Living this episode over again, I labor with the inadequacy of any
combination of words to describe it. I saw the Boche boat bearing down
like the wind upon the Canby boat--its intended victim. I was now
positive, and I exulted in mind that I had Bulow in the toils. I was
witnessing an overt act. But I hoped it would not bring harm to the
child, such a slight bundle of charming girlhood. I cannot describe my
feelings as the Boche boat, on evil bent, came swooping down from one
direction and we from another with no chance to arrive there first.
And if we did arrive ahead of them how could we contend with a
five-pound cannon which I knew they had mounted the day before?
The little girl's face portraying unalloyed joy suddenly changed to
apprehension.
"Why, there is a big boat heading directly for the _Sprite_. I wonder
what they want? It is very fast, too!" The child grasped the wheel
firmly, glanced again at the motor, which seemed to throb with
increased eagerness as it dashed into calmer waters on the lee side of
the island.
"Why--why--that looks like the boat that came to our wharf when I was
alone, and I had to shoot--oh, Mr. Wood, it is the same!" exclaimed
the girl. "What can they want?--I can't see Daddy anywhere. He must be
diving and may not come up until after they get there. I can see them
plainly now; there are several men on deck, all looking at the
_Sprite_!" she exclaimed, with a little cry of pain so foreign to her,
a cry of the wounded--soul-depressing, pleading.
She glanced at the motor behind her, as if to urge it on to greater
effort. As we came up I could see now why the _Sprite_ was speedy. The
little girl and Scotty both had said she was very fast. She was built
like a scimiter, her graceful lines showing above the water, as she
bowed, queenlike, to the slightly undulating sea, tugging gently at
her anchor.
We were now within half a mile of our goal, and the Boche boat had
stopped short like a rearing pair. They were now within a few hundred
feet of the Canby craft and swung broadside, coming to a standstill
with reversed engine. This was instantly followed by a puff of smoke
that bespoke tragedy.
"It is the same boat, and they are shooting at the _Sprite_ with a big
gun!--they are trying to sink it!--Daddy must be diving!--I cannot see
him!--He would shoot them all if he were there!--Oh! Oh!"--and she
beat the wheel of the _Titian_ frantically with her delicate hands as
if to drive it faster. As they drew closer another cannon shot boomed
above the quiet sea like a knell of death.
At that instant the little girl's face changed to that of a raging
woman of fearful determination. Her eyes burned and glittered, a wild
fierceness unseated her gentle youth and femininity.
I don't care to witness such fierceness often--it's terrible to see in
human beings. The delicate, innate, refined child disappeared, and the
calm, stolid determination of a maddened woman came to view. I shall
never forget this picture--it was sublime. She instantly planned.
She steered past the bow of the _Sprite_, scanning futilely for signs
of her father, then brought up with reversed engine within fifty feet
of the Boche boat, and asked me to hold steady there. In an instant
she had lifted one of the seats, grasped something, and disappeared
over the side as smoothly as a seal.
Two men on the Boche boat came to its bow to see what was going on,
but, being unarmed, I made no move, divining what she was doing. I
could hear three jubilant voices; a shot hole in Canby's _Sprite_ was
visible just above the water line. They knew it had passed out below
on the other side. One of the men shouted, "She is sinking!" then
added, "Better give her another shot to make sure." Then came another
order to get the rifles ready for Canby "when he comes up." As if
suddenly realizing there might be danger in a launch stopping so near
them, three or four men faced about to look us over.
I recognized among them at once the thick waistband and heavy jowl of
the leader--and, yes, there was the bandaged hand just as Scotty had
described.
"What's this?" he said in perfect English. "We can't leave anyone to
tell tales. We'll take no chances. Better swing around and give this
one a shot, too--the rifles will not sink her.
"What do you want here?" he asked insolently, when he saw me trying to
shrink up to invisibility under the cowl of the _Titian_.
I did not have time to answer, for a thin hand grasped the other side
of the boat and the little girl came over the side holding the ends of
a double insulated wire. With the savage gleam in her eyes she then
without hesitation applied the two ends to separate poles of the
battery. This done, she looked directly at the Boche with the bandaged
hand, not more than fifty feet away, who stood much puzzled by her
appearance from nowhere.
A fearful explosion immediately followed that carried the bow of the
enemy ten feet in the air, falling back instantly as though seeking
the quickest route to oblivion.
This, then, was the effect of the "terror" her father had invented!
Her face gave no sign as she started the motor and drew alongside the
_Sprite_, now but a short distance away. It was taking water in the
cockpit aft as it gently rolled in the sea.
She jumped on board, went to the half-inch down line over its side
which she knew led to her father working below. She tried it for
weight, as he might be coming up. Not being reassured by this, she
stood up in the boat and began filling her lungs. Her wonderful chest
expanded to deformity before she went over the side with the down line
as a guide. I knew she was bound for the bottom of the sea to rescue
her father, and such terrible determination would get him, dead or
alive. To one underneath water a cannon shot above is a stunning blow.
After she was over I watched the Boche boat that was surely sinking,
bow down. The Huns were all below, evidently to determine the extent
of the damage. Not being anchored, their wreck seemed likely to drift
away.
I jumped from the little _Titian_ into the _Sprite_, to note the
damage of their shots. One had evidently missed, but the other entered
above the water line, and being deflected, passed out on the other
side, at the water line. I thrust a piece of waste in the jagged hole
and noted she had so far taken but little water.
When I looked again for the Boches they were out on deck working
frantically over the single lifeboat and were swinging it out on its
davits. Craven fear had now replaced the jubilant insolence of a
moment before.
I sprang back into the _Titian_ and took the girl's rifle. At a short
distance I am fairly accurate and I sent three bullets through the
bottom of the light metal lifeboat. I wanted these men, they having
actually committed a crime in the territorial waters of the United
States. By getting them and their boat I might have the key to a
violation of international law.
I called upon them to surrender or I would shoot to kill. The man with
the bandaged hand and great paunch was an easy target. Dazed and
chagrined at the turn of things, they stood for a moment in silence.
Then followed loud talking and swinging of arms, as if accusing each
other.
A panic seemed imminent among the trapped fiends, three of them went
below; the cook, still clothed in white, and the engineer in greasy
overalls, ran to the lifeboat, shoved it off into the sea
and tumbled and plunged in after it. One began to row frantically
while the other railed at those left in the sinking boat. I did not
need them so bad, and without this lifeboat I was sure of the rest.
Evidently attracted by the dropping boat, the remaining three rushed
back on deck, shouting curses, and shaking their fists with rage at
the two in the boat making frantically for the coral island.
Their boat, with bow under, stopped sinking, evidently held up by
water-tight compartments amidship and aft. Without a small boat or an
engineer, I felt sure they were mine, though I knew there were rifles
aboard, and the five-pounder might be brought into action if the
escaping engineer was not the gunner.
As the three went below again I jumped back into the _Sprite_. The
down line evidenced life and big air bubbles coming to the surface
assured me that the little girl, at least, was safe. But the least
neglect in watching the movements on the Boche boat was very
dangerous. I knew that deviltry was certainly being planned.