A PILOT UNDER COMPULSION.
Dawn was just breaking as the "Pique" arrived on the scene of the
disaster. Her escape, of which her crew were totally in ignorance, was
owing solely to the fact that Karl von Harburg had fired his last
torpedo at the ill-fated "Topaze." His means of offence were now
reduced, for the power of being able to deliver his antagonist a
smashing blow below the surface was no longer possible: he could only
ram. Yet the captain of the "Vorwartz" hesitated to attempt to deal
thus with the "Pique." The British cruiser had passed within two
cables' length of where the modern buccaneer was running beneath the
surface; but the risks to himself by ramming a large armoured vessel
travelling at thirty knots were far too great.
Seeing that he could render no further assistance Captain Restronguet
ordered the "Aphrodite" to be submerged. It was the safest plan, for
although he communicated with the "Pique" by wireless, the message was
not in code, and the British cruiser, determined to take no risks, might
open fire at the submarine.
The position of the "Vorwartz" was now, according to the detector, forty
miles S.W. of her pursuer. When Captain Restronguet came to fix her
position on the chart he knitted his brows in perplexity. The rival
submarine was, if his information was correct, actually within the delta
of the great Zambezi River.
"Now we have her!" exclaimed Captain Restronguet gleefully. "It will be
a bit of a shock to Von Harburg when he finds that his return journey is
barred by the only craft he feared and one that he thought he had
destroyed."
"Do you think he's heard that the 'Aphrodite' was not smashed up after
all?" asked Hythe.
"It is doubtful. If he has I can only conjecture that he has decided to
ascend the Zambezi in the hope of eluding us. Otherwise I cannot
suggest any reason unless he wishes to form a base in this unhealthy
Portuguese territory since his Sumatran refuge is closed to him."
"I have heard that the district is reeking with fever, sir," remarked
the sub. "Many times men-of-war have sent exploring parties up the
river and almost invariably some, and once every man, of the crew have
been stricken down. The Portuguese have, apparently, taken no active
steps to rid the locality of the mosquitoes. If the deadly climate
could be rendered habitable, as in the case of the Canal Zone at Panama,
the Zambezi would be one of the greatest trading arteries of the world."
"Some day it will," said Captain Restronguet. "The British Government
has had its eye upon Portuguese East Africa for some time. Could the
Portuguese Republic be induced to sell it there would be a splendid
outlet for Rhodesia, and under active management the Zambezi would make
a splendid waterway. Even now it is navigable as far as Kebrabassa
Falls, nearly three hundred miles from the delta."
"It strikes me, sir, that we shall be grilling in a fetid atmosphere
before many hours are past," observed Devoran. "Why couldn't Karl von
Harburg stick to the sea?"
"There's nothing like variety," replied Captain Restronguet
complacently. "After we've settled with the 'Vorwartz' we may have a
little shooting; lions and rhinos are fairly plentiful, to say nothing
of smaller fry. But I do not think we need entertain fears of the
climate. It is only at night that the pestilential mists are really
dangerous. Every day just before sunset, we will submerge the
'Aphrodite,' since there is reason to suppose there are deep holes in
the bed of the river for this to be done even if the normal depth is
insufficient. We shall not thus be inhaling the noxious gases, nor be
exposed to the attacks of mosquitoes and other germ-bearing insects;
whilst river-water passed through our condensers will be perfectly
drinkable."
According to the rosy views held by the captain of the "Aphrodite" the
new phase of the cruise was to be a sort of picnic; but he had reckoned
without his host.
On arriving off the First Bluff Point, on the western side of the main
outlet of the Zambezi, it was found that there was such a heavy tumble
on the bar that to attempt to cross it would be an impossible task.
The detector showed that the "Vorwartz" was maintaining her distance;
evidently she was in luck, and had negotiated the difficult entrance in
the nick of time.
For twenty-eight days the "Aphrodite" lay in sight of the clump of high,
straight trees, that lay very close together, giving the point the
appearance of a cliff, to which the name of First Bluff Point owes its
origin.
Meanwhile the news of the great disaster to H.M.S. "Topaze" had been
sent by wireless to Cape Town by the captain of the "Pique," and in a
very short space of time the Admiralty were in possession of the salient
facts of the latest outrage by Karl von Harburg. There was a panic
amongst the merchantmen in East African waters; the scanty harbours of
that coast were filled with ships whose skippers feared to put to sea.
Even the mail-boats took particular care to give the supposed
cruising-ground of the "Vorwartz" a wide berth; while the liners running
between London and Liverpool and Australia and New Zealand abandoned the
Cape route and stuck to that via Cape Horn.
People began to ask what was the use of having command of the sea when
one solitary submarine could do practically what it liked beneath the
surface. Vast sums had been spent to keep the British navy in a state
of efficiency and numerical supremacy; money had been poured out like
water to provide defence against hostile aircraft that might menace our
shores; yet one submarine--not a new invention, but merely a great
improvement on existing types--was playing a one-sided game not only
with British shipping, but with the mercantile marine of the whole of
the nautical world. And now even warships were being sent to the bottom
without so much as a glimpse of the attacker.
In the midst of this gloomy outlook came a consoling gleam of light.
The "Aphrodite" was now known to have survived the attack made upon her
by her rival; and to Captain Restronguet the entire civilized world
pinned its faith.
Although Captain the Hon. C. L. Sedgwyke had refused to make any public
statement concerning the disaster to his ship until the impending court
martial took place, he telegraphed a full report to the Admiralty. It
was the plain, unvarnished story of a brave yet unfortunate British
officer. He laid particular emphasis upon the fact that Captain
Restronguet was in the "Aphrodite," ready and willing to grapple with
the modern buccaneer, but only at earnest solicitation of the captain of
the "Topaze" did he stand passively aloof in order to give the British
cruiser a chance to distinguish herself.
Britons are generally supposed to be a phlegmatic race, but when they
have an attack of hero-worship they get it pretty badly. Captain John
Restronguet was the hero of the day. A photograph that an amateur
photographer on the "Persia" took of him during the "Aphrodite's"
passage through the Red Sea appeared in all the papers, edition de luxe
copies were sold by hundreds of thousands, and the firm who bought the
copyright for one guinea made nearly L30,000 out of the transaction.
Restronguet coats, hats, and boots were all the rage; in fact the name
Restronguet applied to any article ensured it a ready sale. The nation
was Restronguet mad.
But the captain of the "Aphrodite" was not a man to have his head turned
by fatuous hero-worship. He knew perfectly well that in the course of a
few years his name would be a mere byword. Reports of his popularity
had been transmitted to him by his agents. He merely shrugged his
shoulders, and impressed upon the wireless operator who received the
messages to maintain a strict reticence as to their nature. He had a
mission to perform, and he meant to accomplish it. Thus, with
ill-concealed impatience he waited and waited till, with his crew, he
became heartily sick of the sight of First Bluff Point and the
forbidding bar of the mighty Zambezi.
On the morning of the twenty-ninth day of the "Aphrodite's" detention a
native boat, manned by half a dozen blacks, was observed to have managed
to cross the bar and was bearing down towards the vessel. In the stern
was a European, a sallow-faced man dressed in dirty white clothes and a
broad sun-hat.
As soon as the boat came alongside the bowman dexterously threw a rope,
and when this was made fast the white man, without waiting for an
accommodation ladder to be shipped, swarmed up on deck.
"Me pilot," he explained, with a deep bow and a flourish of his hat.
"Me pilot 'pointed by Republic. Me take you in."
"Is it safe to cross the bar?" asked Captain Restronguet eagerly.
"Yes, senhor; me take you in for so many milreis," and he held up the
fingers of both hands four times.
It was a matter of nearly nine pounds--thrice the amount the Portuguese
expected to receive. It was part of his nature to make allowances for
being beaten down.
"I'll make it gold to the value of eighty milreis if you put me inside
the bar to-night," said Captain Restronguet.
"Me take you up to Marromea--that am de port--for dat," exclaimed the
pilot gleefully. "How much you draw?"
"Twelve feet," replied Captain Restronguet.
The Portuguese had no need to make a calculation to arrive at the depth
in "bracas," since the British fathom is almost identical with the
Portuguese "braca."
"Too ver' much," he exclaimed, shaking his head.
"I can reduce it to seven feet."
"How can do? You no throw cargo oberboard?" asked the astonished
Portuguese.
Without replying, Captain Restronguet gave an order for the emergency
tanks to be emptied, and still greater was the pilot's amazement to find
the vessel rising higher and higher out of the water.
Suddenly it occurred to his slow-witted brain that the craft he had
boarded was a submarine, and since the only submarine he had heard of
was the "Vorwartz," that had made the passage under cover of night, he
came to the startling conclusion that he had boarded the pirate vessel.
His olivine features turned a sickly yellow till there was hardly any
contrast between his face and the whites of his eyes, and turning, he
made a rush for the side.
"Steady, my worthy friend!" exclaimed Captain Restronguet, as Devoran
and Kenwyn caught the Portuguese by the shoulders. "A contract is a
contract. You've got to pilot my vessel over the bar."
"Mercy, senhor!" whined the fellow falling on his knees.
"Get up, you idiot!" said Captain Restronguet sharply, but all to no
purpose; the pilot maintained his entreaties at the top of his voice.
"I believe he imagines he's on board the 'Vorwartz'," suggested Hythe.
"Perhaps," agreed the captain, then addressing the pilot he told him
that he was in no danger, and that he was on the "Aphrodite."
But the man was so terrified that the words fell on deaf ears. His
terror was increased by a sudden commotion over the side as his native
crew, hearing the cries of their master, took their paddles and made off
for the shore as hard as they could urge their cumbersome craft.
At last Captain Restronguet became out of patience with the craven
pilot. At a sign from him Devoran whisked the Portuguese to his feet
and led him for'ard. Here he again collapsed, grovelling on the deck.
It was now nearly high water, and unless something were done another
delay of twelve hours at least--possibly of days--would necessarily
ensue.
Drawing his automatic pistol he clapped the muzzle to the pilot's
temple. The touch of cold steel did what words had failed to do.
Abject terror was banished by the stern menace of that small yet
powerful weapon.
"No shoot, senhor capitan!" howled the wretched man. "Me take you ober:
no shoot."
Captain Restronguet replaced his pistol, the pilot, still shaking, stood
in front of the helmsman in the fore-conning-tower and directed him by
movements of his hand. Four minutes sufficed to bring the "Aphrodite,"
rolling like a barrel, through the agitated water on the bar, and thus
after nearly a month of inaction the avenging submarine floated in the
turgid waters of the broad Zambezi.