the motor roar intervening between them and the fugitives prevented
the Sub hearing what they were saying.
"They're making a pretty strict search," whispered Vyse.
"'Ssh!" cautioned his companion. "There's some one in the cabin.
It's Pengelly, by Jove!"
"All in small packages... easily got ashore ... he told you to do
that? Look here, Silas, you'd better not... the cave behind your
kitchen... we'll arrange all that later... part brass rags within a
fortnight... it'll pay you far better... then that's a deal?"
The Sub broke out in a gentle perspiration. From the scraps of
conversation he had overheard, there could be but one explanation
forthcoming. Pengelly and the master of the lugger were plotting
--against whom? Captain Cain, without a doubt. That was interesting.
But the disconcerting part was: what was the skipper of the _Fairy's_
attitude towards the two men hiding in the bilge? Would it pay him
better to give them up, or to keep faith with them and so gain the
promised hundred pounds?
"Mr. Pengelly!" shouted a voice, which Broadmayne recognised as that
of Captain Cain.
"Ay, ay, sir!" replied the second in command.
The fugitives heard the sound of Pengelly's boots upon the ladder
leading on deck. The _Fairy's_ skipper followed.
"The old sinner," whispered Vyse. "I thought he was going to betray
us."
"I don't think so," replied the Sub. "The promise of a hundred
pounds is our sheet-anchor. By Jove! I can see some interesting
developments before very long."
"What developments?" inquired the other in a low tone.
Before Broadmayne could reply--it was quite safe to maintain a
cautious conversation, since the uproar on deck would deaden every
sound below--a minute shaft of yellow light played upon the Sub's
hand. He knew what that meant. The coco-matting had been removed,
thus allowing the lamplight to enter the thumbhole in the covering
to their place of concealment.
The next instant the trap hatch was thrown wide open. Standing close
to the opening was Captain Cain, a revolver in his hand and a
sardonic grin on his face. Behind him were four of the _Alerte's_
crew. Silas Porthoustoc, chuckling audibly, was stationed in the
narrow doorway, while over his shoulders appeared the grinning faces
of Pengelly and Barnard the boatswain.
"Out of the frying-pan, eh?" exclaimed Captain Cain mockingly. "You
two have vastly underestimated the intelligence of the _Alerte's_
ship's company. I'll deal faithfully with you for deserting, my
lads. Now, out you come."
Dejected and humiliated, Broadmayne and his companion emerged from
the loathsome place of concealment. Their clothes had vanished. Clad
in nothing but Cap'n Silas's blankets, they beat an ignominious
retreat, running the gauntlet of a fire of rude chaff from the
_Alerte's_ crew as they hurriedly went below to their berths. In the
eyes of the rest of the ship's company they were nothing more or
less than skulkers, who took every opportunity of dodging their
share of work. And as such they had no sympathy from the piratical
crew of the _Alerte_.