THE STOWAWAYS
"LOOK here!" exclaimed Broadmayne, in a low voice, "are you game?
Now's our chance."
He pointed to the _Mendez Nunez_.
"Steady on," replied Vyse cautiously. "Supposing we get on board
without being spotted: what then? Can you speak Spanish; I can't.
The blighters will take us for pirates--I don't blame them if they
do--and there'd be a deuce of a rumpus before we could explain.
They'd probably knife us out of hand."
The two chums were standing close to the poopladder while the
plundering of the tanker was in progress. Their "passive resistance"
was now tolerated without any interference on the part of the pirate
captain. Provided they stood their trick in the ordinary work of the
ship, they were not called upon to take any part in actual acts of
piracy. They certainly earned their keep. Captain Cain had not to
pay them. On the other hand, he still hoped to get a substantial sum
for their ransom. On that account, coupled with the fact that
already they knew too much to be released, they were retained on
board the _Alerte_.
"Risk that," rejoined the Sub laconically. "It's better than being
sent to the bottom for good and all, and that's what will happen if
we don't clear out."
"Right-o," agreed Rollo Vyse. "Wait till old Pengelly's looking the
other way and then shift like greased lightning."
"And get spotted directly we gain her deck," objected the Sub. "No;
our best way is to drop overboard, swim round under her stern, and
hang on to the falls of the boat they tried to lower. As soon as the
_Alerte_ backs clear, then up we shin."
"Beastly dirty job," remarked Vyse, objecting in turn, as he glanced
at the oil-smothered water. "All right. Lead on, Macduff!"
Awaiting their opportunity, for Pengelly was kept fairly busy in
shouting orders to the men tending the warps and transferring the
plunder to the _Alerte_, the chums made their way under the bridge.
Here, secure from observation, unless any of the crew of the
quick-firer came aft, they clambered through the gap in the stove-in
bulwarks and dropped into the sea.
For the first time they realised the extreme difficulty in swimming
in oil-covered water. It was a hard struggle to keep their heads
above the surface, and quite a strenuous effort to make progress. To
add to the peril, they were liable to be crushed by the hull of the
ship as she drifted to lee'ard, while when they reached the wind'ard
side they might find that the drift was so considerable that they
would be unable to keep pace with it.
"Dog-stroke," gasped Broadmayne. "Better than breast-stroke in this
muck. We're all right."
It seemed a fearfully long time swimming under the tanker's squat
counter. Then foot by foot they struggled along the Spanish vessel's
starboard quarter to where the jagged timbers of the crushed boat
still hung from the for'ard falls.
With a gasp of relief the Sub stretched out his hand and grasped the
débris. He waited until Vyse had obtained a hand-fast and then
cautiously hoisted himself out of the water and gained a temporary
refuge by sitting on the edge of the boat's bow-thwart, where his
chum soon joined him.
So far so good. They were roughly fifteen feet below the tanker's
stanchion-rail. The boat's bows were practically intact as far as
the second thwart, and hanging in a vertical position formed a
screen from the sight of any one who happened to look over the
tanker's side. But their plight was far from enviable. Owing to the
swell, the wreckage of the boat was thudding steadily against the
tanker's side and turning dizzily as the falls twisted and
untwisted. The chums were smothered with black oil from head to
foot. Some of the vile stuff had found its way into Rollo's eyes,
making them smart exceedingly. Yet in spite of the various
discomforts he could not refrain from remarking that they looked
like a pair of blackbirds in a cage.
"There's the recall," exclaimed the Sub, as above the hiss of
escaping vapour from the _Mendez Nunez's_ steam-pipe came the shrill
notes of a whistle.
For a few minutes longer the chums listened intently. They could
hear nothing more to indicate that the pirate submarine had parted
company with her prize.
"Don't move," cautioned Vyse suddenly. "Look!"
The stern of the _Alerte_ was beginning to be visible as the vessel
backed. If she carried sternway much farther, the fragments of the
boat with the two fugitives clinging to it would be exposed to the
view of the pirate crew.
More and more of the after-part of the pirate submarine's hull
showed until the end of the mainmast derricks came into view. Then,
at first almost imperceptibly, the sternway movement diminished. A
smother of oily foam from the _Alerte's_ twin propellers was flung
astern. Her engines were going ahead. For a brief instant the
relative position of the pirate craft and her prize remained
unchanged; then, gathering way, the _Alerte_ forged ahead and
disappeared from the view of the two chums.
"Think she'll be put about if we're missed?" asked Vyse anxiously.
"Might," admitted Broadmayne. "Perhaps they're so taken up with
their success that they've forgotten all about us. 'T any rate, up
we go. We'll lie doggo as long as we possibly can, in case Cain has
a fancy to renew our acquaintance."
It was no easy matter to swarm up that fifteen feet or so of
trebled, twisted rope. Their hands, smothered in thick oil, had
great difficulty to obtain a steady grip, while, to make matters
worse, the tanker was again rolling badly. With every roll the falls
with their human burdens bumped heavily against the ship's side.
At last the Sub reached the stanchion-rail. Crouching, he edged
sideways to enable his companion to gain a place of safety. Then he
gave a quick glance along the tanker's deck.
It was deserted. The two engineers, having completed their forced
task of casting off the _Alerte's_ warps, had gone below to obtain
tools to effect the release of the rest of the crew, who, knowing
that the pirate had sheered off, were clamouring loudly for help.
Doubtless they were under the mistaken though by no means unfounded
idea that their vessel was being scuttled, and that they were in
peril of being drowned like rats in a trap.
Broadmayne's next thought was for the _Alerte_. A roll of the tanker
raised the side sufficiently to enable the Sub to see right across
her deck to the expanse of sea beyond. There was the pirate
submarine, stern-on, legging it as hard as she could go in a
northerly direction. Already she was between a mile and a half and
two miles away and momentarily increasing the distance at the rate
of a mile every four minutes.
"All clear," reported the Sub. "Keep down as much as you can in case
Cain and Co. are using their binoculars. Now then, we've got to find
a place to stow ourselves."
"Not in these trousers," rejoined his chum. "We're shedding a trail
of oil. Deck isn't any too clean, I admit, but look there! A wash
and brush up and a change of clothing is what we want."
"And likely to want," added Broadmayne. "Look alive; let's go aft
and see what we can find. I agree as to the clothes. They're not
respectable and are decidedly uncomfortable."
The engine-room and officers' cabins on board the _Mendez Nunez_ were
right aft under the poop, which, in her case, was flush with the
part corresponding to the waist, except for the deck-house abaft the
funnel.
A glance down the engine-room hatchway in passing revealed the fact
that the place was deserted. Down the companion-ladder Broadmayne
crept, his chum close at his heels, their progress marked by a
double trail of oil.
"No one at home," remarked Vyse, stopping outside the open door of a
cabin marked with a brass plate "El Capitaño." "Looks as if our late
shipmates have been here before us."
"So much the better as far as we are concerned," added the Sub.
"We'll borrow from the Old Man's wardrobe. Quick! Off with your
gear. We can sling our discarded rags through the scuttle."
They stripped, "borrowed" the curtains over the scuttles to remove
as much as possible of their coating of oil and then rummaged
amongst the lockers under the bunk.
Vyse had spoken truly when he remarked that some one had been there
before them, but apparently the pirates were sufficiently well found
in the matter of clothing to trouble to steal the Spanish
skipper's wardrobe.
In a few minutes the two chums were "arrayed" in garments of
sufficient girth, but sadly lacking in length. Evidently El Capitaño
was a short and very fat individual, for the Sub found himself
wearing a pair of trousers that reached half-way between his ankles
and his knees, displaying an expanse of pale blue shirt between the
top of the "bags" and the hem of a coat somewhat resembling a
monkey-jacket.
Nor was Vyse much better off. He had to content himself with a
ridiculously short pair of knee-breeches--part of the Spanish
captain's shore-going "plain clothes"--and a blue dressing-gown
edged with scarlet silk.
"Look alive!" exclaimed Broadmayne. "They are let loose for'ard.
This way!"
Stopping at what was obviously the officers' pantry and picking up a
couple of small-sized loaves from a few that the pirates had
considered beneath their notice, the Sub led the way to a narrow
hatchway whence a steep iron ladder gave access to the steerage
flats.
It was Broadmayne's intention to seek shelter in the triangular
space traversed by the propeller shaft, but as he lifted the steel
flap a waft of acrid-smelling smoke drifted up.
"No place for us," he exclaimed.
"Have the blighters started a fire?" asked Rollo.
"No. At least, I think not," replied the Sub; "they have probably
been monkeying with the shaft. Hist!"
They listened. Footsteps sounded overhead. The stowaways' retreat
was cut off.
The compartment was in semi-darkness. A very subdued light filtered
through the still-open hatchway. The floor was either level with or
just below the waterline, while the walls forming part of the
"run-aft" of the ship were unpierced by scuttles.
Groping, Broadmayne discovered that at one side was a large tank. It
was rectangular and not shaped to fit the wing-plates, consequently
there was a fair space between it and the curved side sufficient for
several people to squeeze into.
It was a freshwater tank. The Sub could make out a couple of pipes
leading upwards--one for filling, the other communicating with a
pump in the officers' pantry.
The trap-hatch fell with a loud clang. The Spaniard who had come aft
had narrowly escaped falling through the aperture. Without troubling
to look down he had merely slammed the metal plate into position.
"That's good," said Vyse, in a low tone. "Cuts off most sounds. We
can talk if we want to."
"So we can," added a husky voice, coming from behind the water-tank.
"It's all right, chums; it's only me--Slogger Soames."
"Bless my soul, Soames!" ejaculated Broadmayne, "what are you doing
here?"
"Thought it about time I 'opped it," explained the ex-stoker.
"Things were goin' a bit too strong on board the old hooker, even
for me. I spotted you two slippin' over the side an' swimming round
this 'ere vessel's stern. Says I to myself suddenlike, 'Well, 'ere
goes. They'll want some one to bear a hand afore they're out of this
'ere mess.' An' I knows you won't give me away when we gets on the
beach. Plymouth gasworks'll suit me down to the ground after this
little spree, I give you my word."
"How did you get aboard?" asked the Sub.
"I was givin' a hand shiftin' cargo, in a manner o' speaking,"
replied Soames. "In plain English, we wur pinchin' the bloomin'
Dagoes' duds. Then Marchant yells out for a sledge-'ammer. I fetches
it aft, gives a look over the side to see you wur all right--you
didn't spot me, but I saw you a-hangin' on to the nose of that there
boat--and then I nips down 'ere. An' 'ere I be."
There were now sounds of great activity all over the ship. Judging
by the tone of their voices, the officers were rapidly becoming
acquainted with the disordered state of their looted cabins. From
the engine-room came indications that the staff were preparing to
get the machinery in motion.
A bell clanged loudly. A few seconds later the pistons began to
move. The engines raced madly, while a disconcerting, rasping,
groaning sound immediately underneath the fugitives' hiding-place
told its own tale.
"Cain fractured the shaft before he left," declared Broadmayne. "I
had an idea that's what it was."
For some minutes the terrific clatter continued, the deck-officers
being unaware that anything was wrong, until they noticed that the
ship was not gathering way. Then a renewed outburst with the
engine-room telegraph gong was followed by the engineers shutting
off steam. The discordant metallic clamour ceased, but a babel of
excited voices all shouting at once arose in its place.
Crouching behind the water-tank, the three stowaways waited. They
had not long to wait. The hatch was thrown open and a couple of
dungaree-clad men carrying electric inspection-lamps descended the
ladder. The dazzling glare seemed to penetrate every recess of that
confined space, especially while the newcomers were still on the
upper rungs of the ladder. But the Spanish engineers did not waste
time. They both disappeared through the manhole in the floor, a pair
of wavering intermittent beams of light flung upwards through the
aperture as they scrambled over the tunnel of the shaft.
Presently, talking rapidly and angrily, the two Spaniards retraced
their way. Nothing could be done with the shaft until the _Mendez
Nunez_ was dry-docked. Meanwhile the tanker was drifting helplessly,
unable to send out a wireless call for assistance.
For the three men hiding in the steerage-flat the time passed very
slowly indeed. They could talk in low tones; they were able to leave
their cramped quarters behind the tank and stretch their benumbed
limbs. They had food of a kind; for liquid refreshment they had to
content themselves with the steady drip from a leaky joint, the tank
being covered in with a steel lid that could only be removed by the
aid of a spanner. They were in Cimmerian darkness, for with the
closing of the overhead hatch even the subdued light that had
previously been filtering in was entirely cut off. The air, too, was
none too pure, mingled as it was with the stench from the bilges,
the still present odour of burnt gun-cotton, and a penetrating reek
of garlic.
Broadmayne and his companions had no idea of the time. Their watches
had long since disappeared. Occasionally they heard the bells
struck, but the Spaniards' method of keeping ship's time appeared to
differ radically with that of British-owned vessels. And since the
flat was in utter darkness, the fugitives were at a loss to know
whether it were day or night.
"Think it's safe to go on deck?" inquired Vyse
"No, I don't," replied Broadmayne, emphatically. "The Dagoes have
quieted down a bit; but the sight of us would probably be like that
of a red rag to a bull. We couldn't explain; they wouldn't listen, if
we could. No; we must stick it. The tanker's bound to be picked up
and towed into port, and from her position it's an eighty per cent.
chance in favour of a British port."
Not very long after there were unmistakable signs that the _Mendez
Nunez_ was being taken in tow. The sluggish rolling motion gave place
to a succession of jerks. The water no longer splashed against the
hull plating. It gurgled as it ran past the rudder, while the
clanking of the steam-steering gear announced that the tanker was
again using her helm.
"That's good!" commented Broadmayne. "Who's for a caulk? I'll keep
watch if you would like to have a snooze."
This suggestion was acted upon, Soames relieving the Sub at the end
of about two hours, as nearly as he was able to guess the passing of
time. Then Vyse took on, and at the end of his trick all three
finished up the remains of the last loaf.
They were feeling ravenous again when they felt the tanker's hull
bump against something, and heard the crew running along the deck
and the dull thud of wire-hawsers being brought to the winches.
"We're alongside," exclaimed Broadmayne. "Listen!"
Placing their ears to the hull plating, they could hear the sound of
an engine shunting trucks, then--to their unbounded satisfaction--a
voice shouting:
"All fast! Look alive with that brow, lads!"
"Time we shifted," declared Broadmayne, kicking out to work the
muscles of his cramped legs. "We've got to slip ashore quietly and
without any of the crew spotting us."
Mounting a few rungs of the ladder, the Sub with a powerful thrust
threw back the hatchcover. There was no one in the alleyway. A cloud
of steam issuing through the engine-room fidley cut off the view of
the deck; but it was sunlight, not artificial light, that played
upon the oil-reeking vapour.
Keeping together, the trio made their way for'ard. Just abaft the
mainmast they could see the inboard end of a brow inclined at a
steep angle. Close to it stood two of the Spanish officers and a
couple of civilians. Several of the crew were at the guard-rails
looking down at the crowd of sightseers on the quay-side.
"Now!" whispered Broadmayne.
The three made a mad rush for the gangway. One of the Spanish
officers started when he saw two weirdly-garbed men followed by a
third in strange rig making for the brow. Too astonished to attempt
to bar their way, he could only shout and gesticulate to the Spanish
seamen standing by.
One of the latter did endeavour to stop the fugitives. Broadmayne
charged him, sending him crashing against a second Spaniard. In a
trice the three Englishmen were running down the steeply-inclined
brow.
"Hi--there!" shouted one of the two civilians who were conferring
with the Spanish captain. "Stop those men!"
None of the crowd showed any inclination to obey the peremptory
request of the individual who, Broadmayne subsequently discovered,
was one of the Spanish Consulate staff. It was not on account of the
powerful physique of the three fugitives that the crowd made way.
Perhaps they guessed that the hurrying trio were in some way
connected with the pirate crew who had held up the Spanish tanker.
At all events, the sympathies of the onlookers were with the
fugitives, not the foreigners. Had Broadmayne and his companions
wished, they could have got clean away.
But this was not their intention. Apart from cutting ridiculous
figures by careering through the streets in garments that, like
parallel lines, would never meet on their bulky frames, Broadmayne
and Vyse had no cause for flight or concealment now that they were
safely on British soil.
"It's quite all right," shouted the Sub reassuringly. "We are not
going to take to our heels. Is there a policeman about? Will some
one please fetch a taxi?"
He had no occasion to ask what port they had arrived at. He knew the
place well. It was Falmouth. The _Mendez Nunez_ was berthed alongside
the quay, almost under the shadow of Pendennis Castle.
A policeman hurried up and produced a notebook.
"What's all this?" he demanded, looking askance at the nondescript
pair.
"Pirates! That's what they are!" shouted the consular official from
the tanker's gangway.
The policeman put away his notebook and measured the bulk of the two
oddly-attired men with his own size. He was a stalwart specimen of
the Force, but not to be compared in height and weight with his
would-be prisoners.
"In the name of the law!" he exclaimed. "I warn you. Any statement
you may make will be used in evidence against you. Now, are you
coming quietly?"
"Yes," replied Broadmayne. "In a taxi?"
He looked round to see where the ex-stoker was, but saw him not.
Slogger Soames had quietly walked off and was well on his way
towards the town--the first stage of his journey back to his native
Plymouth.