A BROKEN REED
THROUGHOUT the three days during which the sea was raging furiously
in the grip of the terrific gale, the _Alerte_ remained submerged.
Occasionally the giant seas sweeping over the Stones rocked her ever
so slightly. The noise of shingle carried over the rocky ledge to
wind'ard could be distinctly heard like a continuous roll of distant
thunder, but as far as actual danger went the _Alerte_ was as safe as
if she had been lying at heavy moorings in the most sheltered berth
in Falmouth harbour.
The difficulty of maintaining a constant supply of pure air was
overcome by means of chemicals; so much so, that there was a slight
excess of oxygen that had a peculiarly exhilarating effect upon the
crew. Even the usually morbid and pessimistic Pengelly began by
attempting feeble jokes. He next became boisterous and excitable,
while on the third day even the light-hearted crew looked askance at
him, so erratic was his behaviour.
Several of the hands showed signs of excessive excitability. The
epidemic was spreading. Had the _Alerte_ remained submerged very much
longer, all hands might have gone mad under the influence of
the super-oxygen charged atmosphere.
Fortunately for them, Captain Cain noticed the symptoms. He decided
to break surface and remain with the hatchways open for at least an
hour, even at the risk of the heavy seas pouring inboard.
At two in the morning of the fourth day the _Alerte_ was brought to
the surface. Greatly to her skipper's surprise--for the glass had
risen far too rapidly to prognosticate fine weather--the storm had
blown itself out. Crested waves were surging over the Stones and
thundering upon Godrevy Island, but the pirate submarine was in
comparatively sheltered water, rolling sluggishly to the long
Atlantic swell.
Captain Cain's chief anxiety was now on account of the oil fuel. The
gauges showed that there was only one ton left in the tank. By some
means he must get into communication with Captain Silas Porthoustoc
and arrange for the _Fairy_ to proceed to a rendezvous with a cargo of
liquid fuel.
For the present the _Alerte_ rode to a single anchor, double watches
being set to give the alarm should a vessel be sighted, although the
position of the pirate submarine was well out of the way of traffic,
owing to the proximity of the reef known as the Stones. At a few
seconds' notice the _Alerte_ could submerge. Meanwhile, the hull of
the submarine was being swept by a current of pure, ozone-laden air.
"Mr. Pengelly!" shouted the skipper.
The second in command hurried along the alleyway, performing a
fantastic two-step.
"Pull yourself together, man," exclaimed Captain Cain sternly.
"We're in a bit of a fix."
Pengelly's light-hearted demeanour fell from him like a shedded
garment.
"What is it now, sir?" he inquired anxiously.
"Precious little oil-fuel left," replied the captain. "Look here: do
you know Portreath? What sort of a harbour is it?"
"Not enough water for us," replied Pengelly. "You're surely not
going to take the ship into port?"
"No fear," responded Cain grimly. "But I want to send a boat ashore.
You'd better take her. We must arrange with Porthoustoc to supply us
with oil. While you are ashore, you might get hold of a batch of
newspapers. We don't appear to be getting much information by
wireless."
"There'll be a heavy breaking sea across the mouth of Portreath
harbour," objected Pengelly.
"A chance for you to display your seamanship," added Cain, with grim
humour. "We'll run up along before daybreak and then retrace our
course. People ashore will think we're outward-bound. Pick your
crew. I'll write a letter to Old Silas, giving him instructions."
Just before dawn the _Alerte_ brought St. Agnes' Head broad on the
starboard beam. Then she turned and ran leisurely down the coast,
bringing up off the little harbour of Portreath just as the sun
appeared above the gaunt and rugged Cornish hills.
To the coast-watching station she made a signal announcing herself
as the s.s. _Eldorado_ of Sunderland from Bristol to Whitby, following
up with a request to know whether it was practicable to send a boat
ashore.
Portreath station replied that it could be done, but care was
necessary on account of the disturbed state of the bar.
"Carry on, Mr. Pengelly," ordered the inexorable Captain Cain.
The boat made the harbour safely. Pengelly, on stepping ashore, was
met by one of the Customs men.
"Hello!" remarked the latter. "Rather unusual you coming in here,
isn't it?"
"I have to post important letters," replied Pengelly.
"Lucky you didn't bring up off here a week or so ago," commented the
official. "We'd have to have searched you."
"What for?" asked the _Alerte's_ second in command, with well-feigned
innocence.
"'Cause of that pirate what was knocking about. Well, she's gone,
thank goodness! I wasn't none too keen myself, putting off to a
vessel that might have been manned by cutthroats."
"We heard something about it," remarked Pengelly. "Rumours, of
course. What did happen?"
"She blew herself up over t'other side of Godrevy Island," announced
the man, with a sweep of his hand in the direction of St. Ives Bay.
"Just as the _Windrush_--destroyer, she be--was about to nab her.
They'll be starting salvage operations when the swell settles--maybe
to-morrow."
"That's something to be thankful for," said Pengelly sententiously.
"Not that they'd have got much out of the old _Eldorado_ out yonder.
There are enough risks at sea without the chance of being scuppered
by a bloomin' pirate.... Where's the post office, mate?"
The Customs man gave the required information. Pengelly walked away,
posted Silas Porthoustoc's instructions and purchased a quantity of
provisions and a big budget of newspapers.
He returned to the harbour and found that none of the boat's crew
had deserted. He would not have been greatly surprised if some of
them had made themselves scarce. He himself felt tempted to clear
out, when his feet touched honest Cornish soil. It would be an easy
matter to make his way to Penzance and arrange with Old Silas to
share the plunder. But there were difficulties. He might betray Cain
and obtain King's pardon, but what would happen to the booty then?
Its secret hiding-place would be divulged. He would not be a penny
the better. And, if Cain evaded capture, his--Pengelly's--life would
not be worth a moment's purchase. Possibly, similar fears had
exercised a restraining influence on the boat's crew. Once "in the
swim" it was a difficult matter to escape the whirlpool.
"Better look alive," cautioned the Customs man, looking down from
the lofty quay-side. "There's a nasty sea-fog banking up."
The boat shipped a considerable amount of water in clearing the
harbour, and by the time she ran alongside the _Alerte_ the fog was so
thick that the shore was entirely blotted out.
"Well, what's the news?" demanded Captain Cain.
"Haven't looked, sir," replied Pengelly, tossing the bundle from the
boat to the deck of the _Alerte_. "From what I've heard, they think us
properly scuppered."
The boat was hoisted up and secured. At slow speed the pirate
submarine nosed her way through the fog, intending to make for a
certain secluded "sound" in the Scillies, there to await the arrival
of the _Fairy_ with the oil.
Having given the quartermaster the course, Cain selected a couple of
newspapers and told the bo's'un to pass a number of them for'ard for
the hands not on duty.
One of the newspapers was the _Western Gazette_. This the captain
handed to Pengelly, knowing that the latter would derive interesting
local information from it. The Times Cain retained and figuratively
proceeded to devour with the avidity of a man who has for days been
cut off from all accounts of the world's doings.
"Hello, Pengelly!" he exclaimed, "we're fugitives from justice."
"I know that," rejoined Pengelly, with a show of asperity.
"'Tany rate," resumed Cain, "there's a warrant out for the arrest of
Thomas Trevorrick and Paul Pengelly for fraud in connection with the
Polkyll Shipbreaking Company. We're assumed to have absconded and to
be hiding on the Continent. There's two hundred pounds reward."
Both men smiled grimly at each other. Evidently there was no
connection in the minds of the authorities between Trevorrick and
the pirate Captain Cain.
"And the _Memnon_ is officially reported as being destroyed,"
continued Captain Cain. "The Admiralty state emphatically that she
is the vessel that attacked the _Cap Hoorn_. They weren't far out
there, Pengelly, but listen! This is a gem! 'In consequence of the
destruction of the _Memnon_, all danger to shipping through piratical
action is now considered at an end. Accordingly orders have been
issued to the naval patrols engaged in hunting down the pirate to
return to their respective bases.' Well, that's given us a new lease
of life. Wait till we replenish our fuel tanks and we'll give My
Lords a nasty eye-opener." This time both men laughed boisterously.
Fickle Fortune was treating them with lavish favour.
For some minutes there was silence, each reader deep in his paper.
"By Jove!" suddenly ejaculated Pengelly. "Listen to this, sir: 'An
inquest was held----'"
"Don't want to hear about inquests," interrupted Captain Cain.
"Don't suppose mine will worry me. Why should I trouble about other
people's?"
"You will about this one," persisted Pengelly doggedly. "It's Silas
Porthoustoc. He was found dead in his garden. Heart disease, they
say. The inquest was held in the Keigwin Arms last Monday."
"Confound the fellow!" almost shouted Captain Cain angrily. "What
possessed him to shuffle off this mortal coil at this time above all
others, and to leave us in the lurch? Ten thousand thunders! Think
of the oil-fuel we'll have to whistle for!"
"And I've only just posted his orders," added Pengelly. "What did
you tell him? Will that give us away?"
"No, it won't," declared the skipper. "It will convey nothing to
outsiders. 'Scilly blooms' and 'Jersey potatoes' won't give them
a clue, Trust me for that. All the same, it's infernally annoying."
"It is," agreed Pengelly.
Both men relapsed into silence.
"I hope Porthoustoc got that Abrahams fellow down from London to
dispose of the booty before he turned up his toes?" mused Cain.
"Wonder if Silas hid the stuff where I told him to?" soliloquised
Pengelly. "Well, it's all or nothing as far as I am concerned."