"Is that so?" said the Captain, taking a long look at the steamer's
lights. "Ha, I have it," and he smacked his fist in his hand, showing
the first symptoms of excitement. "He thinks we've gone down, and we'll
lay-to till morning, which can't be far off."
"There'll be grey light in an hour, sir."
The Captain kept his eye on the steamer's light, which rose and fell,
but kept its place.
"Quartermaster, take your men below for some hot grog and a bite, and
rouse Mr Webster."
"Ay, ay, sir."
The Captain went to the tube. "Slacken speed, Mr Dixon, and be very
careful with your fires. Starboard your helm; bring her round."
The _Swift_ went round with a steady swing, bringing the enemy's light
on her port bows, instead of over her starboard stern rails.
The men lingered awhile to see the manoeuvre finished, and then went
below, satisfied there was to be a fight.
"Keep her on that course now," said the Captain to the steersman.
"Mr Webster," he continued, as that officer stepped briskly up and took
a glance round, "see that everything is in readiness, and that the men
take their positions without a word. Within an hour the fight will
begin."
"Begin, sir? You've been at it this past three hours, and I've been in
and out of my bunk a dozen--times, while the men are all on the quiver."
"We haven't come to knocks yet. I'll present my card in the morning
with a fifty-pound rat-tat."
Webster laughed gaily as he set about his duties, and presently the men
gathered silently to their posts, some of them every now and again
stealing to the sides to make out the whereabouts of the enemy and the
meaning of the manoeuvre, which puzzled them, as one might gather from
their whispered arguments.
The _Swift_ doubled back towards the eastern horizon, where the darkness
was quickly melting into the grey of dawn, and a deep silence rested on
the ship, and over the shining heave of waters. Slowly the enemy's
light was overhauled, then sank astern, but the _Swift_ kept on its way
until a tint of pink appeared in the sky and the stars suddenly paled.
"The time has come," said the Captain. "Are you all ready?"
"Ay, ay, sir!" came the answer in suppressed tones.
"Round with her, my man, on the port tack."
The _Swift_ rushed round, and there was a murmur of admiring criticism
from the old tars as they now understood the meaning of the Captain's
manoeuvre.
"They are satisfied now," said the Captain, grimly, to Frank. "They
thought all along, I'll be bound, that I could not fight this ship."
"I confess, sir, I don't understand your tactics."
"Well, I suppose you don't. The enemy's fighting strength is evidently
in her bow guns. So is ours. I have got the 'vantage of her by going
into action on her beam. Mark me, before she can bear her bow guns on
us she'll be crippled. Full steam ahead!" he shouted, and the low craft
rushed forward.
The whole horizon on the east was now bathed in light, and in a moment
the blood-red disc of the sun flamed above the black line of the waters,
while streamers of light shot into the sky. Straight ahead there rose a
dark object. A shaft of golden light stretching across the waters
struck full upon it, and there stood out in a glory of softest fire the
tall masts and long black hull of the Brazilian ship. She was at rest,
rising and falling gently; but there was a terrible awakening in store.
Every minute brought her into clearer relief, though from the dark
background beyond there was a blur about her deck, out of which,
however, presently there emerged distinct objects--her boats, her bridge
unoccupied, the gilt scroll under her stern, over which idly dropped the
Brazilian flag; and last of all, the chases of her port broadside grimly
projecting, with a glint of red sunlight on their smooth cylinders.
The two vessels were now distant about six hundred yards, and at last
the careless lookout on the Brazilian ship saw something alarming astern
in the fierce rush of the low grey craft. Some men dashed up the
rigging to get a better view, and a small group gathered on the bridge.
"We'll wake 'em up!" shouted the Captain, springing into the
conning-tower and pressing a button, which brought up "The Ghost" from
its bed.
The real action had begun; the night's work had been child's play.
There was a terrific din as the long gun threw shot after shot, and in
ten minutes a dense bank of smoke enveloped the _Swift_. The firing was
suspended a minute.
The Captain stood in the conning-tower, his hands on the wheel, and his
eyes fixed in a narrow slit under the steel roof. Giving a turn of the
wheel to starboard, he brought the stem free of the smoke, and saw the
enemy slowly gathering way, while men rushed about her decks in a state
of terrible confusion at this sudden tempest of shells that had poured
upon them.
Some damage had been done evidently, but principally to her top rigging.
And now she spoke from her stern guns, but not allowing sufficiently
for her height, the first stinging flight of shells went over the
catcher.
"Stand by the six-pounders!" cried the Captain, his voice rising to a
roar. "Depress your muzzle, Mr Webster! Fire!"
Again there was another tremendous fusillade, continuous and deafening,
while the men's eyes smarted from the sulphur in the smoke, and their
throats grew dry and husky. For five minutes the rain of lead was kept
up, and from the three guns one hundred projectiles tore into the sloop,
plunged along the port side, and shattered her rigging. Lieutenant
Webster devoted his second storm of fire at the stern guns, and the
stanchions and bulwarks about them were ripped up, and the guns
themselves dismounted.
The order to cease fire was again given, and the Captain made a point to
starboard just as the sloop was swinging round to bring her port
broadside to bear.
The ships were now but two hundred yards off, the sloop bearing off from
the port quarter of the catcher in her attempt to come round and bring
her bow guns to bear. Once she could do that she could blow the _Swift_
out of the water, but Captain Pardoe had foreseen the manoeuvre and was
ready for it. Counting upon the narrow turning power of his boat, he
swept on, and suddenly put the wheel hard to port, bringing the vessel
round within her own length, and bringing the boats stern to stern. At
the same moment he flashed the signal below to fire the stern torpedoes.
Then he stepped out to watch the effect, and the men, with heaving
chests and smoke-blackened faces, from which their eyes glared with the
fever of battle, watched too. There was a cry from the deck of the
sloop, as they saw the leap from the tubes of the two torpedoes, a
hoarse cry from the Captain to the man at the wheel, a terrible pause,
and then two lines of bubbles below the water marked the swift rush of
the deadly tubes. One line, it was seen, would continue free of the
ship, the other went straight for her stern, and a sailor, in a mad fit
of rage, first discharged his rifle at the approaching torpedo, then
plunged overboard with a wild yell. A moment later there was a muffled
roar, a vast column of water was thrown up, followed by a rending and
grinding noise. The stern of the sloop was raised, then settled down in
the trough of a great sea raised by the explosion. The torpedo had
reached its mark, and Captain Pardoe stood by to give what assistance he
could.
There was the wildest consternation on board the sloop, and the rending
noise continued; but though she lay helplessly on the water she showed
no signs of sinking.
The men on board the _Swift_ set up a hoarse cheer, and shook each other
by the hand.
"It's twenty minutes since we went into action," said Webster, wiping
the blood from his brow. "Three cheers for our Captain, men!" and
waving his hat, he led the hurrahs.
"For the love of God," cried a voice in English from the sloop, "help
us!"
"Strike your flag!" cried the Captain.
The gay flag came down, and the Captain brought the _Swift_ nearer.
"What is the matter?"
"Your cursed torpedo has blown away our propeller, and the shaft--oh,
Sancta Maria!--listen to it!--is breaking the ship."
"Why don't you shut off steam?"
"Our engineer is dead. Demonios! Don't talk, but act."
"I'll send our engineer to you."
"Quick, quick!"
Mr Dixon came up from the bowels of the _Swift_, where, without the
stimulant of action, he had stood by his work, animating his men with a
quiet courage, which was the finer because he stood in absolute darkness
regarding the progress of the fight, and knew that at any moment he
might be sent to the bottom a helpless victim in an iron prison. His
face was white and streaming with perspiration, and at the first touch
of the cold air he reeled with dizziness, but when told what was
required of him, he prepared for his new task without a word. The
_Swift_ moved gently under the tall sides of the sloop, and the
engineer, with Webster, Hume, and six men, were quickly on board. Mr
Dixon went at once to the engine-room, whence proceeded a truly infernal
din.
"Where Is the Captain?" asked Webster of a dozen men round him.
A short, thick-set, bullet-headed man, with a neck like a bull, and
moustaches that reached up to his ears, stepped forward.
"Your sword, Senor Juarez!"
"I must know to whom I am asked to surrender."
"To the National flag," said Webster haughtily.
"Carambo! that is an excellent jest. Is the flag broad enough to cover
the ships of every nation? And why should I surrender my sword?" he
asked, with a fierce scowl, while his officers drew near threateningly.
Webster stepped quickly to the bulwarks, and called to Captain Pardoe to
stand away.
That officer went at once full speed astern, and lay-to a cable length
off, with the men at their guns.
"You see?" said Webster.
The Brazilian Captain, with a terrible malediction, broke his sword over
his knee.
"A thousand thunders!" he roared, while the black blood swelled in his
temples, "to think I should have been beaten by that--that thing--and
scarcely a boat's crew hurt!"
"It is the fortune of war," said Webster, looking around. "But while we
talk the ship may be sinking for want of a little sailor-like care.
Have you a spare sail, senor?"
The Brazilian Captain folded his arms and spat on the deck.
"You surly brute!" cried Webster. "Here, men, cut away the mizzen
sail!"
In a trice the British sailors swarmed up to the mizzen yard and cast
loose the sail, which came down with a thud, knocking a couple of
yellow-faced sailors off their legs, whereat the tars up aloft laughed.
At this a dozen of the enemy drew their knives and looked to their
Captain for a word.
It was a ticklish moment, and Hume pulled out a revolver, which he
instantly presented at Juarez.
"Good, my lad," said Webster. "Shoot him down if he moves a foot. Do
you understand, senor?"
Juarez glared like a wild beast, and a hoarse, unintelligible cry
escaped from his thick lips, but he kept quiet, while Webster, without
another look at the scowling group, quickly slipped the great sail over
the side, and had it drawn round and up over the damaged stern.
In the meantime Mr Dixon, working down below, had stopped the engines
and explored the shaft funnel, ascertaining the extent of the damage
done by the shaft in its unchecked revolutions. He came on deck,
wearied out, to be met by dark looks.
"What's the meaning of this?" said he.
"The meaning is," cried Webster, with a bitter look of contempt round,
"that these cowardly hounds won't lift a finger to help us, and I'm
damned if my men will do another stroke to save them! Let the ship
sink, and she is sinking fast."
"And you'll sink with us!" roared Juarez. "Down with them; slit their
throats!"
There was a rush of men, and the little party were hemmed in.
A young officer bounded forward with drawn sword, and wheeling round,
faced his men.
"Diavolo!" he hissed through his clenched teeth, "what devil's game is
this? You called to these gentlemen in your fear to help you, and now
you would turn on them like base assassins. I tell you," he cried
passionately, "it shall not be!"
Webster and Hume, with their blue eyes flashing, ranged up on either
side of their unexpected friend, while the British tars stood with their
cutlasses ready.
Captain Pardoe, seeing something amiss, drew near. "Do you hear," he
shouted, "if you harm my men I'll let go a torpedo."
The young officer repeated the message, and the men whispered among
themselves, then threw down their arms.
Juarez shot a venomous look at his officer, and placed his foot upon a
knife, which, presently, he drew toward him.
Webster thanked the gallant foe for his assistance, and assured him that
the sloop would keep afloat until they reached Madeira. He then turned
to the side to speak to Captain Pardoe, while Frank Hume walked aft to
see what damage had been wrought by the fire of the catcher.
There was a cry, and they turned to see the young officer fall, struck
to the heart by the vengeful Captain. The next instant Juarez himself
was cut to the deck by a slashing blow from a cutlass.
At this act of black treachery the small boarding party were ready to
make a furious rush, but the sloop's officers and men looked on
themselves appalled, while a young fellow, quite a boy, flung himself on
the officer's body in a passion of grief, then suddenly springing up,
drew his knife and advanced towards Juarez.
"Enough!" said Webster sternly.
"Kill the black-hearted dog!" screamed the Brazilian sailors, giving
vent to their hate for their brutal commander, which no doubt had been
long pent up.
"I see," said Webster, with a grim smile; "we must get this fellow on
board to save him from his friends."
He signalled to the _Swift_, and when she came alongside, Juarez, who
still breathed heavily, was lowered to her deck.
"What's to be done with the sloop, sir?"
"Oh, leave her, if she can float, and think ourselves lucky to be free
of a gang of prisoners."
"She can reach Madeira by means of her sails."
"Take a look round, then, and come aboard."
Webster and Hume went aft, where all the damage done by the _Swift's_
guns had taken place, and there they found the bulwarks smashed to
splinters, the two guns overturned, and the deck wet with blood from a
dozen dead.
With a last word of advice to the gloomy and silent officers of the
sloop, Webster stepped overboard, and very soon the _Swift_ went on her
way.