The _Swift_ was a formidable fighting ship, though built to tackle the
midgets of the sea--the 130 feet torpedo boats. She had no torpedo-tube
in the stem, which had been strengthened for ramming; but she carried
two tubes at the stern, one four-inch quick-firing gun, two six-pounders
forward, and two twelve-pounders on pedestals. Including the officers,
there were twenty men to work the ship and guns, and a staff of ten
firemen and engineers. The seamen were picked men, tempted by high pay,
and all of them showed the unmistakable stamp of strict training and
discipline. They were, in fact, men of the Naval Reserve, recruited by
the Quartermaster--hard, weather-beaten, and, except when off duty,
still-mouthed. The Quartermaster, Henderson, was black-bearded and
swarthy, like the Captain, and it was rumoured among the men that this
was not the first time the two of them had shipped in the same capacity
in blockade-running in the wars of South American Republics. The
conning-tower, a small chamber, fitted with tubes, knobs, levers, and a
spare wheel, and walled in with thick plates of toughened steel, was
just forward of the first funnel. Beyond it was a turtle-backed deck of
iron, and on either side were the six-pounders, protected by
bullet-proof shields. The Captain could fire the aft torpedo guns by
electricity from the conning-tower.
"Clear the guns for action, and slacken speed."
The shrill, clear notes of the whistle rang out the sharp summons, and
the men sprang to their positions with an alacrity which had not marked
their actions when threatened by the British warships. Then they had
done their duty sullenly, with a sense of ill-omen at having to
encounter their own flag; but now they were on a different footing in
respect to this new foe, and eager to be at some other game than always
on the run.
"If our Captain's half as good at fighting as he is at running," growled
the sailor known as Dick the Owl, for his night eye, "we'll have a
bellyful, eh, mate? and good luck to it."
"Eh, it's a queer thing, Dick, that we navy men should be under these
port-to-port cargo and hat-box carriers, but the Captain's got red
lights in his head when there's danger afoot, and maybe he'll be a good
'un to follow."
"As good as any you would find on the bridge of any battleship afloat,
my men," said Lieutenant Webster, who had been standing by unobserved.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the men, touching their caps.
"That's all right, my men; we've got to know each other yet," replied
the Lieutenant, with a kindliness that won their hearts. "Wash down the
decks first," he cried; "we'll not go down to Davy's locker disguised in
soot, like imps of darkness. Out with the hose."
The men laughed as they screwed on the hose to the hydrants and poured
on a stream of water, sweeping the grimy decks from stem to stern.
"Now, get below for a sluice and a dram," cried the cheery voice of the
Lieutenant, whose idea of handling a crew was not according to naval
instructions. The men trooped down the narrow companion-way laughing
and joking in their excitement; but the roar of the enemy's guns, as he
fell round to port, and brought his starboard broadside to bear, was a
summons that brought them tumbling on deck again ere they had time to
wipe their mouths with a backhanded swipe.
"Steady, men, and to your quarters," said the Captain quietly; "all but
the men for the big gun, who will go below."
Five men had taken their position about the big gun, which stood with
its chase pointing up, as though looking away to the horizon for its
enemy. These men stood astonished at the order.
"Below, men," said Lieutenant Webster, approaching them; "you'll not be
wanted till morning," he added, as he noted their sidelong looks.
They went down in silence; and, by the pressure of a button in the
conning-tower, the Captain lowered the long gun into the deck, the same
machinery sliding a heavy shield of toughened steel over the opening
left by its disappearance. This gun had been specially built for the
catcher, and was of a larger calibre than the guns usually carried by
that kind of craft. It rose or fell on a strong powerful lever, on a
modified principle used for the disappearing guns; and the frame of the
ship had been strengthened amidships to bear the strain. It could be
loaded and fought on deck, or loaded below and fired from the
conning-tower when at close quarters, and had been christened "The
Ghost," after a trial made before reaching Madeira. "The Ghost" was
turned out at the Elswick Works, and could fire sixty fifty-pound
projectiles in ten minutes.
"We've laid our ghost," said Webster to Hume, who, being quite fresh to
this part of the business, stood looking out into the blackness astern
in a state of suspense; "we've laid our ghost, and must raise theirs."
"Is that you, Mr Webster?" said the Captain, leaning over the bridge.
"Yes, sir!"
"I must ask you to go to your cabin."
"To my cabin, sir?"
"Yes; I will not want you till daybreak, and you will fight all the
better, then, for a good sleep. Take off the men from the
six-pounders--the fewer on board the better."
Webster went below with six men from the two guns, leaving on deck eight
hands in all to work the ship and the two twelve-pounders. One of these
was at the wheel in the conning-tower; another was stationed forward on
the lookout; and the others were in two steel towers, which were aft,
about three feet above the deck, protecting the men from the hail of
missiles that might be discharged from the machine guns, while their
sloping sides would deflect larger projectiles.
"Mr Hume!"
"Sir."
"Join me on the bridge."
Frank mounted to the low bridge, and went close to the dark figure of
the Captain for companionship. They were unprotected by steel armour,
and for himself he experienced a feeling of complete helplessness. He
felt that up there he was a mark for every gun aimed at the _Swift_, and
that without any power of retaliation.
"It is a fine night," he said aimlessly, looking up at the starry sky.
"A very fine night, indeed," said the Captain, taking hold of his beard
with both hands; "but there'll be rain in the morning."
Frank brought his eyes down from the stare to a red eye that gleamed far
astern.
The Captain took a couple of steps, and spoke down the tube: "Please
attend to your fires; there are too many sparks."
Frank wondered at the Captain's quiet tones. Usually he was sharp and
rough; now he spoke as though he were asking for a second cup of tea.
"I knew it," said the Captain.
The red eye astern was dimmed by two livid flashes. Frank heard the
dull reports, and then with a thrill down his back listened to the cry
of the shells as they sped on. The enemy had as yet done no damage, but
he knew that these shrieking messengers had at last scented their foe.
He jerked his head violently as the shriek rose to a fiendish scream,
and a swift rush of air swept across his face, whilst the crushing of
iron behind him told that the shot had struck. It passed through the
forward funnel as though it had been a sheet of paper, and the smoke
came pouring out of the holes.
"They've got our range at last, and it's lucky for us they have no
search-light."
"I'll go and get my rifle," said Frank.
The Captain chuckled: "She's a mile off, at least; and if not, you might
just as well puff at a whale with a pea-shooter. Still, I know how you
feel. It's devilish hard to stand fire without giving back." He raised
his voice: "Fire!"
The twelve-pounders spoke together, belching out balls of fast revolving
smoke, and spurring the ship on with their recoil.
"It's no good, of course," muttered the Captain; "but it will encourage
them to keep up the chase."
"Why not give them the big gun, Captain?" asked Frank impatiently.
"A waste of ammunition; and we'll want all we have when we get near the
end of our voyage. I could turn and engage them, but I like to see what
I am about, and all I want to do now is to encourage them. There she
goes round; see her port lights; she'll give us another broadside, and
do you count the flashes."
"Count the flashes," thought Frank; "does he think this is a review?"
The twelve-pounders let go at the row of lights, and as the smoke rolled
away there came a muffled roar, and in an instant, it seemed to Frank,
the air was full of shells. The water was cup up astern, and one
projectile struck the turtle-backed deck forward, and went humming into
the black of the night.
"She carries six guns to the broadside, I think. What do you make it?"
"A dozen, at least, Captain, and heavy metal," said Frank, wetting his
lips.
"No more than six and twelve-pounders. A larger shell sets up a
different music, as you will soon learn. Still, I don't like it; their
gunners are too smart."
The Captain took a turn up and down the bridge, then sent a shout to the
Quartermaster to cease fire.
"Mr Hume, you will find a life-belt on the starboard side, opposite the
hatchway, with a canister attached. Cut it adrift."
Frank found the belt, and sent it overboard.
"Keep her three spokes to port."
The steersman starboarded the helm, and the _Swift_ went off at an angle
to her former course, whilst the canister, on reaching the water, flared
out in a brilliant blaze in the ship's former wake.
Before Frank had reached the bridge the enemy had come round and fired
his two forward guns, then, keeping on to port, quickly let go his
starboard broadside. The water about the floating flare was dashed up
in showers.
The Captain slapped Hume on the back as he reached the bridge.
"That's a simple trick, eh! and we could slip away as easy as winking if
we had a mind to. Lord, won't they howl when they find how they have
been done!"
There came a hearty guffaw from the towers aft as the men saw through
the Captain's joke.
"Lord, there he goes again," as the forward guns again belched forth;
"what a ferocious devil the commander must be! He takes that light to
be a signal, and imagines he is firing at a crippled ship, the devil."