Whilst these events were in progress Captain Crouch and Jimmy Burke, in
the great seaport town of Hull, were hot upon the scent of Rudolf Stork.
From the railway station they drove straight to the central police
station, where they found the inspector in his office. Scotland Yard
had telephoned during the night that Stork would probably arrive in Hull
early in the morning. Detectives had been dispatched at once to the
railway station, but got there too late to arrest the spy, who was
probably the only first-class passenger who arrived by the one
forty-seven train from King's Cross, who had no other baggage than a
small handbag, and who was met by a motor-car in which he went off in
the direction of the docks.
The police had made sundry inquiries among the fishing people in the
poorer part of the town, and had learnt that the smack "Marigold" had
put to sea in the small hours of the morning.
Crouch saw that there was nothing to be done but to continue the
pursuit, even into the midst of the shoals and fog-wreaths of the Dogger
Bank. He knew well the maxim that it was wise to set a thief to catch a
thief, and decided to follow the "Marigold" in another fishing-smack,
and not a steamer.
His reasons for this were twofold. In the first place, the Well-bank
was extremely shallow water, across which no ocean-going ship could
pass. Secondly, as he knew full well, in view of the forthcoming raid,
the neighbouring waters were alive with enemy submarines, who were more
likely to torpedo a steamer flying the English flag than a comparatively
valueless fishing-boat.
Now, the name of Captain Crouch's friends was legion, but for the most
part they lived, moved and had their being in seaport towns, and there
were not a few in Hull.
One of these was a Grimsby man, with nearly thirty years' experience as
a trawler, who was known as Captain Whisker; and it was to his house
that Crouch and Jimmy Burke betook themselves, as soon as they had
gleaned all available information from the police.
Though it was still exceedingly early in the morning Captain Whisker was
up, digging furiously in his garden, with a blackened pipe between his
lips. He was a man the very opposite of Crouch. Crouch was small and
wizened; Whisker broad, florid and colossal. He could not have been
less than six feet five in height, and his chest measurement was
exceeded only by the girth of his waist. He was clean-shaven, but his
eyebrows were so extremely large and bushy that they resembled a kind of
superior moustache, and made his surname of "Whisker" seem singularly
appropriate.
"Why, Crouch!" he exclaimed, driving his garden fork into the ground and
coming forward with outstretched hand. "The last man on earth I ever
thought to see! It must be five years, at least, since you and I were
shipmates; and that was on the West Coast, when I took you down from
Sierra Leone to Banana Point, when you were bound for the Aruwimi, to
look for a lost explorer who, you said, was a good two inches taller
than I."
"There's no time now to talk of that," said Crouch. "I've a job of work
on hand, and you're the very man who can help. There's a German spy who
put to sea at daybreak in the 'Marigold,' and I've a mind to go after
him, if you know of a craft that can be safely recommended."
Captain Whisker drew himself up to his full height and puffed out both
his cheeks, at the same time opening his blue eyes so widely that they
resembled those of an enormous doll.
"Come inside," said he, almost in a whisper, after a pause sufficiently
long to enable him to recover from his surprise. "Come inside, and talk
matters out."
Crouch and Jimmy followed the burly captain into a very singular room,
in which a hammock was suspended from the ceiling, whilst the floor was
wholly taken up by fishing-nets, tarpaulins, ropes, boats' anchors,
lifebuoys and a hundred odds and ends such as might be picked up on a
sheltered beach near which a wreck had taken place. There was barely
room in which to move.
Crouch told his story briefly--or as much of it as he deemed it was
necessary for his seafaring friend to hear. When he had ended, Captain
Whisker unburdened himself as follows--
"You can't do better," said he, "than set out in the 'Kitty McQuaire.'
She's a faster smack than the 'Marigold'; she can do a good knot and a
half better. I reckon she can sail nearer the wind than any
sailing-ship of any kind between here and Aberdeen. She was going out
this morning, in any case. I'll come with you, and take command. It's
some years, Crouch, since you skippered a smack; and though I don't
doubt that you still know as much of your old trade as I do, what you
have told me has kind o' hoisted a flying jib before the mainsail of my
curiosity; and I should like to see the business through."
"Come on, then!" Crouch almost shouted. "It won't be the first time, by
a long chalk, that you and I were shipmates in adventure. And, what's
more, you always brought me luck."
Resolved to waste no further time, they set out together; and long
before the sun had reached its meridian, they were passing out of the
mouth of the Humber, where they set their course to the north, towards
the Well-bank lightship.
The "Kitty McQuaire" proved herself to be all that Whisker had said. As
the afternoon advanced the sea got up, until by evening a gale was
blowing from the south-east. The smack danced and dived and pirouetted,
sometimes being lifted high upon the crest of the waves, and at other
times plunging, nose foremost, into the depths.
Captain Whisker soon proved himself no less capable a seaman than
Captain Crouch. Indeed, had it not been for his great knowledge of the
sea and admirable presence of mind, it is more than likely that the
"Kitty McQuaire" would have been driven on to a shoal or foundered in
open water. They were obliged to haul down their sails, and keeping the
smack head-on to the storm, to put their trust in Providence that they
would not be driven back upon the shore.
That night to Jimmy Burke was a night of purgatory and terrible
suspense. In the first place, he was unconscionably seasick. What he
had endured upon the "Harlech" was as nothing to the torments he
suffered now. In a very short time he was reduced to such a state of
utter wretchedness that, in his fevered imagination, death by drowning
was preferable to life under these conditions. For all that, he was
filled with a great fear that the smack would, in truth, go down.
Sometimes, when a great wave broke immediately before them, the salt
water washed the ship from bows to stern, so that they were obliged to
cling to the masts or whatsoever they could lay hold upon, to prevent
themselves from being swept away.
In addition to the wind that shrieked and howled through the rigging, a
denseness lay upon the uneasy surface of the waters. It was so dark
that they could not see twenty yards before them, and knew not in which
direction they were being driven by the wind. For some hours they lived
in horrible anticipation that they would suddenly find themselves
stranded on a sandbank or some lonely part of the coast, where the ship
would be battered to fragments by the waves.
With the first signs of daybreak the fog lifted and a great blood-red
sun, like an enormous Chinese lantern, arose from out of the east, to
flood the desolate scene with a kind of purple-tinted twilight, such as
one might suppose should infest a land of ghosts. At the same time, the
wind dropped and changed further towards the south. Within two hours
the sea had so abated that they were able to hoist their sails and to
continue on their course.
Presently they caught sight of the coast, and Whisker recognized at once
the white cliffs of Flamborough Head. They were much further north than
they had dared to hope; if the wind continued to be favourable, they
would reach the neighbourhood of the Well-bank soon after dark. Jimmy,
also, had by midday sufficiently recovered of his seasickness to eat a
ship's biscuit so hard that he was obliged to break it with an axe.
Early in the afternoon, since there were several ships in the
neighbourhood--fishing-smacks, Government trawlers and steamers from the
northern ports--they lowered a net to make a pretence of fishing and to
avoid arousing suspicion. It is as well they did so, for soon
afterwards they sighted a smack, a mile or so ahead, bearing on the same
course as themselves, which Whisker recognized at once as the
"Marigold," upon which--it was presumed--was Rudolf Stork.
The wind could not have been more favourable for their purpose. They
were able to hold a straight course, and under full sail to bear right
down upon their quarry.
It was not long before the "Marigold" appeared to guess that she was
being followed, for her skipper hoisted all the sail the smack could
carry, and changed his course a little to the north. By that time the
"Kitty McQuaire" was about two miles in rear. The other ships had been
left far to the south, with the exception of a large tramp steamer, with
a funnel so aft as to appear to proceed from the poop, which was
steadily ploughing her way northward, bound possibly for Leith or
Inverness.
Though the "Marigold" strained every stitch of sail to widen the
distance between herself and her pursuer, it was very soon apparent that
she had little chance of escaping. The "Kitty McQuaire" was overtaking
her quarry, inch by inch, gaining a yard or so with every gust of wind.
Captain Crouch from the bows of the smack regarded the "Marigold"
through a long telescope that belonged to Captain Whisker, and upon
which was emblazoned in blood-red letters the name of every ship upon
which he had ever sailed. Crouch had already examined the tramp steamer
to learn that she was the "Mondavia"--by a strange chance one of the
fleet of Jason, Stileman and May, the very house to which Crouch himself
belonged.
Suddenly, with a loud cry of triumph, he thrust the telescope into the
hands of Jimmy Burke.
"Look there!" he cried. "There's Rudolf Stork, or else I never yet set
eyes upon the man! He's got his eyes glued on us through a pair of
glasses! There are not more than five men on board, so far as I can
see; and there's a strange sort of arrangement aft, which might be
anything from a cucumber-frame to a coffin! If we can overtake her
before it's dark we'll have the whole gang at the Old Bailey under a
week!"
He was wildly excited, as, indeed, he had some cause to be. By all the
laws of chance Stork was as good as captured. It was plain the
"Marigold" could not escape, for it still wanted two hours to sunset,
and she was making no better headway. It appeared that certain success
was well within their grasp. And it was just at this junction that
there happened an incident which was at once disastrous and unexpected.
The "Marigold" opened fire!
To be fired upon without warning on the high seas by an ordinary
fishing-smack is not an event that one might look for; and neither are
effective counter-measures possible when one is both unarmed and
unprepared. The first shot struck the water ten yards from the
"Kitty's" bows, whereas the next whistled high overhead, to plunge into
the sea a long way astern. It was apparent that the suspicious
arrangement which Crouch had noticed on the deck of the "Marigold" was
one of those old-fashioned high-angle muzzle-loading guns which go by
the name of mortars. As far as Jimmy Burke could make out with the aid
of the telescope, the mortar was covered over with fishing-nets and
tackle of all kinds, and Rudolf Stork was directing its fire.
Now the appearance of this new factor in the situation cast at once a
very different hue upon the prospects of all concerned. In the first
place, these weapons may be of no more use than pea-shooters when
brought to bear upon a man-of-war; but one shot below the water-line of
the "Kitty McQuaire" would suffice to send her to the bottom. Secondly,
though Crouch, Jimmy and Whisker were all armed with revolvers, they had
no weapon that was of the slightest value at a range beyond a hundred
yards.
None the less, Crouch stoutly refused to give up the chase. He loudly
protested that he would overtake the "Marigold" or go down to Davy
Jones.
The "Mondavia" was then about four miles to the west, between the
"Marigold" and the coast. They had no means of signalling to the
steamer, since there was not a flag on board, and though there was a
signalling lamp, this was quite useless whilst the daylight lasted.
At length, at the end of about ten minutes, the "Kitty McQuaire" was
hit. One of the round projectiles from the mortar struck the mainsail
obliquely, so that it tore a great rent that flapped open in the wind.
Crouch clenched both fists, and stamped upon the deck.
"Are we to go ahead?" he cried to Jimmy. "Are we to go on with it, or
give up the chase?"
"Go on!" cried the boy, who was quite beside himself with excitement. "I
don't care what happens. It's too late to go back now."
They were then almost within revolver range of the "Marigold." Crouch
went to the bows, and fired three shots in quick succession at the
fugitives.
"Heave to, you curs!" he shouted at the full power of his lungs.
It was the voice of Stork that answered.
"Come and take us," he cried in loud derision.
"Do you think we dare not?" answered Jimmy.
Before Stork could answer, Crouch broke in again, telling Stork to blaze
away with what he called his "pop-gun" which was not capable of knocking
a hole through an empty rain-barrel. These words, in spite of the fact
that they were never spoken seriously, were uttered at a most
inopportune moment; for, hardly had they left the little captain's lips
than a shot struck the starboard quarter of the "Kitty McQuaire" about a
foot below the water-line.
Whisker was the first to recognize the danger, and ordered all on board
to stand by the hand-pump, which was the only means they had of bailing
the ship.
"And even that won't save us," he added in a doleful voice. "She'll
fill for a certainty. She'll not take ten minutes to settle down."
The alarming truth of this was at once wholly apparent. Within the
space of a few minutes, the "Kitty McQuaire" took on a decided list. At
the same time, she slowed down; every second, the "Marigold" widened the
distance between herself and her pursuer. As they lowered the sails,
they heard Stork's loud, boisterous laugh, as the man looked back upon
the sinking ship upon the deck of which his victims stood in silence,
side by side.
Indeed, Crouch and his companions were face to face with inevitable
destruction. Though the storm had subsided, the sea was still too rough
to launch the only small boat the "Kitty" carried. This was a small
dinghy used for harbour work, which could neither carry all who were on
board nor live for two minutes in such a sea without being swamped.
The "Kitty McQuaire" was sinking slowly by the bows, turning over quite
gently--like a tired beast that lies down to sleep. The deck was now so
much aslant that they were obliged to hold fast to the masts and
rigging, to prevent themselves slipping down, one after the other, into
the cold, hungry sea.
The sun, at last, was setting. Darkness was spreading from the east;
and at the same time, a lowering mass of cloud was drifting forward on
the wind which presently would shut out the starlight and the moon.
There is no situation more terrible, there is nothing that requires
greater fortitude to bear, than to find oneself doomed and deserted upon
the unutterable loneliness of the sea, as the sun sinks in the sky and
the mists of twilight glide upon the surface of the waters. There was
no help for it; they knew that they must die. At such an hour, it was
but human nature that their thoughts should turn to the God Who had
given them life. Each man closed his eyes; and standing together,
clinging to the last of the sinking ship, one and all prayed silently
and swiftly that death might be easy, and that the wrong they had done
in their lives should be forgiven.
And then, as if to make their lot more hard, the cruelty of their end
more bitter, within a hundred feet of the fishing-smack, silhouetted
against the red glow of a winter's sunset, there arose from out of the
water, the shark-like, threatening form of the U93.
[Illustration: AS THEY SANK OUT OF THE RED GLARE OF A WINTER'S SUNSET
THERE APPEARED THE THREATENING FORM OF THE U93.]