Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen
[Illustration: cover of "The Captain" volume XXV]
THE SEA MONARCH
By
Percy F. Westerman
[Transcriber's note:
Mr. Percy F. Westerman has written this story for:
THE CAPTAIN
A MAGAZINE FOR BOYS & "OLD BOYS".
VOL. XXV
_APRIL to SEPTEMBER, 1911_
_London:_
GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED, 3 to 12, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND.
The magazine was a periodical that appeared monthly and was also
sold in volumes of 6 months, in this case April to September
of 1911. In the index of this volume the story appeared as
follows:
*SEA MONARCH, THE.* By Percy F. Westerman 40
98, 217, 311, 386, 482
Each instalment, except the first, has a copyright-statement
at the bottom of the first page:
_Copyright_ 1911, _by George Newness, Ltd., in the United States
of America._
]
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF THE "ZIETAN"
II. INTRODUCES THE "PLAYMATE" AND HER SKIPPER
III. RUN DOWN
IV. A PRISONER ON THE MYSTERIOUS SHIP
V. CAPTAIN BROOKES
VI. THE CONNING-TOWER OF THE "OLIVE BRANCH"
VII. RUMOURS OF WAR
VIII. TREACHERY
IX. AN ACT OF PIRACY
X. CLEARED FOR ACTION
XI. WIPED OUT
XII. THROUGH THE MINE FIELD
XIII. TRAPPED
XIV. RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
XV. A ONE-SIDED ENGAGEMENT
XVI. IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE PATAGONIANS
XVII. GERALD'S RUSE
XVIII. THE CAPTAIN'S REVENGE
XIX. GERALD'S PROMOTION
XX. THE AIRMAN
XXI. THE MISSING WIRELESS GEAR
XXII. THE TOUCHSTONE OF PERIL
XXIII. THE CRIPPLED SUBMARINE
XXIV. A FRUSTRATED PLOT
XXV. THE EMPIRE'S ORDEAL
XXVI. THE VINDICATION OF THE "OLIVE BRANCH"
ILLUSTRATIONS
Crash! The huge vessel, looming out of the fog, struck the little
yacht amidships. The stout planks were shorn through as if made of
match-board, and the water poured in a cataract over the lee side.
There was the sound of a hasty scuffling; then appeared the head
and shoulders of the owner of the _Playmate_
The mast snapped off close to the deck, and a block, hurtling
through the air, struck Gerald a terrific blow over the head.
Staggering to the door he threw it open. To his great surprise he
saw a burly sentry standing without.
In spite of his strenuous resistance they hauled the deserter out
of the empty tank, and then unceremoniously bundled him into the
gig.
"Look here, Mr. Schneider, you've come to the wrong box with your
sneaking complaints. So clear out!"
Bending over the instrument was a young officer, his head
practically covered with a metal cap fitted with receivers.
The man staggered, clapped his hand to his shoulder, and fell to
the deck, the weapon slipping from his grasp.
Schneider cleared the rail, and leapt into the sea.
The doomed vessel was instantly swept out of existence. The massive
outlines of the cruiser seemed to melt into a hundred thousand
fragments.
As night fell the searchlights played with unceasing vigilance upon
the harbour. Suddenly Captain Brookes turned to Gerald. "Does my
compact forbid me using the Z-rays?" he asked.
A party of natives appeared on the beach regarding the cruiser with
obvious amazement. In their hands they carried long slender spears,
which they brandished menacingly.
Like a terrier let loose amidst a swarm of rats the submarine
dashed towards the canoes.
A terrific detonation shook the ground, and a thick cloud of smoke
obscured the view of the pinnacle. In an agony of fear the natives
threw themselves face downwards in the dust.
Seated up to his waist in water was the aviator, clad in an
inflated rubber suit. The engine was lost to view, the tips of the
twin propellers just projected above the surface.
"Good shot!" yelled several of the officers on the _Olive Branch_.
For a full ten seconds the monoplane held on its course, then,
lurching like a wounded bird, it swooped swiftly downwards.
The searchlight revealed a huge circular turret with a pair of
monster guns. Slowly the submarine swung round, the light
travelling the length of the huge mass of weed-encrusted iron
and steel.
The four men threw themselves on the astonished foreigners, and
a desperate conflict ensued.
"In view of possible events I must ask you to take up your quarters
beneath the armoured deck," said Captain Brookes.
An admiral's pinnace was approaching the shattered _Olive Branch_.
Gerald hastened on deck to receive the distinguished officer.
[Illustration: Crash! The huge vessel, looming out of the fog, struck
the little yacht amidships. The stout planks were shorn through as if
made of match-board, and the water poured in a cataract over the lee
side. (_See page_ 52)]
THE SEA MONARCH
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of: "A Lad of Grit," "The Quest of the Golden Hope," etc.,
etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON_
[Illustration: chapter I]
CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF THE "ZIETAN"
IT was a scorching afternoon in the month of August. The slanting
rays of the sun beat powerfully upon the tranquil waters of
Portsmouth Harbour, while the white ensigns of the numerous warships
fluttered idly in the almost motionless air.
Swinging easily at her moorings to the first of the young flood lay
the torpedo-boat destroyer _Calder_, presenting a very different
appearance from its trim state of a few days before. Engine-room
defects had occasioned her return to harbour, and as these were of a
somewhat serious nature, the opportunity was taken to place the
destroyer into dockyard hands for at least two months. The
commissioned officers had obtained permission to go on leave, while
the _Calder_, in the charge of a gunner, was to be put into dock the
following day.
_Ting-ting! Ting-ting! Ting-ting! Ting-ting!_ Eight bells had hardly
sounded ere two men appeared on deck, scrambling agilely through the
small hatchway that did duty for the ward-room companion. The first
was the tall, lean-featured lieutenant-commander. The other,
Sub-Lieutenant Gerald Tregarthen, needs a slightly longer
introduction.
He was almost the same height as the commander, or a fraction under
5ft. 11 ins. in his socks, and was broad in proportion. His features,
tanned by constant exposure to sun, wind, and spray, were clear-cut,
almost boyish in expression, while at times there was a roguish light
in his deep blue eyes.
Yet beneath the apparently boyish exterior lurked the spirit of a
man. When occasion arose those merry lips would compress themselves
into a thin, straight line, the powerful chin would be thrust
aggressively forward, and a dangerous glint in his eyes would betoken
that resolution, coolness, and daring which are the indispensable
characteristics of a successful naval officer.
His service career, in spite of its comparative shortness, had been
one continued success, yet success had not been gained without sheer
hard work. With a "first" in gunnery, torpedo, and navigation, he
found himself at an early age well up on the list for promotion.
Gerald Tregarthen was in mufti; but his well-cut civilian clothes
could not conceal the erect bearing and breezy alertness that
characterised the British naval officer. Taking advantage of the
_Calder's_ temporary idleness, he had applied and obtained permission
for six weeks' leave, and, strange as it may appear, his intention
was to spend the best part of that time afloat.
There is a story told of a London 'bus-driver who devoted a rare
holiday to playing the role of passenger on his own vehicle. Similar
motives doubtless prompt hundreds of bluejackets and marines to hire
private skiffs during their leave. One has but to go to Southsea
beach, the shores of the Hamoaze, or the mouth of the Medway to see
jolly tars and jovial "joeys" rowing in shore-boats as if that form
of recreation was the greatest treat imaginable. It is, then, not so
much to be wondered at that Gerald Tregarthen elected to spend most
of his leave on board the 4-ton cutter _Playmate_, at that moment
lying in Poole Harbour, the yacht being owned by his old school-chum,
Jack Stockton.
The appearance of the two officers on deck was immediately followed
by the hoarse orders of the quarter-master. The boat's crew manned
the falls, and the little craft was brought alongside the destroyer's
starboard quarter. Tregarthen's luggage, consisting only of a
well-filled portmanteau, was handed over the side, and, having bade
his senior officer goodbye, the sub-lieutenant took his place in the
stern-sheets. A quarter of an hour later Gerald Tregarthen landed at
the King's Stairs, and, followed by a seaman bearing his portmanteau,
walked rapidly through the dockyard to the main gate. Here a
lynx-eyed driver; spotting a likely fare, ran his taxi close up to
the spot where the young sub. was standing.
"Town station for all you're worth," exclaimed Tregarthen, but ere he
could enter the taxi a boy rushed up to him.
"Evening paper, sir? All the latest naval appointments."
This is a bait that rarely fails to draw the naval man. Taking the
paper Tregarthen boarded the vehicle, and was soon bowling along
towards the railway station.
Two unavoidable delays were sufficient to alter Tregarthen's
arrangements, for on arriving at the town station he found that he
had missed the 4.45 Bournemouth train by a bare two minutes. Little
did he imagine that the loss of those two minutes was fated to effect
a tremendous change in his career at no distant date.
"Next train 6.2, sir," replied a porter in answer to the sub.'s
anxious inquiry.
"Just my luck. Over an hour to wait," soliloquised the disappointed
sub., and sitting down and placing his portmanteau by his side, he
unfolded the sheets of the newspaper.
The "Naval Appointments" he read with more than ordinary interest,
inwardly commenting on the good luck or otherwise of those of the
numerous officers he knew personally. Then the "Movements of H.M.
Ships" attracted his attention. Lower down in the columns was a
paragraph that, though he paid scant heed to it at the time, was to
vitally affect him within the next few days:--
The new ironclad _Almirante Constant_ left the Tyne yesterday. A
persistent rumour is being circulated in certain quarters that the
vessel, which has been built with the utmost secrecy, is not, after
all, to become a unit of the Brazilian navy. Our correspondent has
made careful and exhaustive inquiries on this point, but the
officials concerned maintain a strict reticence. One thing is
certain, however--she is not at present armed, the contract for her
ordnance being placed, we understand; with an American firm.
"Blest if I can understand why these South American republics want
such up-to-date ships," mused the sub. as he turned over the
refractory pages. "It's like giving a child a razor to play with.
Well, I suppose it means work for the North Country shipyards; but
should any European power lay its hands on half a dozen of them I'm
afraid our naval supremacy will have but a very small margin. Hallo!
What's this?"
A telegram from Wilhelmshaven, dated the 11th inst., states that
the Imperial third class cruiser _Zietan_ has arrived here
apparently in difficulties, in charge of two tugs. Captain Schloss
immediately landed and despatched a lengthy report to the German
Admiralty, but, as shore leave is refused, our correspondent is
unable to obtain details of the accident from any of the officers
or crew. We have reason to believe that a serious disaster has
taken place on board.
Later.----From the master of the tug _Vulkan_ we learn that the
cruiser _Zietan_, while two hundred miles west of Heligoland,
suddenly encountered a violent and unprecedented magnetic storm.
Practically every electric wire on board was fused, the wireless
gear was hopelessly broken down, and the compasses rendered
absolutely useless. The _Zietan_ was, in fact, instantaneously
reduced in fighting value to below that of a cruiser of thirty
years ago. It is stated that the ship is still highly charged with
electromagnetism, and will have to go into dock for a lengthy
period. Captain Schloss was heard to express his doubts that the
cruiser would ever be fit for sea-service again.
Gerald Tregarthen read this report with more than ordinary interest.
At first he was inclined to scoff at the intelligence. It savoured
too much of a fairy story, while it was more than possible that the
master of the German tug had been, to use a nautical term, "pumped."
Even in his somewhat brief career the sub-lieutenant had experienced
several severe electrical storms in the tropics, but the ship's
compasses and delicate electrical gear had never been seriously
affected. This new danger, should it be repeated, threatened to
increase the trials and troubles of the navigator a thousandfold.
"By George!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I must wire to Jack Stockton, or
he'll wonder what's happened. But where shall I wire to? It's no use
addressing it to the yacht--the post office people will keep the
telegram till called for. I have it. I'll wire to Stockton, care of
station-master, Poole."
Accordingly Tregarthen strolled over to the post office, discharged
his mission, and returned to the dreary platform. At length the
long-drawn hour passed, and, taking his seat in a first-class
carriage, the sub-lieutenant steeled himself to endure the
discomforts of a tedious journey.
At Southampton West his supply of literature was exhausted, so a
sixpenny novel and a copy of a London evening paper were purchased.
Occupying a prominent position in the newspaper was a further report
from Reuter's agent in Wilhelmshaven:--
The mysterious disaster to the cruiser _Zietan_ appears to be far
more serious than was at first supposed. The ship is evidently
heavily charged with an unknown form of electricity. Her standard
compass has been sent to the Imperial Laboratory at Berlin.
Meanwhile the huge cruiser _Von der Tann_, that was lying in the
next dock to that occupied by the _Zietan_, has been affected by
the inexplicable current. To avoid further ill-effects, orders have
been given to undock the _Zietan_ and move her out in the stream.
The next paragraph was to the effect that all telegraphic reports
relating to the _Zietan_ incident had been received via Middlekerke
and Dumpton Gap, the submarine cable between Borkum and Lowestoft
being interrupted. A telegraph cable ship had left the Thames in
order to locate and remedy the fault.
"Seems something in this business after all," remarked Tregarthen;
then, as his eye caught the blurred type of the "Stop Press News," he
read:--
_Zietan_ incident cable _via_ Lowestoft reports that all traces of
phenomenon have vanished. Compasses and electrical gear in normal
working order.
The young officer folded up the paper and thrust it under the straps
of his portmanteau. The cheap novel remained unread. For the rest of
the journey Tregarthen was in a brown study, cudgelling his brains as
to what he would do should he ever find himself in command of a
vessel under similar circumstances. It was growing dark as the train
drew up at Poole. Alighting, Gerald, rapidly passing along the
crowded platform, sought his old school-fellow. But no Jack Stockton
was to be seen.
[Illustration: chapter II]