steady, accurate fire upset their calculations, and time after time they
were driven back with loss.
For another hour nothing further happened, and though wild yelling could
be heard in the fore part of the ship, there was no more firing.
“I expect they’re trying to loot the foremost hold, sir,” remarked
Dowell. “They’ll have a tough job, though,” he remarked, with a grin.
“All the cargo’s in big cases, and they won’t shift them in a hurry.”
The captain was just about to reply, when Jim, who happened to be taking
a breath of fresh air at one of the portholes in the ship’s side,
suddenly gave a yell of delight.
“What’s the matter?” asked his father.
“There’s a ship out at sea,” exclaimed the boy excitedly.
They all crowded round and gazed in the direction in which he pointed,
and there, sure enough, was a small white vessel steering a course to
round the point of land some distance astern of the steamer.
So far the Chinese had been too intent upon their loot to notice her,
for there were no signs of movement on the part of the junks.
“I wonder if she’ll spot us?” queried the skipper anxiously. “Can’t we
think of something to attract her attention?”
They all looked at each other anxiously, for this was a difficulty they
had not considered.
But Jim came to the rescue.
“Father!” he said suddenly, “from her colour I believe she’s a
man-of-war. Why shouldn’t we signal to her?”
The captain looked at his son.
“But how d’you propose to do it?” he asked.
“Signal to ’em by the Morse code,” said Jim.
No sooner said than done. Round the saloon were the cabins of several of
the officers, and going to all of them in turn Jim purloined all the
walking sticks he could lay his hands upon. He found eight in all, and
lashing them together, succeeded in forming a fairly stout pole about
ten feet in length. Then, tearing a large piece off a white tablecloth,
he secured it to one end, and going to one of the portholes thrust his
improvised flag through it, and began to wave it to and fro in a series
of longs and shorts.
-- -- -- --,--,-- ---- -- --,-- ---- ---- --
it went, spelling out the word HELP time after time.
But the Chinese had spotted the flag, and before Jim had been at work
for two minutes he heard wild yells, and an instant later the rifles of
his comrades were once more hard at work.
II
H.M. Sloop _Lucifer_ was proceeding towards the Shantung Promontory at a
steady twelve knots.
On her bridge the lieutenant on watch leant listlessly against a
stanchion, slowly sweeping his telescope from side to side as he gazed
through it at the land on the port bow. He was doing it more from pure
force of habit than anything else, but he suddenly gave vent to a low
exclamation, and, bracing himself up, held his glass perfectly steady.
“Great Cæsar’s ghost!” he remarked to himself, “there’s a steamer ashore
there with some junks alongside her, and someone’s waving something
white from one of her ports. Short short short short, short, short long
short short, short long long short,” he read out. “Great Scott!” he
exclaimed, “the fellow’s spelling out HELP!”
He left his position and went amidships, and, leaning over the bridge,
gave an order to the man at the wheel below.
“Starboard, three points!”
The helmsman put the wheel over, and while the _Lucifer_ swung round
until her bows were pointing directly towards the stranded vessel, a
messenger was sent to the commander to inform him of what had been
sighted, and, before a minute had passed, he was on the bridge gazing
intently at the stranded ship through his binoculars.
“It’s my opinion,” he remarked at length, and seeing the white flag
waving to and fro, “that the Chinamen from those junks are giving the
fellows on board that steamer a pretty rotten time. She probably ran
ashore in that fog early this morning, and they’re looting her.”
He walked across to the engine-room telegraph, and jammed it on to “Full
Speed.”
“Travers,” he resumed, turning to the officer of the watch, “get a gun’s
crew up and load one of the foremost 4-inch guns.”
The lieutenant saluted, and a few minutes later the quickfirer had been
cleared away, and its lean muzzle was pointing in the direction of the
steamer.
It was not until the sloop was within a couple of miles of the wreck
that the pirates noticed her, but the minute they did so they were flung
into a state of frantic confusion, for they could be seen tumbling over
each other in their haste as they clambered down the sides of the
steamer and aboard their junks.
By the time the _Lucifer_ was within half a mile the clumsy native craft
had hoisted their sails and were speeding back towards the village.
The commander slowed his engines, and at the same moment hailed the
officer on the forecastle. The gun muzzle quivered until it was pointing
full at the leading junk, now well clear of the _Hoi-Hau_, and a second
later there was a sharp report, a sheet of blinding flame, and a
four-inch shell screeched its way through the air.
* * * * *
Aboard the _Hoi-Hau_ things had not been progressing very
satisfactorily.
Again and again the Chinese had attacked and had been repulsed, but
finally the sheer weight of numbers had told, and when at last the
ammunition of the defenders had dwindled to an alarming degree, the
pirates had succeeded in reaching the bulkhead.
Once in this position, the British could not fire without exposing
themselves, and the enemy began to beat down the door to get at those
inside.
Captain McCaul and his officers had made up their minds for the worst,
when Jim suddenly stopped waving his flag.
“Hurrah!” he yelled. “She’s coming this way!”
The welcome announcement put new heart into the defenders and they
nerved themselves for a desperate resistance, for the entry of the
Chinese was now a matter of minutes.
A short time later events took quite an unexpected turn. The enemy,
seeing the approaching man-of-war for the first time, suddenly abandoned
the attack and retreated to their junks, while the defenders, too
thankful to speak, made their way out of the saloon and went on deck.
Closer and closer came the little sloop, until, when the junks were all
clear of the steamer and had hoisted their sails, she opened fire. The
first shell struck up the water a hundred yards short of the leading
junk, and flew off into the air with a savage whine.
The pirates redoubled their efforts to escape, shrieking and yelling as
they plied the sweeps to assist the sails. But it was too late, and
their efforts were in vain, for the four-inch gun barked
[Illustration: “Jim saw the masts of the native craft falling whilst
masses of debris were flung skywards by the force of the powerful
explosive.”
_To face page 47_
]
again, and this time the projectile hit the leading junk full in the
stern.
Jim had a fleeting glimpse of a sheet of flame; he saw the masts of the
native craft falling, whilst masses of debris were flung skywards by the
force of the powerful explosive.
When the smoke cleared away the junk was barely recognisable, for she
lay low in the water like a derelict, and already the flames were
licking at her battered timbers.
Another sharp report came from the sloop, and this time the shot pitched
into the water under the bows of a second enemy.
The Chinese then realised that the game was up, for, lowering the sails,
most of them jumped overboard and began to swim for the shore, while
before very long the _Lucifer’s_ boats, filled with armed bluejackets,
were taking possession of the abandoned craft.
Soon afterwards the commander of the sloop came aboard the _Hoi-Hau_.
“Good morning, captain,” he said, advancing towards McCaul, and glancing
round the decks in astonishment. “You seem to have been having a pretty
bad time.”
“If you hadn’t come,” said the skipper gratefully, wringing his
visitor’s hand, “they’d have broken down the door and murdered the lot
of us.”
“By the way,” remarked the commander, “Who was that fellow of yours
making signals to us?”
“Here he is,” replied McCaul, pushing Jim forward. “He’s my son.”
“It’s lucky you made that signal, youngster,” said the naval officer.
“We’d spotted you all right, but if you hadn’t waved your flag we might
have been too late. Where did you learn your Morse, by the way?”
“I’m a Scout, sir,” Jim explained, blushing furiously.
“Just as well you are, my boy,” said the officer with a twinkle in his
eye. “You ought to be proud of your son, captain,” he resumed, turning
to McCaul.
“Proud!” laughed the skipper. “Proud! Of course I am!”
* * * * *
When the tide rose, the _Hoi-Hau_ floated off the rocks with but little
damage, and before long was once more on her voyage to Chifu.
The bluejackets of the sloop succeeded in capturing the greater number
of the pirates, and it was subsequently found that they belonged to a
notorious band who had preyed on the defenceless trading junks for some
time past.
Jim, as may well be imagined, has never forgotten his one and only brush
with pirates.
III
THE GUNNER’S LUCK
(The following story is not mere fiction, for the events therein
described actually occurred during the South African War.)
H.M. Torpedo-boat Number 60 was pursuing her way northward along the
western coast of Cape Colony at a steady ten knots. As a matter of fact
the exact course was N.N.W., and this took the little craft along
parallel to the coast and some fifteen miles off it, while Robben
Island, thirty miles to the northward of Capetown, had been abeam at
noon, so the ship was well on her way up the coast in the direction of
Cape Castle.
It was a beautiful afternoon, with a clear blue sky, unflecked by the
least vestige of cloud, while the sun overhead converted the sea into
one vast expanse of shimmering light. There was a gentle breeze from the
south-east, but it was not sufficient to raise a sea, and the great
ocean was only disturbed by a slight swell rolling in from the westward,
over which the little torpedo-boat rode with an easy movement.
It was 1901, when the South African War was at its height and the whole
of Cape Colony and Natal was one great military camp. The daily arrival
of transports had come to be looked upon as a mere matter of routine,
for the war had been going on for eighteen months. The Navy, too, was
not idle, for many men belonging to the Cape of Good Hope Squadron had
been at the front with their guns, fighting side by side with their
soldier comrades, while the coasts of Cape Colony and Natal had also to
be patrolled.
There were at that time comparatively few ships on the Cape station, and
as many hundreds of miles of coast had to be covered, all the
torpedo-boats in reserve at the naval base at Simonstown had been
requisitioned for this service, and though hardly suitable for the task,
they performed their work with a thoroughness which left nothing to be
desired. Through lack of lieutenants the greater number of them were
commanded by gunners, and No. 60, the little vessel with which we are
concerned, was in charge of Mr. Samuel Hyne, a warrant officer of this
rank.
Small as she was, he was proud of her, and though her 65 tons
displacement, her 127-1/2 feet of length, her 15 men, and her armament
of four 14-inch torpedo tubes, besides one three-pounder Hotchkiss and a
solitary 45-inch maxim, made her a very puny and insignificant little
craft, she was, in Hyne’s eyes, quite the smartest thing afloat flying
the White Ensign. He was proud of her, for his pennant flew at her
masthead, and though in 1886, when she first saw the light of day, she
could do her 20-1/2 knots with her single screw, and now could steam no
more than, as he himself would call it, “eighteen and a kick,” he
revelled, like many others, in the delights of his first independent
command.
Close alongside the after torpedo tubes, and near the hatch leading to
the stuffy wardroom, the skipper sat on a camp stool having a friendly
yarn with the chief engine-room artificer, Watson, who, though only a
chief petty officer, was the engineer of the ship. It was hardly
possible to tell the chief E.R.A. from his commanding officer, for both
were clad in nothing but trousers and singlets open at the neck. It was
noticeable, though, that the engineer never omitted the “Sir” when
addressing his senior, even though the two men were close friends.
“It’s all very well for you to say I’m lucky to have this job,” the
gunner was saying. “I dare say I am, but lucky or not, I’d far sooner
have had a chance of getting to the front!”
“Yes,” nodded the chief E.R.A., reaching for his tobacco pouch, “but if
you ’ad, sir, maybe you’d a got a bullet through you, same as Mister
McFiggis, o’ the _Doris_, did up at Graspan. ’E was full o’ beans when
’e left the ship, but ’e nearly pegged out in ’orspital. Lor’ bless me
’eart an’ soul, ’e didn’t want no more soldierin’. Lor’ lumme, no!”
“I wouldn’t mind running the risk of that,” answered Hyne, “if only I
had the chance of doing something. They’ll get medals and bars, and
distinguished service orders, and goodness only knows what, and I’m
busted if we’ll get so much as a bloomin’ ‘thank you’ for patrolling
this blessed coast. Not so much as a thank you,” he reiterated
mournfully, glancing at the dull purple serrated edge of the mountains
away on the starboard beam. “I’m sick of it all!”
“Well, it’s not your fault, sir,” went on the chief E.R.A. “You can’t do
more’n obey your orders, an’ if you don’t get your chance you don’t, and
that’s all about it.”
The gunner laughed, and both men relapsed into a silence which was only
broken by the gentle ripple of the water as the torpedo-boat forced her
way through it.
The afternoon wore on, and at four o’clock Hyne went forward to relieve
the coxswain on watch. The orders were turned over, and the petty
officer went aft to his little cupboard of a mess, and was soon busy
with his tea, which meal consisted of stale bread, fried eggs of
doubtful origin, and well-stewed navy tea with no milk, for in those
days condensed milk was not served out by a paternal Government.
It was about one bell in the first dog-watch (4.30 p.m.) that the
gunner, who was gazing abstractedly at the distant land, felt a sudden
tremor from the after part of the ship. At first he paid no attention to
it, for the little ship always vibrated badly, but when there came an
awful bump, followed by a jarring grind, and then a fearful clatter from
the neighbourhood of the engine-room, he realised something serious had
happened, and commenced to run aft.
He was just in time to see the chief E.R.A. disappear down the
engine-room hatch like a shot rabbit, while the coxswain, with an
anxious face, was climbing up the ladder from his mess.
“What’s happened?” cried Hyne.
“I don’t rightly know, sir,” answered Naylor, the coxswain. “Me an’ th’
chief was sittin’ in th’ mess when we ’ears a bump an’ then a grindin’,
an’ then th’ engines start ’eavin’ round fit ter bust!”
Descending the greasy ladder, the gunner went below into the
engine-room. Seeing a group of perspiring men in the after part of the
little compartment, he went up to them.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Shaft’s gone clean in half, sir,” said Watson, looking up.
“Lord help us!” gasped the skipper. “Is it possible to do anything to
it?”
“No, sir,” replied Watson, wiping his perspiring face with a bit of
dirty oily waste until it was streaked with black. “It’s a proper
dockyard job I’m afraid, it’s gone clean across!”
“Are we making any water?”
“Don’t think so, sir,” said the other. “If we had a’ been it ’ud found
its way for’ard by this time. It’ll have strained the stern gland a bit,
but the broken part of the shaft’s still there, and I expect I can keep
the flow under with the ejectors.”
“I hope you can,” remarked Hyne, “but let’s go aft and have a look.”
They left the engine-room, and going aft along the upper deck visited
all the stern compartments in turn.
“There’s no damage to speak of,” said Watson, when the survey was
completed. “Th’ gland’s weeping a bit more’n usual, an’ one or two rivet
heads are sheared off an’ one or two plates a bit buckled. We can keep
the water under all right, an’ I’ll get th’ ejectors workin’ at once.
But we can’t steam another inch, of course.”
He vanished below, and while he set the pumps to work Hyne thought over
the situation. He was placed in a most unenviable position, for No. 60,
having, like the majority of the older torpedo-boats, only one screw,
was absolutely helpless with her tail shaft fractured. Even if they had
a spare length of shafting it could not be placed in position. He grew
pale as he thought of what might happen. The mighty Agulhas current
would carry the disabled ship to the northward, and though he had food
and water sufficient for perhaps a week’s consumption if he put the men
on half rations, affairs still looked pretty desperate, unless some
passing steamer gave the torpedo-boat a tow into harbour. She was,
however, out of the track of steamers running to Capetown, and her size
did not make her a very conspicuous object.
The one small dinghy the little vessel carried would not accommodate
more than eight of her men at the very outside, and if the ship had to
be abandoned the other men would have to be towed astern in life-buoys,
while their progress would naturally be slow, and their chance of
reaching the coast, twenty miles distant, doubtful in the extreme. Even
allowing that it was possible, the sea was infested with sharks, so Hyne
dismissed the idea as impossible almost as soon as he thought of it.
Going aft he was met by the coxswain.
“Get the ship’s company aft, Naylor,” he ordered.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Soon afterwards the little crew had been collected, and, stepping
forward, the petty officer reported, “Ship’s company present, sir,” in
his best battleship manner.
“Men,” began Hyne, getting on to the after torpedo tube, “I’ve not
brought you up here to spin a long yarn. You all know what’s happened,
and that we’re practically helpless twenty miles from land, and out of
the track of shipping. We’ve got three days’ grub on board, say four
with what we’ve got in the wardroom, so, in case of accidents, we’ll
pool the lot and put everyone on half whack!
“It’s a poor look out, I don’t mind telling you,” he went on to say,
“but still we’ve a chance. The weather’s fine, and though we can’t
steam, we can sail....
“Yes,” he said, noticing that the men were looking at each other in
surprise, “I daresay sailing a torpedo-boat sounds strange, but it’s got
to be done! Saldanha Bay’s the best place to make for, it’s about thirty
miles nor’-east of us, and as the wind’s freshening every minute and
going round to the southward, we’ll have it on the starboard quarter. We
must buckle to, and rig up a couple of extra masts--bearing out spars’ll
do--and we must cut up every bit o’ canvas in the ship, and make it into
sails. Four hours at the outside must see us under way, and though we
shan’t go very fast, I hope we’ll make Saldanha Bay some time to-morrow.
That’s all I’ve got to say, and now I want you to buckle to and rig up
the masts and make the sails.”
The men cheered as he dismissed them, and before long they were hard at
work furling the awnings while the storerooms were burgled for every
inch of canvas they contained. Presently those of the men who could use
a sail-maker’s palm and needle were busy sewing the lengths together,
while others placed and stayed the spars to serve as main and mizzen
masts, for the torpedo-boat only carried one stumpy mast forward.
By eight o’clock, when the sun sank to rest beneath the western horizon
in a blaze of scarlet and gold, everything was ready except the sails.
“Come on, lads! Bear a hand!” shouted Hyne cheerfully to encourage the
men sewing, and noting with satisfaction that the breeze from the
southward was momentarily freshening. “We must get sail on her as soon
as we can!” The bluejackets worked with a will, and half an hour later a
small jib and triangular trysail were set on the foremast. They were
anything but well cut or shapely, for they had been made out of the
awning, but still they served their purpose, for as soon as they were
hoisted the wind bellied them out, and the little vessel heeled over and
began to move through the water.
“Steer east-nor’-east!” said Hyne to the coxswain, as the latter ran
forward to take the wheel, and, as the rudder went over, the skipper saw
with satisfaction that the ship answered her helm.
By nine o’clock it was pitch dark, and the stars had begun to twinkle in
the dark blue of the sky overhead, and soon afterwards the other sails
were ready, and were set on the spars serving as main and mizzen masts.
The torpedo-boat slipped still faster through the water, until she was
making about four knots, while the men, highly satisfied with their
work, had their frugal supper of stale bread and bully beef.
The hours dragged wearily by, but by midnight the breeze had developed
into a strong wind, which still blew from the same direction. The sea,
however, had got up, and the little ship wallowed
[Illustration: “He saw to his inexpressible relief that the entrance to
Saldanha Bay was in sight.”
_To face page 57_
]
heavily as she crawled along at her leisurely gait, but as the stars
still shone it did not appear as if the weather was going to get any
worse. The gunner and coxswain spent the whole night on deck, and at
five o’clock the next morning the first signs of dawn appeared over a
serrated band of obscurity on the horizon which could only be land.
Hyne, exhausted as he was, felt quite cheerful when he saw it, and when
daylight came he saw, to his inexpressible relief, that the entrance to
Saldanha Bay was in sight a short distance to the northward.
Two hours later the crippled torpedo-boat crawled into the harbour, and
passing several steamers and sailing craft at anchor, whose crews broke
into ironical cheers as she crept by, finally dropped her anchor off the
settlement.
“Well, sir,” remarked the chief E.R.A. to Hyne, as the latter went aft
towards the wardroom hatch, “you’ve had your chance all right, if you’ll
excuse my saying so, sir, and I reckon the Admiral’ll have something
nice to say to you when we get back to Simonstown.”
“Nice!” sniffed Hyne. “Nice indeed! I expect he’ll order me to be
court-martialled on the spot because the shaft broke. Endangering one of
His Majesty’s ships, and all the rest of it!”
“I ’ope not!” declared Watson, dropping his h’s in his nervousness.
“Hindeed! I ’ope not!”
“Well, we’ll see,” said the gunner, going down the ladder; “but
meanwhile I’m going to send a wire reporting what has happened.”
* * * * *
A week later H.M. Torpedo-boat No. 60 arrived at Simonstown behind the
second-class cruiser which had been sent to Saldanha Bay to tow her
back. The news of her vicissitudes was already common property, and as
she passed by, the men-of-war on her way to the dockyard, a string of
coloured bunting crept to the masthead of the flagship and fluttered out
in the breeze. An instant later the sides and rigging of the war vessels
were black with men, and as No. 60 passed cheer after cheer rang out
across the water.
“What the deuce do they want to make all that shindy about?” growled
Hyne, who, if the truth must be told, felt rather relieved at the
reception.
“I expects you’ll find out orl rite when yer reports yer arrival to the
Admiral, sir,” murmured the coxswain.
An hour later the gunner was reporting his arrival to the Admiral on
board the flagship. The Commander-in-Chief got up from the table at
which he was writing.
“I’m glad to see you back, Mr. Hyne,” he said graciously, shaking hands.
“I’m glad you came out of it all right. Let me hear all about it; your
wire didn’t give me much news beyond the fact that you’d broken down and
had ... er, sailed your torpedo-boat into Saldanha Bay.”
The story was soon told, and when the narrative was complete the Admiral
rose from his chair.
“Mr. Hyne,” he said, “I congratulate you. I knew when I appointed you to
No. 60 you’d do well, but I never expected this. I shall forward a
report of your conduct to the Admiralty.”
“Thank you, sir!” gasped the astonished Hyne, his face turning the
colour of a beet.
“And,” continued the Commander-in-Chief, “I shall be very pleased if you
will come and dine at Admiralty House to-night. My wife will be
interested in your story, and I’m afraid you’ll have to tell it all over
again.”
* * * * *