THE AFFAIR OF THE _BRONX CITY_
"THERE'S that _Candide_ asking for trouble, sir," replied Pengelly, as
he entered the captain's cabin. "We've just intercepted a message
saying she's leaving St. Vincent to-day."
"She's been reporting her movements long enough," said Captain Cain.
"We'll see what we can do. We'll have to shift from here in any
case. We'll find a suitable cubby-hole somewhere down the coast,
even if we have to try the Nigerian backwater. One good haul,
Pengelly, and we'll pack up and share the proceeds."
"We've done nothing much to write home about since we came south,"
grumbled the second in command. "Sending a Dago destroyer to the
bottom doesn't put shot in our locker."
"Quite so," agreed Cain. "That's why I'm anxious to nab the _Candide_.
Pass the word to Mr. Barnard that I want to be under way in an
hour's time--just before high water."
When Cain came on deck all preparations were complete, except for
breaking out the anchor. The _Alerte_ was riding to the flood tide.
The mud flats on either side of the estuary were covered. The air
was hot, sultry and still. Outside, the surf thundered heavily on
the bar.
At five knots the _Alerte_ headed seawards, scraping past the
submerged wreckage of the _Villamil_ to starboard and the island to
port, where the now-abandoned signal-station alone remained as a
visible reminder of the pirate submarine's brief and financially
disappointing sojourn in the estuary of the Wad-el-Abuam.
Just before two bells in the afternoon watch, smoke was observed on
the southern horizon. Twenty minutes later the dark grey hull of a
fairly big steamer emerged from the patches of haze.
"She's the _Candide_ right enough," declared Cain. "Clear away the
gun, my lads. One more hooker and our job's done.... No colours yet,
Mr. Barnard. We'll let 'em have a good sight of the Jolly Roger in a
brace of shakes. Pick your boarding-party, Mr. Pengelly. See that
everything's ready in the boat."
The two vessels were approaching on their respective courses which,
if adhered to, would enable the stranger to pass a good half-mile on
the _Alerte's_ port side. The pirate submarine held on in order to
avoid arousing suspicion on the part of the stranger.
Suddenly Pengelly, who had been keeping the approaching craft under
observation through a pair of powerful binoculars, turned to his
superior.
"She's a Yankee, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "She's flying the Stars and
Stripes."
"Ay," agreed Cain, with a grin. "And there's the name _Bronx City_ on
her bows as large as life. Yankee colours and Yankee name don't turn
a Belgian tramp into a United States hooker. I'm too old a bird to
be caught with chaff.... Starboard a bit, Quartermaster... at that!"
The eyes of the signalman, the gun's crew and the seamen standing
aft with the rolled-up skull and cross-bones already toggled to the
halyards, were all fixed expectantly upon the skipper of the pirate
submarine as he stood at the extreme end of the port side of the
bridge.
Captain Cain raised his right hand. At the signal the black flag was
broken out, the International ID hoisted at the fore, while an
instant later a shot whizzed across the stranger's bows.
The warning was promptly acted upon. The intercepted craft reversed
engines, lost way and then came to a stop. The Stars and Stripes
remained fluttering in the faint breeze.
Promptly Pengelly and his men pushed off to the prize, under cover
of the _Alerte's_ six-inch gun. Before the boat ran alongside the
stranger, the latter's accommodation-ladder had been lowered.
Pistol in hand, Pengelly, followed by his men, swarmed up the
swaying ladder. At the gangway, supported by several officers and
crew stood a tall, hatchet-faced man in white drill uniform and with
his peaked cap tilted well over his left eye.
"What in the name of tarnation thunder do you want?" he demanded.
"Cocktails, lime-juice or milk? If you do, you won't get--so quit."
Pengelly realised that Cain had made a mistake. The vessel was not
the _Candide_ disguised, but the _Bronx City_, registered and owned in
the United States. But having boarded her, Pengelly had no intention
of returning ignominiously to the _Alerte_.
"No quitting this time, skipper," he replied firmly. "I'm not here
to argue--this is my persuader."
He touched the barrel of his automatic with his left hand and then
pointed to the _Alerte_, which was still closing the prize.
"Guess you'll swing for this," exclaimed the captain of the _Bronx
City_.
"More ways than one of killing a cat," retorted Pengelly. "Now,
you--officers and men--for'ard you go and keep quiet, or it'll be
the worse for you."
Shepherded by half a dozen of the _Alerte's_ armed boarding-party, the
crew of the Yankee were made to go for'ard. Pengelly turned to the
Old Man.
"I don't know your tally," he remarked.
"Cap'n Hiram Adams is my name," replied the skipper of the _Bronx
City_. "Guess people know me from Quebec round the Horn and up to
Seattle and on this side of the herring-pond, too, I reckon. Hope
you're wiser."
"I am," rejoined Pengelly curtly. "Now let me see your papers."
Accompanied by the prize-master and followed by two of the _Alerte's_
hands, Captain Adams went to his cabin, unlocked a safe and produced
the necessary documents.
Pengelly's eyes opened with astonished satisfaction. The _Bronx City_,
a twin-screw boat, had a rich cargo. She had come from Beira with a
heavy consignment of gold from Lisbon. At Accra she had picked up a
thousand barrels of palm oil. Amongst other articles enumerated on
her manifest were ivory and ostrich feathers. In addition to her
cargo, she carried nine Portuguese passengers--residents of Beira
and Quilimane--on their way to Lisbon.
Unable to decide what was to be done, Pengelly ordered one of the
hands to semaphore the _Alerte_ and inform Captain Cain of the
identity of the prize and the nature of her cargo.
Back came the reply: "Stand fast. Am coming on board."
Cain lost no time in so doing. He was far more perturbed than was
his second in command. He had gone against his resolution not to
molest a United States ship. He had done so in all good faith--if
such a term can be applied to rank piracy--but the fact remained
that he had fired upon a vessel flying the Stars and Stripes.
Long before the _Alerte's_ second cutter came alongside the _Bronx
City_, Cain had made up his mind as to the course to pursue.
Ascending the accommodation-ladder, he made his way to the bridge
where Captain Hiram Adams was standing under guard.
"I am sorry, Cap'n Adams," said Cain, after he had requested
Pengelly to introduce him; "there's been a mistake on my part."
"Sure thing," replied the Yankee skipper. "But I calculate there
ain't no darned mistake about that."
He pointed to the skull and cross-bones flying from the _Alerte's_
ensign-staff.
"There isn't," agreed Cain, with a disarming smile. "The mistake was
entirely upon my part. I took you for the _Candide_. S'pose you
haven't spoken her?"
"Nope."
"She's doubtless skulking at St. Vincent, scared stiff and afraid to
meet me," continued the pirate. "Well, Cap'n Adams, I'm not going to
do you any harm. I'm not going to touch an ounce of your cargo----"
"But, sir," interrupted Pengelly, holding out the ship's papers.
"Look here."
Cain gave a quick glance through their contents. Most of the cargo,
including the gold, was Portuguese property. It was a great
temptation.
"I know my business, Mr. Pengelly," he said sternly. "Now, Cap'n
Adams, to resume. You'll be free to resume your voyage in a few
days. In my own interests I am reluctantly compelled to employ you
for my own protection. If you give no trouble you'll receive none.
Is that clear?"
Captain Hiram Adams nodded. A grim smile spread over his lean
features. After all, he was coming out lightly. His ship was not to
be sunk; his cargo was to remain intact.
"Guess it's your funeral--not mine," he replied. "Get busy!"
Cain proceeded to get busy. His first step was to send for the _Bronx
City's_ wireless operator.
As soon as the fictitious message announcing the ramming and sinking
of the _Alerte_ had been sent out, Cain ordered the operator below,
locked the door of the wireless cabin, and placed an armed guard
outside.
"Gee! Guess you're some lineal descendant of Ananias, Cap'n!"
exclaimed the master of the _Bronx City_ admiringly. "Reckon you'd
make a pile in Wall Street in next to no time."
Cain's next step was to place Pengelly with five men in charge of
the _Bronx City_, and to order the chief and second officers of the
latter on board the _Alerte_.
"Just as a matter of form, Cap'n Adams," he remarked: "it will save
a heavy strain on your steward's department.... Now, Mr. Pengelly,
keep station four cables astern of me, if you please; speed twelve
knots. Under no consideration, should we sight another craft, will
the _Bronx City_ communicate."
The pirate captain returned to the _Alerte_. If the misleading
wireless message "went down," then the _Alerte_ had yet another lease
of life and activity. The possible presence of British and foreign
warships off the Rio del Oro was a danger which he fully
appreciated. Once the coast was clear of that type of craft he could
prey on merchantmen during the next few weeks with comparative
impunity. He was very keen to snap up the hitherto much-advertised
_Candide_.
He felt considerably elated over the _Bronx City_ affair. His
magnanimity would be an asset in his favour. His discrimination in
refusing to plunder a cargo carried under the Stars and Stripes
would show that he was not a wild dog at large. Altogether, he was
very pleased with himself.
For the rest of the day the _Alerte_, with the _Bronx City_ keeping
demurely in her wake, kept a southerly course. As night fell she
stood in towards the coast, sighting land soon after dawn. Ahead lay
the Bahia Arenas, an enclosed anchorage nearly ten miles in length
and averaging one in breadth, with an extreme depth of fourteen
fathoms. Separated from the Atlantic by a long low, sandy island, it
received the Faltuba River, a fairly deep stream meandering between
banks of mangroves and bounded for miles by miasmic swamps.
Years ago the Portuguese had attempted to convert Bahia Arenas into
a commercial port. They built a stone fort, wharves and huts. The
experiment was a failure. They had reckoned without the deadly
climate. It was healthy enough for vessels lying at anchor in the
sandy bay, but no European could for any length of time withstand
the pestilential air that rose from the mangroves. The fort fell
into decay, the wharves rotted. When in course of time the French
took over the country between Cape Blanco and British Gambia, they
sedulously avoided any scheme to open out the Faltuba River, and
consequently no shipping had occasion to use Bahia Arenas for
commercial purposes.
The entrance was an easy one. Even at low springs there were
eighteen feet of water on the bar, with an additional height of
twelve feet at high water.
Once inside, the _Alerte_ signalled to the _Bronx City_ to heave to.
Captain Cain boarded the American and took charge of the bridge.
"I am going to run your ship aground, Cap'n," he announced to the
Yankee skipper. "You'll come to no harm. The mud's soft. You'll come
off before next springs--say in a week's time. By then, we shall be
miles away."
Captain Hiram Adams made no audible comment. He merely put his
tongue in his cheek.
Two miles up the river and hidden from the sea by a spur of high
ground thickly covered with coco-palms, Captain Cain ordered the
quartermaster of the _Bronx City_ to put her helm hard-a-port.
At a speed of about five knots, the ship ran aground on the
starboard side of the river, ploughing through the soft mud for
quite her own length before coming to a dead stop. There she lay, on
an even keel, with her bows within a hundred yards of the bluff of
hard ground.
"You're lying nicely, Cap'n," observed Cain, as he prepared to
withdraw the prize-crew. "I've taken the liberty to remove certain
essentials of your wireless; but I'll do my level best to send the
stuff along to your nearest agents."
Returning on board the _Alerte_, Cain's first act was to send for her
wireless operator.
"Any signals from the _Candide_?" he inquired.
"None, sir," was the reply. "I've had the 'phones on almost
continuous-like since midnight."
"Well, carry on," rejoined the captain, paying no heed to the man's
carefully-worded complaint.
"Unfeeling swine!" muttered the operator, as he made his way back to
the wireless cabin. "Me carry on after sixteen hours' trick? Not
much."