THE MUTINY
The _944_ never picked up her consorts on that trip, for with her
wireless apparatus out of commission for three days she had no means of
locating them even if they had been within range of her radio, which
was doubtful. The day after Dave’s exploit and the drowning of Gunner’s
Mate Groom the gale died out to some extent, and the wind shifted to
the northwest, and the chaser’s course was changed accordingly. The
morning of the seventh day out of New York brought fair weather, but
the seas were still mountainous and the boat’s troubles were not yet
ended, for only by keeping the bilge pump ceaselessly at work could the
water be kept out of the engine room. Temporary repairs were made where
possible, and the boat’s nose headed toward the nearest port. Fuel was
getting low and the opened seams demanded attention. For two more days
the _944_ churned her way up and down the long, green seas, bedraggled
but still game. Then, late one warm, still afternoon, Dave, in the
foretop lookout, picked up land, and before dark the tired little
chaser’s anchor was dropped at Palma, one of the Canary Islands. That
port, however, was only a temporary refuge, for, since it was a Spanish
possession and therefore neutral, their visit was necessarily limited
to twenty-four hours.
The next day, after getting oil, they set off again for Lisbon.
Those were unfriendly waters and a sharp lookout was kept. But while
they began to meet other craft as they neared the entrance to the
Mediterranean nothing hostile came their way. Once a big Norwegian
freighter exchanged signals with them and once a Portuguese destroyer,
a queer, blue-gray, two-funnel ship, bore down on them and asked many
questions. South of Cape St. Vincent the _944_ passed close to a
string of British transports and hospital ships being convoyed by five
big black cruisers and a diminutive torpedo boat. The _944_ received
her first kind word then when the flagship, after a few fluttered
questions, signaled: “Welcome to these waters!”
The chaser had the coast of Portugal in sight for most of that day and
finally, picking her way very slowly and respectfully through the mine
fields at the mouth of the Tagus River, crept into Lisbon harbor and
anchored, just at sunset, between a French destroyer and a big gray
Portuguese battleship.
The _944_ spent eight days at Lisbon, eight blissful, restful days,
during which she was patched and calked and cleaned and painted, and
during which twenty-seven sea-surfeited officers and men made the most
of the opportunity to stretch legs ashore. Liberty was freely granted,
and Dave and Pete, now fairly inseparable, saw the city from end to
end. They rode in a broken-down taxicab for nearly two hours at the
expense of a mere 2,000 reis (which, fortunately for their pockets,
was only two dollars of American money), patronized street cars, which
were so numerous that Pete remarked in a homesick voice that they had
New York in the rush hours lashed to the mast, and they lunched and
dined at numerous cafés in company with soldiers and sailors of several
nations and a scattering of darker-skinned civilians. Lisbon was very
colorful, very gay and very hot, and, save for the presence of the
sailors and soldiers, the latter uniformed similarly to the French,
no one would have surmised that a world war was going on only a few
hundred miles away. But even if Lisbon didn’t seem greatly interested
in that struggle, she proved that war was not outside her philosophy
by staging a small affair of her own. Dave never did hear any very
satisfactory explanation of it, but he had a close view from start to
finish.
It was the fifth day of the _944’s_ enforced sojourn there. She had
gone onto the ways and had slipped off again and now, once more
respectably gray and spotless, was lying near shore on the Lisbon
side. There had been visits that morning. Officers from a Portuguese
ship had come aboard, been entertained and gone off again. Dave and
Pete with several others were trying to keep cool in the shade of the
after-house, while from forward, where a handful of men were lying
about in the bunks in preference to going ashore, the strains of
“Somewhere in France” came faintly from the phonograph by way of the
open ports. Dutchy sang the words under his voice. It was a quiet,
peaceful scene, bathed in the hot sunlight of an August afternoon.
A dozen or more warships of various sizes and nationalities were
scattered about at anchor and many dozens of merchantmen and smaller
fry swung with the tide or clustered at the docks. And into this
peaceful scene there suddenly obtruded the distant boom of a gun.
Later, all agreed that an atmosphere of unrest and expectancy had
hung over the harbor that day, but it had been too elusive to deserve
mention. Now, it seemed, whatever had been coming had arrived. Half a
dozen startled and interested American jackies sprang to their feet
and gazed toward the town. Then they gazed across the harbor for, just
short of a big battleship lying near the farther shore, a spout of
water arose from the harbor like a geyser. Within the next two minutes
many things happened. The battleship began to fire broadside turrets,
more geysers appeared and the air overhead was filled with the shriek
of flying shells. Dutchy got half way down the forward companion before
he found his nerve and came sheepishly back. To left and right of the
battleship, destroyers joined in the fray, trying, with no discernible
success, to land shells atop a battery that crowned a hill above the
harbor. The distance was too much for the destroyers’ guns, or perhaps
it was a matter of elevation that worked against them. Or it may be
that, after all, they didn’t try very hard. At all events it was only
the battleship that was able to reply satisfactorily.
A dozen or more greatly mystified American jackies and one equally
mystified lieutenant thronged to the stern of the _944_ and gazed
spellbound. What it meant no one could even conjecture, although Pete
did finally offer a theory. “They’re crazed by the heat!” he murmured
awedly. The shells from the hill were finding their targets now, and,
although the battleship was doing some lively work, she was getting the
worst of the exchange. Some five ships took part in the battle, four of
them destroyers, and three were receiving hard treatment five minutes
after the trouble started. As the _944_ was not in range no effort was
made to move her. The shells screamed over her, but none came near.
The crew of one of the destroyers took to the boats, and then on the
battleship the flag began to come down. But the shrapnel still burst
about the big ship. By that time machine gun fire had opened from the
arsenal on the harbor-side, and one of the small boats bearing sailors
from the abandoned destroyer was raked, several casualties resulting.
Along the docks interested spectators looked on unexcitedly. Three
destroyers were still firing at the shore battery but with scant
success. That none of the ships returned the fire from the arsenal
puzzled those on the _944_, for the arsenal guns were now dealing
havoc. Lieutenant Hyatt, who had been watching affairs from the stern
of the chaser, suddenly turned and gave orders. The crew scattered and
the lieutenant strode forward and climbed to the bridge. A minute later
the chaser had her anchor up and was swinging slowly around.
Down the harbor she went unhurriedly and with much dignity until she
lay broadside to the arsenal. As she approached the range of the guns
the firing dwindled and stopped, for the American ensign fluttered
above her, and however eager the troops behind the stone walls may
have been to shoot down the sailors aboard their own ships they had no
intention of starting international complications. The _944_ dropped
anchor once more and began to swing slowly around with the current. On
deck, as the chasers had approached the firing zone, there had been
some uneasiness and a very evident desire to retire to the protection
of deck houses, but on the bridge, in full view, Lieutenant Hyatt, a
cigar in his mouth, had strolled nonchalantly to and fro as though
he had never a care in the world and bullets had never been known to
penetrate a white duck uniform.
The maneuver had puzzled the men at first, but when Lingard, boatswain’s
mate, pointed across the harbor they saw the reason for it. One of the
destroyers had pulled up her anchor and was slipping down toward the
arsenal. At least two guns were manned, and the ship’s intention was as
plain as a pikestaff. She had meant to run past and let go at the
arsenal with her port guns, a feat that would have caused considerable
havoc. Now, however, evidences of a change of heart were to be seen. The
_944_ had dropped anchor so close under the walls of the arsenal that
the destroyer would scarcely dare to attempt to squeeze past on the
shore side, while, if she attempted to fire from the other, she would
very probably land a four-inch shell somewhere in the American boat.
Lieutenant Hyatt seemed never to so much as glance at the destroyer, but
it is to be suspected that he had a very fair idea of her actions, and
possibly he was quite as much relieved as any one aboard when the long,
gray craft changed her course and swung back toward the farther shore.
Shrapnel from the hill top followed her, but the aim was poor and there
were no hits and the destroyer returned to her former anchorage and
down came her flag on the run. The battleship and one destroyer had
already capitulated and now the remaining two followed the example.
In five minutes more the battle was over, in ten the sightseers along
shore had returned to their interrupted affairs, and in twenty Lisbon
harbor had settled down again into its wonted peacefulness.
When the liberty boat came back later the mystery was explained.
The Portuguese navy, or so much of it as was in port, had decided
to mutiny, the sailors concluding that they didn’t care to take any
further part in the war. Seizing a time when many of the officers
were ashore the crews had imprisoned the rest and declared their
independence. It had taken the fort, however, less than twenty minutes
to show them the error of their ways. What happened afterward to the
mutineers those on the _944_ never learned. Several were injured and
many were conveyed later to the arsenal in irons, but their ultimate
fate was not learned. Pete said he didn’t believe they’d shoot any of
them because it was against the law to take the life of a crazy person,
and, he added, “if those poor nuts weren’t crazy I’ll eat my hat! An’
say, Kid, I’ll be a lot easier in what I call my mind when we pull out
o’ here. I’m feelin’ sort o’ queer in the bean myself. It must be in
the air!”
Four days later, having received her orders, the _944_ slipped out of
the Tagus and pointed her gray nose due north. No one aboard had any
regrets, for Pete spoke for all when, looking back at the fading city,
he said solemnly: “Them Portugueezers may be all right when you get to
understand them, but they ain’t home folks!”