THE FIGHT WITH THE _SURCOUF_
THE _Surcouf_, for such she was, was approaching at twelve knots. She
was a two-funnelled craft of about 3000 tons, painted black with
white upperworks. Occasionally visible between the eddying clouds of
smoke from her funnels fluttered the tricolour from her
ensign-staff; while at her foremost truck was displayed a white
diamond on a red ground, bearing the letters MM.
From the _Alerte's_ bridge, Captain Cain scanned the horizon. There
was no other vessel in sight. Even the upper part of the Casquets
Lighthouse, now twelve miles away, was invisible. Everything seemed
propitious for the coming venture.
Quickly the crew went to stations. All the slackness and resentment
to discipline seemed to have gone by the board. Orders were carried
out with the utmost alacrity, until--"Wot you got there, Charlie?"
demanded one of the hands of a messmate who was making his way aft
with a red, white and black flag under his arm.
"German ensign," replied the other. "Cap'n's orders."
"Blowed if I'll fight under that rag," declared the first speaker
hotly. "I'm an Englishman, I am. Don't mind the French tricolour,
mark you, but the Hun ensign--no, thank you. What say you, chum?"
"I draws the line at that," replied the third man, and his protest
was taken up by several of the others.
"What are you men jawing about?" shouted Mr. Marchant, the gunner.
"Look alive and get that ensign made up ready to break out."
To him the seamen voiced their protest. Even the gunner had his
views upon the matter. He went to the captain and protested, stating
that all hands were against using the German flag.
"Curse them!" exclaimed Captain Cain angrily. "What does that
matter?"
"Matters a lot to them, sir," replied the gunner sturdily.
"All right then," conceded the pirate. "Hoist any flag you jolly
well like. If this business is bungled, don't blame me....
Signalman, stand by to hoist the 'I. D.'... Gunner's mate, if I give
the word to open fire, knock away her foremast. We'll have to stop
her wirelessing at any cost if she won't give in tamely."
Throughout these preparations, Rollo Vyse and the Sub had been
inactive. They point-blank refused to bear a hand, and the crew, now
respecting their principles, let them severely alone. Captain Cain
was quick to notice the change of attitude, and from fear of causing
further discontent affected to be ignorant of the presence of the
two chums.
The _Surcouf_ had approached to within half a mile, when Captain Cain
ordered the __Alerte__ to be turned sixteen points to starboard. This
had the effect of bringing her on a parallel course to that of the
Frenchmen, although the distance between them when abreast was
increased by the diameter of the pirate submarine's turning circle.
Up ran the two-flag hoist, the signal to heave to under penalty of
being fired upon; simultaneously, the six-inch quick-firer was
unmasked and trained upon the _Surcouf_.
The next instant Captain Cain experienced one of the worst surprises
in his life--and he had had a few in his time.
A livid flash leapt from under the _Surcouf's_ bridge, followed almost
immediately by a sharp report. Before any one on board the _Alerte_
realised what had happened a seven-pounder shell burst against the
dummy superstructure amidships, ripped a jagged hole in the funnel
and cut away the mainstay, with the result that the mainmast,
wrenching away the steel tabernacle, crashed heavily upon the poop.
Captain Cain was one of the first to grasp the situation. With all
his faults, he was not lacking in courage when under fire. A sliver
of metal had grazed his forehead, laying open the frontal bone; but
in the excitement he did not heed the burning pain.
"Let 'em have it on the waterline, Gunner's mate," he shouted,
countermanding his previous order to destroy the Frenchman's
wireless gear.
Since he could not effect the capture of the _Surcouf_ without
resistance, he determined to sink her. It meant the loss of the
expected booty, but the _Alerte_ could not run the risk of a prolonged
action. There was little danger of the hull of the submarine being
perforated by the Frenchman's light quick-firer. Even if the outer
skin were holed the inner plating would successfully impede the
progress of the projectile. The dominating factor was the absence of
any repairing base to which the _Alerte_ could retire to heal her
wounds. Whatever damage was received had to be made good on the high
seas, and a badly battered craft would naturally be the object of
interest if not of suspicion.
The gun's crew of the _Alerte's_ quick-firer rose to the occasion. As
fast as the breech-block could be open and snapped to, the powerful
weapon spoke. Empty cartridge-shells clattering on the steel deck
punctuated the sharp bark of the weapon, while shell after shell at
point-blank range crashed into the _Surcouf's_ hull.
But the Frenchman, in spite of the disproportionate odds in the
matter of ordnance, maintained a steady fire, not only from the gun
under the bridge, but from a similar weapon mounted aft. She then
began to go astern, until the _Alerte's_ quick-firer was masked by the
stanchions of her bridge.
By this time the _Surcouf's_ hull was holed in twenty places. A fire
had broken out amidships, smoke was pouring in volumes from a dozen
jagged apertures; yet not a single shell had hit her 'twixt wind and
water.
For nearly a minute the _Alerte_ was raked aft without being able to
reply. Two of the hands rushed towards the poop with the
machine-gun. Before they reached their goal both were struck down by
splinters of shell from a missile that had exploded against one of
the cowls.
"Port eight, Quartermaster!" shouted Captain Cain. "Now, lads, let
her have it!"
But even as the _Alerte_ swung to starboard the _Surcouf_ put her helm
hard over. She was not "out" to sink a pirate, or be sunk herself.
Her duty lay in saving her precious cargo.
A dense pall of smoke hid her from sight. Even Captain Cain was at
first under the impression that she had sunk suddenly; but when the
thick cloud dispersed the _Surcouf_ was sighted steaming away at full
speed in the direction of Guernsey.
Pursuit was useless. To attempt to do so would only bring the pirate
submarine closer to the French coast, and there were in all
probability several torpedo boats at St. Malo. Certainly there were
plenty at Brest and Cherbourg, and by following the _Surcouf_ the
_Alerte_ would run the grave risk of being trapped in the deep bay
between Cape de la Hague and Ushant, where the rocky and uneven
bottom combined with violent currents made it a dangerous place for
a submarine to rest on the bed of the sea.
The situation was a dangerous one. The _Surcouf_ had got away. Already
her wireless was sending out appeals for aid, and warnings that she
had been fired upon by a mysterious craft.
Previously, the French authorities had been sceptical about the
story of the _Cap Hoorn_. That craft had, in accordance to orders from
their captors, proceeded lamely into Cherbourg, only to find that
hostilities had not broken out between France and Germany. There was
the evidence afforded by her shattered rudder-head, but the French
Admiralty officials, beyond disclaiming responsibility, declined to
investigate the damage. Four hours later the _Cap Hoorn_ left
Cherbourg for Hamburg in tow of an ocean-going Dutch tug.
Nevertheless, the incident could not be entirely ignored. Some
vessel had evidently run amok in the Channel. In consequence, the
_Surcouf_ was one of several merchantmen to be hurriedly armed against
the aggressions of the mysterious filibuster. And now the _Surcouf_
had reported the attack, and already the news had been transmitted,
not only to the French naval bases, but to the British Admiralty. On
both sides of the Channel and along the coast of Ireland swift
destroyers were raising steam to engage in hunting down the modern
pirate craft.
"Look alive, my lads!" exclaimed Captain Cain. "If we're to get out
of this with whole necks, we must waste no time. How many
casualties, Mr. Pengelly?"
"Seven, sir: four serious, three light."
"Get 'em below," continued the skipper.
"They are already, sir," replied the second in command. "Parkins and
Brown--the two who tried to get aft with the machine-gun--are the
worst hit. Broadmayne and Vyse carried them below under fire."
"Did they?" commented Captain Cain. Under his breath he muttered,
"And a pity they hadn't lost the number of their mess." [1]
Quickly all available hands got to work. The dummy funnel was
lowered and preparations made to patch the gaping rent and repaint
the "smoke-stack" a different colour. The gashes in the upperworks
were hidden by means of oval metal plates, one inside, one out,
drawn together by a butterfly nut and thread. The tabernacle of the
mainmast was rebedded and a new mainstay prepared ready to set the
"stick" up again.
The while a most anxious and careful watch was kept on the horizon
and on the sky, since it was quite possible that units of the French
aviation service might co-operate in the search.
Three-quarters of an hour after breaking off the engagement with the
_Surcouf_ a liner appeared in sight, bound up-Channel. The _Alerte_
could have avoided her by altering helm, but Captain Cain decided
upon a bold display of bluff. He held on.
"Union Castle liner, Mr. Pengelly," he remarked. "We'll signal her."
"What for?" demanded the astonished Pengelly. "Surely we've had
enough for the present. Besides, she's British."
"Exactly," concurred the pirate skipper. "I'm going to ask her to
take charge of our badly wounded cases. Signalman, hoist the NC."
The letters NC signify "In distress, need immediate assistance," are
never purposely ignored. Corresponding to the wireless S.O.S., they
would divert the largest liner or the humblest tramp.
Promptly the liner altered helm and slowed down. Passengers crowded
to her side to look at the apparently battered tramp.
Standing upon the roof of the charthouse, the _Alerte's_ signalman
began to semaphore.
"_Alerte_ of London, Grimsby for Corunna. Have been fired upon by
vessel, nationality unknown, long. 3° 20' W., lat. 49° 50' N., at
10.30 a.m. to-day. Vessel disappeared steering W.S.W. Please report.
Can you receive four badly wounded men?"
To this the liner replied by semaphore that she would wireless the
information, and that she would send a boat to transfer the _Alerte's_
casualties.
"Many thanks," responded Captain Cain, through the medium of the
semaphore. "No need to lower boat; ours is available."
Captain Cain had already sent below to warn the wounded of his
intentions. They were not sorry to be clear of the pirate submarine.
Their chief anxiety was the thought that they might be deprived of
their share of booty, but the wily captain reassured them on that
point. He knew they would keep their mouths shut--at least for a
period sufficiently long for his purpose. He was also ridding
himself of the trouble of having useless men on board--men who would
have to be fed and given a certain amount of attention and yet be
totally unable to assist in working or fighting the ship.
By refusing the liner's offer to send a boat, Captain Cain had
scored again. Not only did it prevent the mail boat's officer having
a look round, but it obviated the risk of Broadmayne and his
companion making a dash for freedom.
But the signal success of his ruse lay in the fact that the liner
was already wirelessing the account of an imaginary attack upon the
s.s. _Alerte_. The message was picked up by three destroyers from
Cherbourg, which were then in a course that would bring them on the
track of the fugitive. Immediately on receipt of this misleading
report the French destroyers altered helm in the direction the
mythical filibuster was stated to have taken.
The four wounded men were safely transhipped, the operation being
performed under the fire of at least fifty cameras--much to
Pengelly's disgust. He had no immediate ambition to figure in the
limelight of the illustrated press; nor did Captain Cain show any
enthusiasm, when through his binoculars he observed the liner's
passengers taking snapshots of the _Alerte_. He wished he had set up
the mainmast before meeting the liner. Should a photograph of the
_Alerte_ in her present condition reach the French authorities--as it
was fairly certain to do--there would be a lot of explanation to
prove that the _Surcouf's_ assailant and the _Alerte_ were not one and
the same vessel.
"Do you want any further assistance?" inquired the captain of the
liner.
"No, sir," answered Pengelly from the boat alongside. "We're putting
back to Falmouth for repairs. We can do the run under our own
steam."
"Well, good luck to you," was the response, as the _Alerte's_ boat
pushed off.
Then, with a mutual dipping of ensigns, the liner and the tramp
parted--the former to Southampton, the latter anywhere where she
might obtain immunity from the pressing attentions of the swift,
vengeful destroyers.
[1] To lose the number of one's mess, i.e., to die, whether by
violence or through natural causes.