HUNTED
"HERE'S a fine lash-up!" remarked Broadmayne to his chum. "We look
like getting it in the neck. I won't give much for our chances if
our destroyers take up the chase. Cain, or whatever his name is, may
be a very clever and cunning rogue, but he's bitten off more then he
can chew."
"It's rough luck on us," rejoined Vyse. "I don't hanker after the
idea of being sent to Davy Jones's locker by a British destroyer."
"_Pro bono publico_," quoted the Sub. "However, we must make the
best of things and trust to luck. Give me half a chance and my
name's Johnny Walker as far as this hooker is concerned."
The chums were having a breather on deck before turning in. Seven
miles to the nor'west the Wolf Light was sending out its red and
white flashes. The _Alerte_, most of her scars patched, was making
towards the Scillies; but whether Captain Cain intended to use one
of the numerous and secluded channels between the islands as a
hiding-place, was a matter for speculation as far as Broadmayne and
his companion were concerned.
Gerald and Rollo had worked hard during the day. That, no one could
deny. During the action with the _Surcouf_ they had remained passive
spectators, taking refuge behind the conning-tower when the
Frenchman's shells began to rip the _Alerte's_ upper works. But when
they saw the two men with the machine-gun topple headlong, they had
made a simultaneous rush to the assistance of the badly-wounded men.
This they did with a clear conscience. There was nothing in the act
that could be construed as aiding and abetting the pirates in an
unlawful act.
Nor did they hesitate to tend the other wounded members of the crew.
Strangely enough, with all his elaborate preparations, Captain Cain
had either neglected or purposely omitted to provide adequate
surgical and medical stores, and in consequence the less severely
wounded suffered terribly through lack of instruments and
ether-chloroform. It was a painful business both to the wounded men
and their unqualified surgeons to have to extract jagged slivers of
metal without even the application of local anaesthetics. All the
Sub and his companion could do was to cleanse the wounds with warm
water and iodine, and bind them with rough-and-ready bandages that
from an antiseptic point of view would have made a medical man
shudder.
Broadmayne had completed his self-imposed task and was going on
deck, when he encountered his late antagonist.
The ex-stoker's battered features wore a broad grin. Extending a
huge hand, he greeted the Sub with a hearty shake.
"Put it there, chum!" he exclaimed. "I was whacked proper. I'd like
to know where you learnt that punch! An' don't you forget it: if
ever you wants a friend, 'sides the one you've got already, Jim
Soames--Slogger Soames--is the man."
"We're getting on," observed Broadmayne, when he related the
incident to Vyse. "That fellow isn't a bad sort. Wonder how he came
to row on this galley. And several of the crew seem quite well
disposed towards us. We might work it."
"Work what?" asked Rollo.
"Induce some of them to put us ashore," replied the Sub.
"Bit risky," observed his chum. "Not on our account," he added.
"That I don't mind. It would be hard on those fellows if they were
found out. Cain seems a bit of a tartar."
"He may be," admitted Broadmayne. "But he hasn't much of a hold over
his men. And I fancy, although I'm not sure, that Pengelly and he
are parting brass rags. That conversation we overheard--about the
cave behind a kitchen somewhere--struck me as if Cain and his
lieutenant don't hit it off together."
"Well, Cain won't truss us up for a flogging after the licking you
gave Soames," remarked Vyse. "I don't mind admitting I felt a bit on
the scared-stiff side when the bo'sun began playing with his
cat-o'-nine-tails. And Cain hasn't turned us into pirates yet."
"And never will," added the Sub. "Hello, we're altering course.
What's the game now?"
The _Alerte_ was no longer heading towards the Scillies. She had
ported helm and was now making in the direction of Land's End. She
was showing her proper navigation lights and was fussing along just
like any tramp bound up-Channel.
It was a dark and clear night. Although the sky was overcast and no
stars were visible, there was a total absence of fog. It was easy to
pick up the numerous lights marking the "Chops of the Channel." Even
the flash of the Lizard--thirty miles away--could be observed,
although under ordinary conditions its visibility extends over a
radius of twenty-one miles only.
"There'll be a gale before very long," declared the Sub. "The
excessive clearness of the lower atmosphere is a sure sign of that.
The _Alerte_ will have to seek shelter somewhere.... How about
turning-in? I'm dog-tired. It's no use remaining on deck."
To this suggestion Vyse readily agreed. He, too, was very sleepy.
Not since they left Fowey had they had a good night's rest.
On the bridge were Captain Cain, Pengelly, and a couple of hands.
Another was at the wheel, while the customary look-out was stationed
for'ard. All the rest of the crew were below.
Both the captain and his lieutenant were well conversant with this
part of the dangerous Cornish coast. In fact, although there was a
chart on the chart-room table, neither of the two officers took the
trouble to consult it.
Presently Captain Cain turned to one of the hands and ordered him to
lower the masthead lamp. It was the pirate skipper's intention to
take the narrow, intricate channel between Land's End and the
Longships; the absence of the masthead lamp would give the
lighthouse-keeper the impression that the _Alerte_ was a small sailing
craft. Thus he hoped to weather Cape Cornwall and seek refuge on the
bed of St. Ives Bay until the threatening gale had blown itself out.
Giving the dangerous Brisons a wide berth, the _Alerte_ opened out
Pendeen Light. So far so good. It was now close on low water and no
vessel would be entering or leaving St. Ives harbour for the next
four hours.
"Vessel dead ahead, sir!" reported the lookout.
Captain Cain uttered an oath. He wanted to arrive at the desired
position he had chosen for purposes of submersion without meeting
craft of any description. Here were the red, white and green lights
of a steam vessel almost bows on to the _Alerte_.
He ported his helm. The other vessel did likewise. Each now showed
the other her red and white navigation lamps, for on rounding Cape
Cornwall the _Alerte_ had rehoisted hers. There was no danger of
collision, but the two would pass far too close to Captain Cain's
liking.
Suddenly the dazzling beam of a searchlight leapt from the
stranger's bridge. For fifteen seconds--no more--it played upon the
_Alerte_, throwing masts, funnel and upperworks into strong relief.
Then it vanished.
"Destroyer!" exclaimed Pengelly.
"Let's hope she's satisfied," rejoined Captain Cain grimly, as he
blinked at the sudden transition from the brilliant electric light
to the darkness of the night. "No, curse her! She's turning."
A flashing-lamp began its preparatory blinks from the destroyer's
bridge.
"What ship is that?" it inquired.
"Reply __Memnon__ of Bristol," ordered Cain, addressing the signalman,
who with ready presence of mind had fetched the Aldis flashing lamp
from the chart-room.
The destroyer's response was a curt invitation to stop. "I'll send a
boat to examine your papers," added the message.
"By thunder you won't!" muttered Captain Cain, ringing the
engine-room telegraph for "Stop." "All hands below as sharp as
greased lightning," he ordered. "Mr. Pengelly, warn the duty men to
prepare for diving stations. I'll be with you in a brace of shakes."
Both the destroyer and the supposed tramp were losing way; the
former, owing to her heavier displacement and narrow beam, having to
reverse her engines in order to prevent herself overrunning the
_Alerte_.
Captain Cain could hear the squeaking of blocks as the destroyer's
boat was being lowered. He was rather dubious about the step he
proposed taking. He estimated, although he had not taken soundings,
that the _Alerte_ was in eleven fathoms, with a sandy bottom. In the
absence of electrically propelled motors, the submarine had either
to go up or go down. She could not maintain a midway depth, for
although fitted with compensating tanks, these alone, without the
assistance of the horizontal rudders--which were useless unless the
submarine were making way--would fail to keep her at a constant
depth. Should the soundings prove much greater than he expected, the
_Alerte's_ hull might be unable to withstand the enormous pressure of
water. If, on the other hand, the depth were considerably less, then
the _Alerte's_ mastheads would show above the surface, since there was
no time to lower them before submerging.
The creaking of oars announced that the destroyer's boat had pushed
off and was heading for the supposed _Memnon_. Again the dazzling
searchlight was unscreened. There was no time to be lost.
Descending the bridge at breakneck speed, Captain Cain ran to the
after-end of the conning-tower. Here, stowed in an air-tight box,
was the smoke-producing apparatus used in conjunction with the dummy
funnel to give the effect of a vessel with steam, propelled engines.
In the same compartment were several explosive rockets.
Disconnecting the pipe that conveyed the smoke to the base of the
funnel the pirate captain laid the nozzle on the deck. Then, hastily
securing one of the rockets to a stanchion, he ignited the
touchpaper.
The moment the detonator exploded, Captain Cain released the smoke
cloud, descended the hatchway, and closed the water-tight cover.
"Flood ballast tanks!" he shouted.
Three minutes later, the _Alerte_ sank on practically an even keel to
the bed of St. Ives Bay. The depth gauge registered eleven and a
quarter fathoms, which meant that at high tide she would be lying in
eighty-seven feet--sufficient to immerse the trucks of the masts to
a depth of twenty-eight feet.
"That's done them!" exclaimed Captain Cain exultantly to his second
in command.
"Unless they depth-charge us," added Pengelly gloomily.
"They won't--why should they?" rejoined the skipper. "They don't know
but that we blew a hole in the old hooker and sank her for good and
all."
"Perhaps they'll send a diver down to report."
"Not before daylight," declared Cain. "And then, if I am any judge
of the weather, it'll be too choppy for that."
For some minutes every one kept silent. Although the watch below
were almost overwhelmed with curiosity to know what had occurred,
the captain gave strict orders that no conversation was to be
permitted.
He was confident enough: Pengelly was showing signs of nervousness.
Submarine work was not in his line. He was good enough for surface
work--in fact, he was a good seaman--but he lacked the cold,
calculating and resourceful courage of his chief.
"What's that?" he ejaculated, as a dull rasping sound penetrated the
hull of the submarine, "They're sweeping for us."
"Shut up!" exclaimed Captain Cain sternly. The grinding noise
continued for fifteen long-drawn-out seconds. Then it ceased as
abruptly as it had commenced. Shortly afterwards, the muffled thud
of the destroyer's engines were heard, loud at first then gradually
diminishing.
"She's off," declared Captain Cain. "What we heard just now was the
sinker [1] of a mark-buoy. She's probably making for Falmouth for
shelter--or else under the lee of Lundy. They've done us out of a
comfortable berth, Pengelly; we've got to shift."
"Now?" asked Pengelly dubiously.
"Not until an hour before high water," decided the other. "We'll
break surface and drift, using our engines only if absolutely
necessary. With the set of the flood tide we ought to be swept
through the Sound midway between Godrevy Island and the Stones.
There's a minimum of fifty feet at high water."
"How about the lighthouse-keepers?" objected Pengelly. "Ten to one
they've been warned."
"Any more objections?" asked Captain Cain, losing his temper. "Stow
it, man. Why didn't you go in for gardening? That's more in your
line, I think."
With that Captain Cain went to his cabin, and, after warning one of
the men to call him at six bells (3 a.m.), calmly went to sleep.
At the appointed hour the skipper was roused.
Fresh as paint, he began preparations for bringing the _Alerte_ to the
surface.
Absolute caution was essential. The destroyer might not have gone:
she might be anchored in the bay. The atmosphere might be still
clear, the stars might be shining brightly. Until the submarine
broke surface, there were no means of ascertaining what the
above-water conditions were. And even with the periscope extended to
its greatest height, the masts would be well above the surface
before the eye-piece gave any indication of what was in the
vicinity.
At length the _Alerte_, shedding tons of water through the scuppers in
the superstructure, broke surface. Eagerly the captain threw open
the hatch and came on deck. It was raining heavily. There was little
or no wind. A heavy ground swell was setting in from the Atlantic.
All these conditions supported Cain's declaration that there was a
severe storm approaching.
Shouting to the watch on deck to turn out, the captain hurried to
the bridge and took rapid bearings by the standard compass. To the
south-'ard the harbour lights of Hayle bore S. 22 W.; St. Ives red
light, S. 70 W., while Godrevy lighthouse was on a bearing S. 88 E.
Transferring these data to the chart, Cain found the _Alerte's_
position to be favourable for his project--to allow her to drift
through the narrow passage known as the Sound into deeper water
under the lee of an extensive shoal of half-tide rocks known as the
Stones.
A sailor dashed up the bridge-ladder.
"We've brought up a mark-buoy with us, sir," he reported. "What are
we to do with it?"
There was no hesitation in the skipper's reply. In a trice he had
considered and decided upon what was to be done. If the buoy were
thrown overboard, it would serve as a guide to the destroyer's
operations for examining the supposed wreck. If it were not there,
then a vast area of the bay would have to be swept before the naval
officers discovered that the "wreck" was no longer in the bay. The
longer they took to make this discovery, the better the chances of
the _Alerte_ getting safely away.
"Cut the rope and unstrand the ends," he ordered, "then heave the
buoy overboard."
By so doing, it would give the impression that the buoy rope had
parted in rough weather. In all probability the coast watchers would
find the buoy pounding against the rocks off Godrevy Point.
Almost imperceptibly the _Alerte_ continued to drift. Every
half-minute Captain Cain took angles with his sextant, while
Pengelly attended to the compass bearings. Although the shore lights
were visible, it was an impossible matter to distinguish the
outlines of the coast. Conversely, no one ashore--not even the
lightkeepers of Godrevy lighthouse--could discern the black hull of
the _Alerte_ as she was borne with all lights extinguished towards the
gateway to safety. Even at a hundred yards the steady downpour of
rain was sufficient to obliterate her from watching eyes.
Presently, the _Alerte_ entered the red sector of the lower Godrevy
Light. She was now in the danger zone. There was quite a nasty
tide-rip, while the thunder of the breakers across the Stones on one
hand and upon the rock-bound Godrevy Island on the other, were
indications that spelt disaster to any vessel that missed the
passage of the Sound.
It was an anxious time. More than once Captain Cain grasped the
handle of the engine-room telegraph, fearing that the ship was
drifting too close to the breakers. Then with remarkable suddenness
the _Alerte_ passed beyond the warning red sector.
"All clear, Pengelly!" exclaimed the skipper. "We're through. Pass
the word to the hands to lower masts and funnel and make all snug.
Smartly, but with no unnecessary noise. Keep the lead going, there."
In ten minutes the work of snugging down was completed. The
soundings gave a depth of ten fathoms.
Captain Cain descended from the bridge--slowly this time.
"Hands to diving stations!" he ordered.
For the second time that night the buoyancy tanks were flooded. The
_Alerte_, two and a half miles E. by N. of her previous and enforced
resting place, lay snug and sound to await the passing of the
threatening storm.