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Title: The Sea Monarch
Author: Percy F. Westerman
Illustrator: E.S. Hodgson
Release Date: September 29, 2018 [EBook #57989]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA MONARCH ***
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]
CHAPTER II
INTRODUCES THE "PLAYMATE" AND HER SKIPPER
I SUPPOSE I must try and find the _Playmate_," thought Tregarthen.
"Perhaps Jack has not received my wire. I hope he hasn't cleared out
without waiting for me, though I shouldn't be surprised. It used to
be a favourite trick of his not to wait a minute for anyone."
When Tregarthen had reached the quayside he found that the whole
length of the spacious wharf was lined with a double row of coasting
brigs, schooners, lighters, and the ubiquitous Rochester barges. On
the Hamworthy side the feeble glimmer of the quay lights faintly
illuminated the white hulls of a few yachts, but the sub-lieutenant
knew that they were of too great a tonnage to correspond with his
ideas of the _Playmate_.
Where, then, in all that jumble of floating craft, was Stockton's
yacht to be found?
Gerald Tregarthen was at a loss. Beyond a few half intoxicated seamen
lurching back to their vessels the quay was deserted. He was on the
point of making for the nearest hotel when a voice came apparently
from beneath his feet.
"Ferry, sir?"
The young officer looked down. Close to where he stood a flight of
stone steps led to the water's edge. It was nearly low tide, and the
steps looked particularly uninviting in the dim reflection from the
oily water. At the foot of the landing, with barely a couple of
inches to spare betwixt the cutwater of a brig and the ponderous
rudder of a Thames barge, was a boat, its occupant holding on to a
ringbolt in the stonework by means of a short boat-hook.
"Ferry, sir?"
"Do you know of a yacht--a cutter called the _Playmate_?" asked
Tregarthen.
"Can't say as 'ow I does, sir," replied the ferry-man. "But I'll call
my mate; maybe he'll know." And placing his hands trumpet-wise to his
mouth he shouted: "Buck-up! Buck-up Cartridge, where be ye?"
The echo of the man's powerful voice had barely died away when a hail
came from the opposite shore. "Hulloa, there?" immediately followed
by the faint splash of oars.
"Old Buck-up'll know if there be any craft o' that name," remarked
the ferry-man, and as the new comer's boat rubbed its nose against
the quarter of the ferry-boat the query was anxiously repeated.
"Wot, _Playmate_, owned by a gent o' the name o' Stockton? Why, sure
I do. She's lying off the Stakes."
"Can you put me aboard?" asked Tregarthen, a load removed from his
mind at the assurance that his chum had not set sail.
"Certainly, sir," replied Cartridge; and, handing his portmanteau to
the ferry-man, who in turn passed it on to the second water-man,
Tregarthen stepped across the first craft into the second.
With long, easy strokes the boat glided with the still strong ebb
past the line of shipping and into the staked channel. Here, being
comparatively open, the N.W. wind blew fresh, and the young officer
shivered in spite of his experience on the bridge of a destroyer. He
missed the thick pilot-coat, and the comforting shelter of the
storm-dodgers.
Between long, low banks of reeking mud the boat passed, till at
length, a good quarter of a mile from the quay, appeared the dim
outlines of half a dozen yachts of all sizes, their anchor-lights
gleaming fitfully upon the dew-sodden decks and mainsail covers, and
casting broken shafts of light upon the ruffled water.
"There be the _Playmate_, sir," exclaimed the waterman, resting on
his oars and looking over his shoulder. Tregarthen followed the
direction of his gaze.
Twenty yards away lay a smart little white cutter. Even in the gloom
the sub-lieutenant could distinguish her graceful spoon bow, her
short yet becoming quarter, and the businesslike sheer of her sides.
Across her boom a canvas awning was lashed over the diminutive
cockpit. From the cabin a light flickered upon the awning, and
gleamed cheerfully through the fluted glass skylight. To Tregarthen
the vision of that light seemed an indescribable comfort. The tedious
journey, the disappointment of Stockton's non-appearance, the
cheerless welcome of the bleak and desolate harbour--all were
forgotten. He had found a haven of rest.
"_Playmate_, ahoy!"
The waterman jerked one oar into his boat and with the other
skilfully checked her way till she gently rubbed sides with the
yacht.
"Hallo, there! Is that you, Cartridge?"
"Yes, sir; I've brought a gent off to see you."
There was the sound of a hasty scuffling, the awning was partially
unlaced, and a hand holding a lantern appeared, followed by the head
and shoulders of the owner of the cutter _Playmate_.
The rays of the lamp fell upon the features of the owner. He had a
somewhat long, thin face, with a characteristically square jaw, and
light eyebrows that formed an almost continuous line across his
brows.
"Hallo, you!" he exclaimed, as the identity of his visitor was
revealed. "I'd given you up."
"So it appears," replied Tregarthen. "Didn't you get my wire?"
"Wire--what wire? But don't stay there; come aboard. You'd better use
the fore-hatch, unlacing this awning is a blessed nuisance."
Stockton's head vanished as its owner retreated into the cabin.
Tregarthen, having paid the boatman, seized the main shrouds and
swung himself lightly on deck. Then making his way for'ard he removed
the partially open hatchway leading to the fo'c'sle.
"Hold on! Hold on a minute!" shouted Jack. "You're putting your foot
into the soup!"
Checking his downward progress just in time, Gerald waited till the
skipper, and cook combined, removed a saucepan from the top of a
roaring Primus stove, pushed the stove out of the way, and gave the
word that all was clear.
The next instant Tregarthen found himself in the fo'c'sle.
It was a small, wedge-shaped apartment, barely 4ft. in height and
7ft. wide at its broadest part, tapering away to less than 6ins.
for'ard. This limited space was still further curtailed by a number
of lockers and cupboards, the stove, a bundle of sails and warps, and
the still weed-covered chain cable. Jack Stockton, pipe in mouth, and
huddled up on an upturned bucket, was busily engaged in preparing
some flat-fish, that he had just caught, for supper.
Gerald began to cough. What with the heat of the stove, the tobacco
smoke, the combined odours of the fish, the soup, and the seaweed, to
say nothing of the smoky paraffin lamp, made the confined quarters
well-nigh unbearable. It was infinitely worse than the fo'c'sle of a
destroyer in a heavy seaway, yet Stockton endured it with
equanimity--even with pleasure. It was one of the joys of yachting in
the rough.
"Excuse the mess!" he exclaimed. "You see, I didn't expect you after
the arrival of the train you agreed upon. But I'll have everything
shipshape in a jiffy. Where's your gear?"
"On deck."
"Then bring it below. You may as well get into the cabin, and I'll be
with you soon. Mind your head!"
The warning came too late. Tregarthen forgot that the cabin of a
4-ton yacht is a mere dog-kennel compared with the diminutive
wardroom of _H.M.S. Calder_, but luckily his thick cap saved his
skull from a nasty blow from a deck beam.
Then with a thud his portmanteau was deposited on the floor of the
fo'c'sle, and Stockton's voice was heard: "Here, bear a hand, and get
this thing into the cabin."
Gerald hastened to give the requested assistance. This time the small
of his arched back came into violent contact with the top of the
doorway communicating with the fo'c'sle. Thereupon, acting with more
discretion, he slowly dragged his belongings into the cabin, and sat
down upon one of the sofa-bunks.
By degrees he recovered his ruffled composure, and took a careful
survey of his limited surroundings. A glance in a bevelled mirror
revealed the fact that his encounter with the deck-beam had had the
effect of crumpling his collar into a series of longitudinal creases.
"It's time I put a sweater on," he thought, and opening his
portmanteau he produced one of those thick, serviceable articles, and
measuring the distance between his head and the deck-beams--a margin
of barely 6ins.--Tregarthen removed his collar and plunged into his
sweater. This done his sense of comfort was materially increased.
[Illustration: There was the sound of a hasty scuffling; then
appeared the head and shoulders of the owner of the _Playmate_]
"Now what do you propose doing?" he asked, as the crew of the
_Playmate_ tackled a hearty supper. "Going west?"
"I thought of making a dash across the Channel. Any objection?"
Tregarthen whistled.
"Bit risky, isn't it?"
"I don't think so. This packet is as stiff as a house; the gear's
sound, and all the stores are aboard."
"You've a compass, of course?"
"A little beauty."
"Then I'm game. By the bye, have you seen to-day's paper?"
"No; I went ashore, but quite forgot to get one. Why--anything
startling?"
"Only this," replied Gerald, producing the newspapers he had
purchased on the journey, and pointing to the _Zietan_ paragraph.
"What do you think of it?"
"Not much," replied Jack, in a matter-of-fact tone. "At any rate, I
don't suppose it will affect us."
"When do you propose to make a start?" Stockton did not immediately
reply, but, gaining the cockpit, he unlaced a portion of the awning.
"Now if you like," he replied. "The young flood has set in, though,
but with the wind in this quarter we can stem it and pick up the
east-going tide outside. Just hand me down that bundle of charts."
Gerald did so, and his chum picked out one of the English Channel.
"We ought to make St. Catherine's before daybreak," continued Jack
"And then with a decent slice of luck we can make a slant across and
pick up Cape Barfleur before sunset. It's barely fifty miles as the
crow flies. So we'll get under way now, and when we are outside the
harbour you can turn in. I had a good spell below during the day, so
a night's watch won't trouble me."
"All right; I'm game," repeated Tregarthen. Twenty minutes later the
_Playmate_ was heeling over to the steady breeze. Her voyage, that
was fated to be the forerunner of a wealth of peculiar adventures,
had begun.
[Illustration: chapter III]
CHAPTER III
RUN DOWN
A FEW years ago a commander-in-chief is reported to have declared
that our seamen are the worst boat-sailors in the world, while
another naval officer of high rank has written: "I don't think there
is any foreign navy that is not better than us in the handling of
their boats--ours is a disgrace." Thanks, however, to the forethought
of the Admiralty in providing fore and aft rigged cutters for the use
of the cadets at Dartmouth this stigma is gradually being removed.
Owing to the opportunities thus provided Gerald Tregarthen was no
novice on board a yacht. He had steered the college cutters to
victory on several occasions, and, now once having acquired the knack
of dealing with the _Playmate's_ peculiarities, he was quite capable
of taking charge of the tiller while Jack Stockton attended to the
numerous duties so necessary when about to make a long passage.
Gallantly breasting the young flood the _Playmate_ thrashed her way
down the well-lighted channel, passed between the sandy dunes that
mark the entrance to Poole Harbour, and negotiated the long, buoyed
passage under the lee of Studland Heath. Then, the outer bar-buoy
being rounded, the yacht was gybing, and her course shaped for the as
yet invisible Needles Light.
This done Jack Stockton put on his oilskins, in anticipation of a
"dusting," and Gerald Tregarthen turned in for a few hours' rest.
Left to himself the skipper of the _Playmate_ settled down to his
night's vigil. Lighting his pipe he took up a position on the lee
side of the cockpit, whence, by occasionally raising himself, he
could command a view ahead. Then, keeping the lee shrouds in line
with a conveniently placed star, he was able to dispense with the
inconvenience of having his eyes glued to the compass-card. Jack was
an old hand at the pastime of yachting. Scorning the use of a motor
as being detrimental to the joys of sailing, he relied upon his
weather lore, the judicious use of the barometer, and a thorough
knowledge of the tides to make his voyages, and rarely did he fail to
make his desired port. He was an ideal yachtsman--calm and resolute
in difficulties, patient in adverse circumstances, loth to run
unnecessary risks, yet full of courage and reliance.
With the pale grey dawn the _Playmate_ was within the influence of
the mighty St. Catherine's Race, where, fair weather or foul, the
tide surges over the uneven bed of the sea at a good five knots.
"Pity to wake him," exclaimed Stockton, as he put the helm hard up,
jibbed, and headed for the distant French coast. "Still it can't be
helped."
With the gybe Gerald Tregarthen's berth on the leeward side was
transformed into the windward one, and the heel and pitching of the
little craft deposited him bodily on the floor of the cabin.
"Hallo! Where are we?" he asked, sleepily.
"You, my dear fellow, are wedged in between the swing-table and the
floor; I am still at the helm, waiting to be relieved; and the
_Playmate_ is approximately two miles southwest of St. Catherine's.
Have I made clear our relative positions?"
"Quite, old fellow," replied Tregarthen, scrambling out of the
partially closed sliding hatchway. "I'll give you a spell."
"Here you are, sou' by west quarter west," said Stockton, indicating
the course; and crawling into the fo'c'sle, he was soon hard at work
preparing breakfast.
Having satisfied himself as to the course Tregarthen looked astern.
It was a magnificent picture. Away on the port hand a huge man-of-war
was heading towards Spithead. By her tripod masts and the peculiar
arrangement of her funnels and upper works the sub-lieutenant
recognised her as the _Foudroyant_, the latest phase in British naval
construction. A mile ahead was a topsail schooner, close-hauled on
the starboard tack, her brown and patched canvas gilded by the
slanting rays of sunshine, while still further away a few tramps were
steaming steadily up Channel, their outlines barely discernible
against the morning mist. "How's the glass?" asked Gerald, as his
chum regained the cockpit with a deep tray covered with eatables.
"Steady as a rock. Here, wedge this tray in somewhere, and I'll bring
out the coffee. We must rough it a bit when we are having meals under
way."
In spite of the pitching of the yacht both members of the crew did
full justice to the meal. This over, Jack resumed his place at the
helm, and Gerald proceeded to his task of "washing up."
The young sub-lieutenant could not help laughing at the ludicrousness
of his position. Here was he--an officer of H.M. Navy--cooped up in a
most uncomfortable posture in a cramped fo'c'sle, and undertaking a
task that he had never before performed. How his brother-officers
would roar with amusement could they but see him. Yet he had to
confess that the novelty of the whole thing was delightful.
"What about a wash?" he asked, some time later.
"You'll have to whistle for one," replied Jack. "At least, till we
reach port. Fresh water's precious at the present time. I'll tell you
what--we'll have a bathe over the side."
Gerald looked at the wake of the little craft. The _Playmate_ was
bowling along at a bare three knots, and having passed the disturbed
waters of the race was now sailing more steadily in the gentle,
regular heave of the open Channel.
"How will you manage it--heave-to?"
"No; one at a time. Keep her as she is." Jack quickly divested
himself of his clothing, and, grasping the bight of the slackened-off
main-sheet, he lowered himself into the sea. There he hung, towed
through the waves, with a miniature cascade pouring over his head,
till, having had enough, he dexterously regained the yacht.
"Capital!" he exclaimed, shaking the dripping water from his face.
"But it's much colder than one would expect for the time of year."
"Deep water always is," replied Gerald, as he prepared to follow his
companion's example.
"Are you going to get the dinghy aboard?" he asked, after the
ablutionary exercises had been completed. "She's a bit of a drag
astern, I fancy."
"No; let her stop. I'm going to turn in now. If it comes on to
blow--I don't think it will--give me a shout, and we'll soon whip the
dinghy aboard and lash her down securely. In any case turn me out at
eight bells."
Gerald thereupon took charge of the helm. The _Playmate_ had already
reeled off more than thirty miles of her cross-Channel passage. But
though the atmosphere astern was perfectly clear, ahead the horizon
was obscured by a haze that blended sea and sky together in an
indistinct blurr. The wind, too, was slowly yet gradually dying away,
and the yacht was doing little more than two knots.
With the falling of the wind the haze increased in density, so that,
two hours after Gerald had taken the helm, the _Playmate_ was fairly
in the thick of a dreaded sea-fog.
"Jack, old man, have you a fog-horn aboard?"
Stockton was wide-awake in an instant.
"By George! This is thick," he exclaimed, for already the yacht's
bowsprit end was lost to view in the white, curling vapour. "No, I've
no fog-horn; I always use a rowlock. Here's one. We'll lash it up to
the sliding-hatch."
This done, he struck the suspended rowlock a couple of sharp taps
with a mallet.
"There's enough noise to warn any vessel within a cable's length of
us," he continued. Gerald grunted. He knew the ways of the sea. A
tramp steamer, forging through the fog at a steady eight knots--as
they frequently do--would not pay much heed to anything less than a
siren.
"All right," he assented; "I'll see to that. You may as well turn in
again."
"I've had enough sleep to last me for a time," replied Jack. "I'll
keep watch with you. Here, put this on, or you'll get soaked to the
skin," he added, producing an oilskin from one of the lockers, and
proceeding to don a second one himself.
"What's that?" asked Gerald, after a prolonged interval, as a dull,
pulsating sound, quite unlike the noise of a steamer's engines, was
borne faintly to their ears.
"Hanged if I know! Here, old chap, get a sweep out, and keep way on
her. I'll sound the fog-bell."
Tregarthen did as he was asked, for the yacht was now practically
becalmed, while Stockton made a vigorous onslaught upon the
improvised fog-bell with his mallet.
Nearer and nearer came the mysterious vibrating sound; then, with
appalling suddenness, a shrill, long-drawn blast from a siren sounded
as if from overhead.
"By Jove! We'll be run down!" exclaimed Jack, calmly, though he fully
realised the danger.
The next instant a hoarse voice shouted: "Ahoy there! Starboard your
helm!"
Instinctively Jack thrust the tiller hard over; the yacht, responding
slowly to the helm, commenced to describe a wide curve; but in less
than ten seconds from the time of the hail a ponderous monster of
grey-coloured steel loomed out of the fog, its upper portion lost to
view in the mist.
_Crash!_
Although doing a bare five knots the sharp steel bow of the huge
vessel caught the _Playmate_ fairly on the port side amidships. The
stout planks were shorn through as if made of match-board, the mast
snapped off close to the deck, and, as the stick with its spread of
canvas fell over the side the water poured in a cataract over the
lee-coaming, and through the huge rent in the side of the doomed
yacht.
[Illustration: chapter IV]
CHAPTER IV
A PRISONER ON THE MYSTERIOUS SHIP
AT the moment of impact Gerald strove to ward off the oncoming vessel
with the unwieldy oar, but the blade found no holding-place against
the wet, heaving bows of the leviathan of destruction. Then, with the
carrying away of the mast, a block hurtling through the air struck
him a terrific blow over the head. Thousands of white lights flashed
across his vision as he found himself lying in the already flooded
cockpit; yet in his state of partial insensibility he was dimly
aware that Jack had seized him round the waist.
With a powerful heave Stockton literally threw his friend into the
dinghy, which had meanwhile floated alongside the yacht. Then,
springing into the little cockleshell, he whipped out his knife, and
with a swift sweep severed the painter. Not a moment too soon.
The colliding vessel had already stopped, and was gathering sternway.
The withdrawal of the sharp, wedge-shaped bows from the shattered
yacht caused the water to pour in with redoubled violence, and in a
smother of bubbles and foam the _Playmate_ plunged downwards to her
last resting-place.
Jack Stockton seized the oars, which fortunately had been left in the
dinghy, and rowed desperately towards the craft that had been the
cause of the disaster. Already she was a mere blur in the fog; once
lost sight of, the position of the two occupants of the dinghy,
adrift in mid-Channel without food or water, would be perilous in the
extreme.
Beyond the first hail perfect silence had been maintained on board
the huge grey vessel. As Jack gradually gained on her--for the
engines had apparently been reversed only for a few revolutions--a
rope was flung dexterously over his head. This he made fast to the
dinghy's bow-ring, and in absolute silence another coil descended
from the lofty fo'c'sle.
Deftly Jack passed a bight round his friend's body just below the
arms, and like a sack of flour Gerald was hoisted upwards. This much
Tregarthen remembered, though but dimly, and on gaining the deck he
lost consciousness.
When the young sub-lieutenant opened his eyes he found himself lying
in the uppermost of two bunks in a small yet conveniently arranged
cabin.
"Where the dickens am I?" he murmured, drowsily.
He sat up, and at once discovered that the pyjama suit he was wearing
was not his own; then he became aware that his head was throbbing
painfully, and on raising his hand to the aching place his fingers
encountered a strip of plaster.
Then the details of the collision flashed across his mind, and the
anxious question rose to his lips: "Where's Jack?"
Steadying himself by grasping the rounded edge of the bunk, Gerald
leant sideways. The effort nearly caused him to lose his balance, but
the result of his investigations showed that the lower bunk was
unoccupied.
For the space of quite five minutes the injured officer lay still,
striving to collect his thoughts as to where and when he last saw his
late companion.
Above the centre of the top bunk was an open scuttle, through which
the salt-laden breeze whistled like a youthful whirlwind. From where
he lay Tregarthen could see that the thickness of the vessel's side
at this opening was at least 7ins.--a truly enormous size for the
plating of any but a powerful war vessel, and even then it was
unusual to continue the armoured belt so far above the water-line.
Curiosity prompted the sub-lieutenant to essay another change of
position. This time he met with better success, and was able to look
through the narrow, circular aperture.
[Illustration: The mast snapped off close to the deck, and a block,
hurtling through the air, struck Gerald a terrific blow over the
head.]
His eyes dilated with astonishment. The fog had completely vanished,
and the sun shone brilliantly from an unclouded sky upon the deep
blue waters. But the change in the atmospheric conditions was not the
cause of the young officer's surprise; it was the apparent motion of
the water.
Without the faintest suspicion of a bow-wave--at least as far as
Tregarthen could judge--the huge vessel was tearing through the sea
at a terrific rate. Taking into consideration the height of the
scuttle above the sea-level, Gerald came to the conclusion that the
craft was a cruiser of the largest type, yet in spite of her size he
estimated her speed at not less than forty-five knots. The _Calder_,
lightly built as she was, could not attain that rate, her greatest
pace being a good thirty-eight knots. And with this extraordinary
speed there was a total absence of vibration or noise, save the
howling of the wind caused by the vessel's own motion, while the
faint pulsation of the engines, that had first betrayed her presence
in the fog, had entirely ceased.
Then Tregarthen made another discovery. The mysterious vessel was, as
far as he could judge by the position of the sun, heading nearly
south-west. That meant that, willing or unwilling, he was being
spirited away from the shores of Old England at a phenomenal
speed--but whither?
Gerald next proceeded to make a systematic investigation of the
cabin; but there was nothing to indicate the nationality or nature of
the vessel that had effected his rescue. He had an idea that she was
a British craft, as the only hail was given in his native tongue; but
he had heard the officers of German and Dutch vessels give orders in
perfectly good English to pilots and boatmen in home waters.
Besides the double bunks there were a portable wash-hand basin, a
bath slung from the ceiling, a small chest of drawers, a couple of
cane-seated chairs, and a looking-glass. On one of the chairs were
his clothes, in a perfectly dry condition.
With considerable effort he managed to dress; then, staggering
towards the door, he threw it open.
To his great surprise he saw a sentry standing without. He was a
tall, burly-looking sailor, dressed in a uniform somewhat resembling
that of a British seaman, although the blue jean collar was of a
deeper shade, and black tape replaced the white ornamentation worn in
the Royal Navy. The man had no name on his cap-ribbon, but a device
representing a leaf upon his right arm. A black leather bandolier
encircled his waist, a cutlass taking the place of a bayonet. He
carried "at the slope" a rifle of a similar pattern to the latest
form of Lee-Enfield, except that the stock was terminated 6ins. from
the muzzle, which was enclosed at that end by a metal cylinder of
about 3ins. in diameter. A portion of this cylinder was flattened,
apparently for the purpose of using the sights.
This much Tregarthen took in at a glance, but with a peremptory
gesture the man indicated that all egress was debarred. There was
nothing to do but to obey the mute instructions. Gerald retreated to
the cabin, and immediately he heard the sound of a key being turned
in the lock. He was a prisoner.
Gerald--too much astonished to concentrate his thoughts--sat down in
complete bewilderment. The tragic events of the ill-fated cruise, the
mysterious nature of the vessel that had rescued him, the unsolved
problem of his friend's disappearance, and finally the ignominy of
being held in captivity, crowded in upon his already aching brain.
Then an irresistible desire to smoke came over him. He felt in his
pocket for his pipe, till, remembering that he had left it in the
cabin of the _Playmate_, he bethought him of his cigarette-case,
fervently hoping that its contents had escaped damage from the
sea-water. To his surprise he found the case filled with a different
kind to those he was accustomed to. Evidently his captors meant to
allow him every comfort.
Without compunction he began to explore the contents of the chest of
drawers. With one exception they proved to be empty, and, what was
more, evidently new and unused. In the top drawer, however, was a
case containing a brush and comb and shaving materials--also in a
perfectly new condition.
In the midst of his investigations the door was unlocked, and, with a
preliminary knock, a little, alert-looking man attired in a neat and
well-fitting uniform entered.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tregarthen," he exclaimed. "I trust you are
feeling better? My name is White, at your service, and I am the
senior surgeon on board."
"Thanks, sir, I am feeling nearly fit. But might I ask what ship is
this, and why I am kept under lock and key?"
The doctor shook his head deprecatingly.
"I regret I can give you no information on that point. You must, I am
afraid, wait till you have seen the captain."
"But my friend--is he safe?"
"He is safe."
"And----"
"No more questions, if you please, Mr. Tregarthen," interrupted the
surgeon, firmly, and in a manner that betokened the uselessness of
further inquiries. "Meanwhile, before the captain sends for you, some
light refreshment will doubtless be beneficial. I am pleased to see
that you are little the worse for your misfortunes."
So saying the medico withdrew, and a steward silently entered the
cabin, bearing a tray on which an appetising meal was tastefully
spread.
This man was even more unsociable than the doctor, and with as few
words as possible he left the cabin, the door being again locked.
Left once more to his own reflections Tregarthen acknowledged that
the mystery was almost as dark as before. He had made two
discoveries. Firstly, Jack Stockton was safe on board, though
possibly a prisoner like himself. Secondly, the ship was more than
likely manned by a British-speaking crew, but whether British or
American Gerald was unable to say.
At length the sun sank beneath the horizon--a red ball of flaming
fire in an indigo sky.
Gerald glanced at his watch. It was a half-hunter, and the
well-fitting case had not admitted any water during his immersion The
hands pointed to a quarter to seven.
Here was another mystery. He knew full well that at home the sun set
at 7.15 p.m. The ship's course was, as far as he could judge,
south-west. How, then, could the apparent discrepancy be accounted
for? Perhaps his watch was wrong.
Anxiously Tregarthen waited, listening intently for the ship's bell.
Punctually at seven--the second hour of the second dogwatch--came the
dim sound of the bell--_ting, ting--ting!_ Two sharp blows followed
at a longer interval by another. His watch was right, then, and since
the course was not easterly he could only conclude that by a hitherto
unattainable speed the mysterious vessel had already gained a
latitude corresponding to that of the Bay Of Biscay.
Ere the short twilight deepened into night the cabin was brightly
illuminated by the warm glow of a pair of electric lights, one at the
middle of each bulkhead.
"Well, there's nothing to amuse myself with, so I might as well turn
in," thought Gerald, for the excitement of the day, coupled with the
fact that he had had but a short spell of sleep the previous night,
was beginning to tell. He was on the point of divesting himself of
his clothing when the door was unlocked, and a young man evidently an
officer, entered.
"The captain wishes to see you, sir," he announced, bringing his hand
to his forehead with professional smartness.
[Illustration: chapter V]
CHAPTER V
CAPTAIN BROOKES
ON ships of all nationalities the captain's wishes are his commands.
Tregarthen fully recognised this; so, returning the young officer's
salute, he followed his guide from the cabin that had for so many
hours been his prison.
It was but a few steps to the captain's cabin, but during his journey
Tregarthen made good use of his eyes.
[Illustration: Staggering to the door he threw it open. To his great
surprise he saw a burly sentry standing without.]
As he left the cabin he looked forward. Here his range of vision was
limited by an armoured bulkhead, against which stood an arms-rack,
the weapons being similar to that carried by the sentry, each having
the peculiar cylindrical arrangement close to the muzzle. On either
side of the passage were a number of cabin doors; some were ajar, but
heavy curtains prevented him from seeing into the officers' quarters.
Between the bulkhead and the captain's cabin on the half-deck a
sentry was pacing to and fro. Smartly he came to the salute; Gerald's
companion returned the compliment, then, knocking at the door of the
captain's quarters, he waited till a deep voice bade him enter.
"Mr. Gerald Tregarthen, sir," announced the young officer, and with
this introduction he withdrew.
Gerald found himself in a spacious, well-lighted cabin, comfortably
furnished, yet without any pretence at luxury. Thick carpet covered
the floor, the walls were painted in a "flat" olive green colour,
relieved here and there by a small square port-hole. Right aft a
doorway in the armoured plating gave access to a little gallery or
stern-walk. The furniture consisted solely of a large mahogany table,
two sofa chairs, a well-filled bookcase, a sideboard, and a smaller
table littered with papers and drawings.
But Tregarthen paid scant heed to the contents, of the cabin. His
attention was drawn to its only other occupant. He was a man of short
stature, yet of a commanding and pompous presence, that is so often
found in persons whose bearing alone can atone for their loss of
inches. He was of a dark olive complexion, with deep-set eyes, full
features, dark brown closely cut hair, and a neatly trimmed moustache
and "torpedo" beard, after the style affected by British naval
officers. He was dressed in a dark blue "mess" uniform, black braid
taking the place of the usual gold lace. This, then, was Captain
Brookes, the officer in command of the mysterious cruiser.
For a space of nearly half a minute the captain remained silent,
apparently "sizing up" the young British officer who had fallen into
his power.
On his part Gerald Tregarthen drew himself up to his full height,
and, standing stiffly at attention, looked his captor--since captor
he undoubtedly was--squarely in the face, having first given him a
salute which the captain punctiliously returned.
"Take a chair, Mr. Tregarthen," began Captain Brookes, waving his
hand in the direction of one of the settees.
Gerald would have infinitely preferred to remain standing, but there
was a veiled authority in the words, and without a sign of protest he
yielded. Something in the man's personality compelled the
sub-lieutenant to obey.
"You are, I believe, a sub-lieutenant in the Royal Navy? Lately of
His Majesty's destroyer _Calder_?"
Gerald started. His interrogator seemed to know everything, but,
recollecting that Jack Stockton had in all probability been subjected
to a cross-examination, he replied: "Yes, sir."
"And, judging by this "--here he tapped an official Navy List that
was lying on the table--"you are what might be well described as a
promising young officer?"
"Might I ask, sir, why I am detained on board this vessel, and why I
am subjected to this inquisition?" asked Tregarthen, ignoring the
obvious flattery, yet truth, of the captain's last question.
"To come to the point, sir," replied Captain Brookes, "you came on
board because there was no choice in the matter; then, finding you
are a man likely to suit my purpose, I decided to retain you."
"To suit your purpose?"
"Precisely. What my intentions are I will hasten to explain in a few
words. You are now on board the cruiser _Olive Branch_, formerly
known as the _Almirante Constant_. The circumstances under which the
vessel was acquired from the Brazilian Government I will explain
later. The _Olive Branch_ has no nationality; she claims the
protection of no state or country. Hers is a particular mission; I, a
nonentity, though owning no earthly master, am the controlling
authority of a universal enterprise. No doubt men will call me a
crank, a maniac, or worse. Most benefactors of mankind are so
regarded--until they are dead and gone--but public opinion does not
trouble me one iota. To be brief and to the point, my mission is
universal peace, and my title is 'The Exterminator of War.'"
The captain paused to allow his words to carry weight. Tregarthen
gave no sign of incredulity or otherwise. He looked steadily at the
man who had made this astounding statement, wondering whether some
symptom of insanity lurked behind the calm exterior of his captor.
Captain Brooke's features were lit by an earnestness that denotes
sincerity of purpose.
"To continue: The _Olive Branch_ is the last word in naval
construction. I do not make this assertion without having carefully
weighed the truth of what I say. Warships claiming to be finality in
offensive power have been laid down, yet ere they leave the slips
plans for still more powerful vessels have already been passed, and
so on. Yet even taking the rapid rate of progress into consideration,
I can safely say that a hundred years hence--should there be any
necessity for them--there will be no vessels equal to the _Olive
Branch_ for purposes of offence and defence.
"I am prepared to show that naval warfare, as demonstrated by the
_Olive Branch_, will be so terrible that no nation will dare run the
risk of undertaking it. I purpose to police the high seas, and
ruthlessly exterminate the fleet of any nation that offers to break
the world's peace.
"For years past England has held the proud position of Mistress of
the Sea, using her power with firmness and wisdom. But these times
are rapidly passing away----"
"Sir, I protest," exclaimed Tregarthen, impetuously.
"Protests are of no avail, unfortunately," replied Captain Brookes,
with a suspicion of harshness in his voice. "Review the facts
carefully and deliberately, and you will have to admit that what I
say is true. Why do other nations, possessing little legitimate
interests on the ocean, knowing full well that their seaborne
commerce has hitherto been conducted without let or hindrance,
suddenly decide to build huge and powerful fleets? To what purpose do
they express their intention of rivalling the British fleet? Not from
necessity, but from sheer wantonness. Is that not so?"
"Then you, yourself, are an Englishman?"
"I am what I am, a cosmopolitan--a pariah, if you choose to term it
so. I prefer to let my identity remain a secret. Now, to put the
matter bluntly, are you prepared to throw in your lot with mine for
the space of not more than two years?"
"I am not. As a British officer my duties----"
"Then I must take steps to compel you."
"Compel me? You cannot."
"Mr. Tregarthen, before we talk of compulsion--though I admit I was
the first to suggest such a step--pray consider the main and side
issues of the question. You are bound by a solemn oath to obey your
lawful sovereign, King George V. Do you think you could serve him in
a better manner than by acquiring the knowledge of what this vessel
is, and how she is enabled to possess such irresistible power? The
Admiralty would be only too glad of a chance to gain the secret of
the _Olive Branch_. You would to all intents and purposes become a
naval attaché, with far greater prospects of gaining invaluable
knowledge. Now, this is my offer: Your service for the space of not
less than two years; your solemn word that you will obey my orders in
all matters, provided you are not called upon to commit a hostile act
against your own nation. Means will be afforded you to communicate
with the authorities at the Admiralty, in which you can explain the
facts under which you were compulsorily detained, and so on. Then, at
the end of two years, or before, should my mission be accomplished,
you will be permitted to return home, armed with the priceless
secrets that are to command universal peace. Is that clear?"
"And the alternative?"
"I do not wish to discuss the alternative beyond saying what I have
already stated." Then, seeing that Tregarthen was on the point of
giving a direct refusal, Captain Brookes interposed:--
"Now, don't do or say anything foolish. Take time to consider the
matter. I'll see you at four bells in the forenoon watch, when I
shall expect a definite reply."
_(A second instalment of this thrilling serial will appear next month)_
[Illustration]
[Illustration: In spite of his strenuous resistance they hauled the
deserter out of the empty tank, and then unceremoniously bundled him
into the gig.] [_See page_ 112.
[Illustration: second instalment]
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "A Lad of Grit," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON_
*Characters in the Story*
GERALD TREGARTHEN, sub-lieutenant of H.M.S. _Calder_, decides to
spend his leave on a small yacht. He accordingly takes train to
Poole, where the craft is lying. On the journey he reads in a
newspaper a passage relating to the departure from the Tyne of a
powerful cruiser, nominally intended for the Brazilian Government,
also a series of reports concerning a mysterious accident to the
German cruiser _Zietan_. At Poole he joins his friend and former
school-chum.
JACK STOCKTON, owner of the yacht _Playmate_. The same night they put
to sea, intending to cross the Channel. When about thirty miles off
the Isle of Wight they encounter a dense sea-fog, and the _Playmate_
is run down by a large vessel. Tregarthen is stunned by some falling
gear, but is saved by Stockton, and both are taken on board the ship
that has run them down.
When Tregarthen recovers his senses he finds himself alone in a
cabin. From observation he comes to the conclusion that the vessel
possesses astounding speed and that she is heavily armoured; also
that he is a prisoner. At length he is taken into the presence of
CAPTAIN BROOKES, in command of the cruiser _Olive Branch_. This
individual claims that his cruiser is the most powerful vessel
afloat, and that it is his mission to exterminate war and secure
universal peace, using the super-powerful means at his command to
achieve that purpose.
He also informs Tregarthen that, as a British naval officer, he will
prove useful to the _Olive Branch_ in her mission, and suggests that
the sub-lieutenant should serve on board the cruiser for a period of
not more than two years. At the end of that time he will be able to
impart the valuable knowledge thus gained to the British Admiralty.
Tregarthen is about to refuse, but Captain Brookes reminds him that
in any case he is virtually a prisoner, and adds, "Take time to
consider the matter. I'll see you at four bells, when I shall expect
a positive reply."
[Illustration: chapter VI]
CHAPTER VI
THE CONNING-TOWER OF THE "OLIVE BRANCH"
PUNCTUALLY at ten o'clock on the following morning Gerald Tregarthen
was ushered into the captain's cabin. "Well, sir, what decision have
you arrived at?" demanded Captain Brookes.
"No decision at all, sir," replied Tregarthen, firmly. "I want first
of all to know what you propose to do with my companion."
"With Mr. Stockton? I suppose I ought, as the pirate you regard me,
to hold him as a hostage for your good behaviour. But rest assured,
I'll have him shipped aboard the first homeward-bound vessel we
sight."
"Before I give you a reply I should like to have a few minutes'
conversation with him," said Gerald.
"Your request seems reasonable. You may have fifteen minutes'
interview."
While speaking, Captain Brookes had touched the push of an electric
bell, and a seaman, evidently a petty officer, was immediately in
attendance.
"Take this gentleman to his quarters and desire Mr. Black to bring
Mr. Stockton to him."
"Very good, sir," replied the seaman, and holding back the heavy
curtains that hung over the door he allowed Tregarthen to precede
him.
In less than five minutes Jack Stockton had joined his chum.
"Hulloa, Jack! How have they treated you?"
"Can't complain," was the laconic reply. "They told me you were all
right in spite of a crack on the skull. Beyond that I didn't worry
much, though I've been thinking about my poor old yacht."
"Yes, it's rough luck," replied Tregarthen. "But she's insured, isn't
she?"
"Yes. But what does that matter? I shall never have the same craft
again; and, Gerald, she was part and parcel of my existence."
"You'll have another one soon."
"Will I? How do you know?"
"Because they are going to ship you aboard the first vessel we meet."
"Ship _me?_ How about you?"
"Ah! There's the difficulty. You will be sent home, but, worse luck,
they are going to keep me here, whether I like it or not."
"Is that a fact? What is this vessel--a pirate?"
"Goodness only knows. But to put the matter in a nutshell, I have to
give my decision whether I'll become one of them or not."
"And if you don't?"
"I've been promised something mighty unpleasant."
Thereupon Gerald related the details of the conversation of the
previous evening, and the captain's peremptory demand for a definite
reply.
"What do you propose to reply?" asked Jack.
"That's what I want to consult you about. You see there's my position
to consider. If I do not turn up within thirty-three days from now I
shall be branded as a deserter, unless My Lords take gentler measures
and mark me down as missing. If I could serve a useful purpose to my
country by accepting the man's proposals I'd do it like a shot,
subject to certain guarantees."
"Then why not? In any case you are booked. But I say, old fellow,
when you are treating for terms, couldn't you stipulate that I am to
be retained as well?"
"You?"
"Yes. I admit, Gerald, I don't possess the same qualifications as you
do, but at the same time I'm not a duffer afloat. If this vessel is
such a wonderful packet, I'd be only too delighted to stay."
"All right," replied Gerald. "My mind's made up. But the quarter of
an hour is up, too, so I must be off."
"Well, sir," asked Captain Brookes, "have you come to any
conclusion?"
"I am willing, subject to certain conditions, sir," replied Gerald,
firmly.
"And those are----"
"That I am to be treated with the respect due to a British naval
officer; that I am not called upon to perform any duties prejudicial
to my country----"
"That I have already suggested."
"That I may be allowed to dispatch a communication to the Admiralty
stating the circumstances under which I am detained here; and,
lastly, that my friend Jack Stockton may be allowed to remain here
with me, that being his own desire."
"I agree to your requests," replied Captain Brookes, though
Tregarthen noted that he used the word "requests" instead of his
expression "conditions."
"Very good, sir."
"You quite understand that my orders are to be implicitly obeyed?"
"So long as I am not called upon to commit any act detrimental to my
country."
"That has already been decided."
"Too much stress cannot be laid upon that condition, sir."
"Are you prepared to wear the uniform of officers serving on board
the _Olive Branch_?"
"No, sir. The only uniform I am entitled to wear is that of the
British Navy. As that is, of course, impossible in these
circumstances, I must wear mufti."
"Very well, then," replied the captain. "Now we will make a tour of
the ship and you will be able to form some opinion of her
capabilities."
So saying, Captain Brookes led the way to the half-deck, whence by
the after ladder he gained the quarter-deck. Unlike ships of the
British Dreadnought type, the quarter-deck was situated in the after
end of the ship, but Gerald noticed that the officers who were
walking up and down kept religiously to the port side, leaving the
starboard side to the use of the captain. This caused him to wonder
how the similarity between the customs of the Royal Navy and those of
the mysterious ship was to be accounted for.
Touching his cap to the quarter-deck Gerald found himself upon a
vessel apparently of not less than 10,000 tons displacement, or a
little more than half of a modern Dreadnought. She was, as far as he
could judge, about 300ft. in length, and 60ft. in breadth. She was
flush decked; a low slender funnel, a motor cutter and launch, a
massive conning-tower, a pair of turrets, and the necessary hatchways
and companions alone occupying the centre line. Placed _en echelon_
were two more turrets, but in none of these were guns mounted,
although each turret had two embrasures.
At frequent intervals along the deck were plates of thin steel
inclined at an angle of 45degs.
"These are wind screens," observed Captain Brookes. "They are an
absolute necessity, I can assure you."
"Don't hesitate to put any questions you may feel inclined to ask,"
he continued. "It will be to your interests as well as mine for you
to do so. I noticed you were looking at the turrets. These are as yet
without their armament, although I hope within a day or two to have
the guns in position."
"Then at present you are without means of offence?"
"You will hardly care to make that assertion when you have completed
your first inspection of the _Olive Branch_. But what speed do you
think we are doing?"
Tregarthen looked over the side. There was a long, gentle swell
setting in from the west, but so great was the ship's rate of speed
that she appeared to be travelling over a succession of short, steep
seas, yet without the faintest suspicion of a roll or a lurch.
"Forty-five," he hazarded.
"Add twenty to it and you will be nearer the mark. Mr. Gimlette," he
added, addressing the officer of the watch, "will you please let me
have the present reading of the log?"
The officer ran aft to where the patent log indicator on the taffrail
was merrily ringing at less than every fifteen seconds.
"Sixty-seven point five knots, sir."
The reply was given smartly, but in a manner that suggested this
speed was an ordinary occurrence. Tregarthen could only gasp in
astonishment. It meant the _Olive Branch_ was doing an equivalent to
a fraction under seventy-five land miles an hour. Were it not for the
wind screens it would be almost a matter of impossibility to face the
hurricane that whistled overhead.
"You may have noticed the almost total absence of a bow wave,"
continued the captain. "This is owing to the vessel's remarkable
flare--for which the designers must take the credit. By means of an
ingenious contrivance the displaced water is led close alongside, yet
the 'skin friction' of the hull is not increased. The effect of this
diversion is to give the propellers a better grip. As a matter of
fact, the 'slip' of the propellers amounts to less than 5 per cent.
Now we will make our way for'ard to the conning-tower."
"But what is the motive power?" asked Gerald.
"Petrol, paraffin, or, in fact, any inflammable oil capable of
passing through the vaporisers. The motors, which can be attended to
by a staff of ten engineers only, actuate five propellers. Thus we
are not under the obligation of having to carry stokers. As a matter
of fact, the _personnel_ of the _Olive Branch_, thanks to mechanical
appliances of the most modern type, amounts to 105 officers and men."
The conning-tower consisted of a circular armoured structure 25ft. in
diameter, and barely 5ft. above the upper deck. Around the walls were
electrical indicators and a maze of pipes painted in distinctive
colours similar to those on board a British man-of-war. But the
apparatus that riveted Gerald's attention was a board composed of
copper and zinc squares resembling a draught board, with a pair of
pointers at two adjacent corners. This device travelled on steel
lines that formed an almost complete circle, a gap being left in the
direction of the after end of the ship.
"Now, Mr. Tregarthen, what do you suppose this arrangement is for?"
"It appears to me to be a sort of position-finding instrument."
"It is more than that. But first I must request you to maintain a
strict secrecy regarding what you see in the conning-tower, at least
until I withdraw this restriction. Beyond that you are at perfect
liberty to discuss with your companion any details concerning the
ship," replied Captain Brookes. "Before you left Poole Harbour did
you see a report in the papers concerning the German cruiser
_Zietan_?"
Like a flash the truth swept across Tregarthen's mind. The
ex-Brazilian vessel, _Almirante Constant_, the mysterious agency
that had temporarily incapacitated the _Zietan_, and the ship on
which he stood were one and the same. So astonishing was the
revelation that even he--an iron-nerved naval officer--gasped with
amazement. The captain, who was watching the effect of his question,
kept silent, awaiting Gerald's reply.
"I did," he assented after a prolonged interval. "But how did you do
it? And how were you aware?"
"One question at a time, please. I am on the point of showing you a
somewhat ingenious device; what it has already done I will inform you
of in due course. This chequered board is divided, as you see, into
eighty-one squares, each division representing one square mile. Thus
a 'field,' meaning nine miles in either direction, is at my command.
Now, supposing a hostile ship is sighted. Her position is determined
by the ordinary range-finding instruments. By placing these two
pointers on the square representing the ship's position--the
pointers, as you will observe, being capable of alteration of
length--I release a wireless current, which I prefer to term the
Z-ray--upon the enemy's ship. Instantly the whole of her electrical
gear is completely disorganised, and, knowing as you do the vital
importance of electricity on board a modern man-of-war, you can
realise what it means."
"Then you have already committed a hostile action against the ship of
a friendly nation?"
"I suppose I have. It is necessary to experiment, and having good
cause to try my device upon a German ship, I proceeded to do so. I am
fully aware of the results it occasioned while I kept the _Zietan_
under the influence of the Z-rays."
"However did you manage to know that?" asked Tregarthen. "Have you
put into any port since leaving the Tyne?"
"I have neither put into port nor have I entered into communication
with any vessel excepting your yacht, so obtaining information by
those means is entirely out of the question. How I did find out the
results of my experiment I will inform you shortly. But to return to
this device. You will doubtless have observed that there are two
pairs of pointers? Those with a black disc are merely deterrents. Any
vessel that persists in forcing an action after receiving the stern
warning given by these pointers has only herself to blame for the
consequences; for the moment the pointers with the red disc are
superimposed upon the others the fate of the _Olive Branch's_
antagonist is sealed."
"How?" asked Gerald, with ever-growing interest.
"The conjunction of the red-disced pointers release a super charge of
electricity--which I term the ZZ-rays--and her magazines are
instantly exploded."
"In that case why do you require guns on board? I understood you to
say that you expected to have her armament in position in the course
of a few days."
"Chiefly as a matter of precaution. The slightest defect in a
terminal, switch, or wire might throw the whole of the electrical
apparatus out of gear. But there is another danger I have to guard
against--the danger of annihilation from the sky. This device you see
here has taken me fifteen years of unremitting toil and thought to
perfect, and perfected it is as far as my original plans were
concerned. But within recent years the advent of the airship and
aeroplane has tended to revolutionise warfare. In order to negative
the possible ill results of the ZZ-rays to the vessel that releases
them the indicator board is arranged so that the minimum range is
nine miles. Thus I can put a vessel out of action at any distance
between nine and eighteen miles. The Z-rays, having a comparatively
low electro-motive force, can be brought into play at a distance of
two miles, without danger to the _Olive Branch's_ delicate mechanism.
It consequently follows that to use the rays within the distance of
1,000ft.--the effective range of an airship--the consequences would
be disastrous to us. I therefore have to rely on other means. Now I
think I have explained the contents of the conning-tower pretty
fully, so we will resume our tour."
"But what are these for?" asked Tregarthen, pointing to a triple row
of metal studs fixed to a mahogany board on the side of the
conning-tower.
"To control the gun fire. When the ordnance is installed I'll explain
their use. But we will now ascend to the flying bridge."
With the wind howling over this exposed position like a veritable
tornado Gerald was glad to gain the shelter of a diminutive
chart-house. Here was the electrical steering apparatus, but, to his
unbounded astonishment, Tregarthen found that the place was
untenanted, the only other occupants of the bridge being a lieutenant
and a seaman, both of whom, glass in hand, were scanning the horizon.
"Don't you keep a hand at the helm?" he asked.
Captain Brookes shook his head. "Not on long ocean voyages," he
replied. "The ship steers herself. Like plenty of other problems,
it's simple when you know how. The _Olive Branch's_ steering
apparatus is on the same principle as that of a Whitehead torpedo.
The course is set by means of a pointer on the compass-card. The
slightest deviation causes a small valve to be opened which actuates
the rudder. Of course in confined waters or on going into action we
use the steering-gear in the conning-tower."
"I can scarcely grasp the meaning of these wonders," remarked
Tregarthen.
[Illustration: chapter VII]
CHAPTER VII
RUMOURS OF WAR
"ONE moment, sir," said Gerald as he accompanied the captain across
the fo'c'sle, where a party of men were undergoing musketry exercise.
"What is the meaning of that cylinder close to the muzzles of the
rifles?"
"It's a silencer--the Lucas silencer, to be exact. I took a fancy to
the device and acquired the patent. Mr. Ball, bring me one of those
rifles, please."
The gunner brought one of the rifles for inspection. As Gerald had
already noted it differed little from the Lee-Enfield type.
"The magazine takes a clip of ten rounds of .202 ammunition,"
announced Captain Brookes, as he pulled out the "cut-off" and thrust
a cartridge into the chamber. "Now, listen."
Bringing the rifle to his shoulder the captain pressed the trigger.
Beyond the slight recoil and a faint hiss there was nothing to
indicate that the weapon had been discharged, until the still-smoking
cartridge-case was ejected.
"I am applying this principle to all our ordnance, from the 6in. down
to the revolver. It means a great moral advantage to be in a position
to launch a hail of charged shells with a complete absence of sound,"
continued the captain, as he handed back the weapon. "Now we
will----"
"Sail-ho!" came a hail from the bridge.
"Where away?" demanded the captain, in stentorian tones.
"Dead ahead, sir."
"That's the _Puma_, I'll be bound. Mr. Tregarthen, we must postpone
the remainder of our inspection for awhile. In the meantime you'll
find Mr. Stockton in your cabin. You may inform him that he has the
run of the ship, with the exception, of course, of the
conning-tower."
So saying, Captain Brookes hurried off to the bridge, the speed of
the _Olive Branch_ was reduced to less than twenty knots, and
preparations were begun for opening communications with the _Puma_,
which was already within five miles when Tregarthen went below to
rejoin his companion.
"It's settled, Jack; you are to stay aboard the _Olive Branch_," he
exclaimed.
"Yes, I know, thanks to you. They've told me that I'm to share your
cabin."
"How did you know that?" asked Gerald. "Captain Brookes agreed to my
proposal, and ever since then he has not been out of my sight."
"I don't know; I'm here, and there's an end of it as far as I am
concerned," replied Jack, philosophically.
"Well, let's go on deck. We've sighted some vessel or the other."
"What's the game--piracy?" asked Stockton, suspiciously.
"I don't think so. But we're easing down, so look sharp."
Together the two chums gained the quarterdeck, the sentry on the half
deck coming to the salute as Tregarthen passed. Here, again, Gerald
was puzzled, for the man evidently was aware that the young
lieutenant was no longer under arrest but had nominally become an
officer of the ship.
The _Olive Branch_ and the _Puma_ lay side by side at about a cable's
length apart. There was a total absence of wind, and the sea was as
smooth as glass, while overhead the sun beat fiercely down upon the
mirror-like surface of the ocean.
On the _Olive Branch_ the bo'sun's mate had piped "Clear lower deck,"
and already the somewhat meagre crew had mustered on the upper deck,
where warps and hawsers were being laid out with the evident
intention of making fast to the other vessel.
The _Puma_ was a tramp steamer of about 6,000 tons, with two stumpy
masts, a black funnel, and towering wall sides that had been but
partially painted, for a considerable portion of her hull still
showed the priming coat of red lead. From an ensign staff over her
taffrail the stars and stripes hung motionless in the sultry air. The
_Olive Branch_ flew no colours.
"I don't think it's piracy this time," remarked Jack. "The men are
not armed."
"They seem a well set up lot," said Gerald. "I wonder where they were
picked up. Short service naval men and Royal Naval Reserve seamen in
all probability."
Tregarthen knew a sailor when he saw one, and his observations were
correct. The men had for the most part discarded their No. I suits of
blue serge, and were dressed in serviceable white canvas. With the
utmost alertness and intelligence they executed their orders, which
were given with a noticeable lack of bawling and shouting.
Smartly the _Olive Branch_ was manoeuvred alongside the _Puma_, large
fenders protecting the two vessels from the slight rolling as the
latter's derricks were set to work.
In less than two hours eight 6in. guns, each weighing nearly seven
tons, were transferred from the hold of the tramp to the deck of the
cruiser, besides several smaller quick-firers and a quantity of cases
and empty shells. Why the projectiles were shipped apart from their
cartridges Tregarthen could not understand, though he resolved to
make inquiries at the earliest opportunity.
The work of transhipping the ordnance having been completed, the
skipper, a typical New Englander, came aboard the _Olive Branch_,
armed with a sheaf of documents. For half an hour he remained below
in the company of Captain Brookes, and on returning to his own ship
the hawsers were cast off.
Meanwhile Tregarthen noticed that the cruiser's ensign had been
hoisted--a device similar to that worn on the seamen's sleeves,
evidently representing an olive branch in green on a white field.
As the two vessels parted company, the cruiser making off at a
decorous seventeen knots, there was a mutual dipping of ensigns, and
a quarter of an hour later the _Puma_ was hull down to the nor-west.
For the rest of that day all hands were kept busy in mounting the
principal armament. The work proceeded with marvellous rapidity,
testifying to the splendid mechanical appliances at their command.
Hitherto unnoticed by the sub-lieutenant a powerful crane was
cunningly concealed in the wake of each turret, so that when not in
use one of the faces of the apparatus lay flush with the deck. By
actuating a lever an enormous mass of metal rose to a vertical
position, the arm commanding a radius of 20ft., while in the place of
a hook was a powerful electromagnet. The top of the hood of each
turret was composed of plates of 4in. steel, each section being
temporarily held by metal bolts. Round swung the crane, the current
was switched on, and plate after plate was whipped off till the
turret was ready to receive its pair of guns. These were then easily
lowered upon the mountings that were waiting to receive them, and the
roof of the turret was next replaced, men setting to work with
electric welding machines to permanently seal the armoured slabs.
The work was still in progress when dinner in the ward-room was
announced, and before this function Gerald and Jack were introduced
to the other officers of the ship by Captain Brookes.
There were fifteen occupants of the wardroom, all told. Some of the
officers Gerald had met before, namely, White, the surgeon, and
Christopher Weeks, the young lieutenant who had escorted him to the
captain's quarters. Taken together the officers of the _Olive Branch_
gave Tregarthen the impression that they were a genial,
happy-go-lucky class. They spoke freely on general topics, but
studiously avoided "shop," nor did they go into details concerning
their past careers.
There was one exception, however.
The scientist, Taylor, who had charge of the laboratory and
shell-filling room, was ever ready to let his tongue wag
unrestrainedly in spite of the invariable snubbing he received from
his messmates.
After dinner Gerald and Jack went on deck. Here strong arc lamps
enabled the crew to continue their labours, for Captain Brookes was
evidently in a hurry to get the work completed; he was here, there,
and everywhere, testing circuits, examining the riveted plates,
calling attention to this and that defect, and, in fact, an example
of unflagging energy.
"What is this extraordinary hurry for, Mr. Sinclair?" asked
Tregarthen of the navigating lieutenant, who had just been relieved
on the bridge.
"Don't you know? Hasn't the captain told you the news? We've our
first real business in hand. A wireless was received this afternoon
that war is to be declared between two South American Republics
within a few days. This is where we step in."
"How do they manage the wireless business, I should like to know,"
remarked Stockton, as the two friends gained the seclusion of their
cabin.
"Really, I'm not surprised at anything in this ship," replied Gerald.
"How is it going to end? The _Olive Branch_ cannot keep the sea
indefinitely. She must take in stores, have her hull coated in dry
dock, and undergo a periodical refit. It all costs money, and where
does the money come from? Who is this Captain Brookes? A
millionaire--a fanatic--or what?"
"I suppose---- Hallo, who's there? Come in." A timid knock at the
door had interrupted Jack Stockton's sentence.
A fresh-complexioned round-faced little man edged cautiously into the
cabin, and carefully closed the door behind him. It was Taylor, the
scientist.
"Well, Mr. Taylor, what can we do for you?" demanded Gerald.
"Hush, sir, not so loud, I pray of you," replied the little man,
anxiously, his closely cut greyish hair bristling in his excitement.
"My name is Schneider, not Taylor.
[Illustration: "Look here, Mr. Schneider, you've come to the wrong box
with your sneaking complaints. So clear out!"]
"I am a professor of languages and sciences. You came from Poole, is
it not? Zen perhaps you are acquainted with Colonel Mortebeque? I was
at one time tutor to his son----"
"Look here, Mr. Schneider," broke in Tregarthen, impatiently. "I
don't know Colonel What's-his-name, nor do I want to hear your
personal history. Come to the point--what do you want with us?"
"Alas!" groaned the professor with a shudder and a curious grimace.
"I have been trapped; brought on ze voyage under false
representations. It was to be scientist zat I was brought, but ze
Captain Brookes he would me make fill ze shells in ze laboratories. I
like it not. He is pirate."
"Who says he is a pirate?" asked Gerald sternly.
"Me, I will not say it. But zen, he is a--a what you call it. Ah! I
know--a wizard. You two are also in peril. Will you ask ze captain to
let you go on land at ze first port we touch, and take me wit you?
Zen we run away and be safe."
"Look here, Mr. Schneider, you've come to the wrong box. If you've
any complaint, why not lay it before the captain himself? If as you
say the captain is a wizard he might be listening now to what you are
saying. You understand? Well, then, clear out."
"A bright specimen of a sneaking waster," remarked Jack, as the cabin
door closed on the retreating figure of the professor. "I wonder if
there's any truth in his tale, eh?"
"I don't think the skipper will go to that extent," replied Gerald;
as he prepared to turn in. "Anyway, we're here, so let's make the
best of things. By George! old chap, to tell the truth, I'm jolly
glad we came."
[Illustration: chapter VIII]
CHAPTER VIII
TREACHERY
FOR several days the _Olive Branch_ continued her headlong course
southwards, bound for the Magellan Straits, the gateway to the
Pacific.
During that time Tregarthen had little opportunity of speaking to
Captain Brookes. The little man was literally working night and day.
At length the line was crossed, without the observance of the
time-honoured custom of receiving Father Neptune and his court. Then,
as if the classic Sea God smarted under the slight, the _Olive
Branch_ encountered a terrific hurricane ere she had run clear of the
Doldrums.
It was as if the sea and sky conspired to wreak vengeance upon the
cruiser. The waves ran "mountains high," their rugged crest whipped
into clouds of spindrift by the tempestuous wind, while torrential
rain, accompanied by rapid and brilliant flashes of lightning,
blotted out the field of vision to less than a cable's length ahead.
Yet in spite of the elements the _Olive Branch_, her speed reduced to
a bare thirty knots, charged through the foaming waters. Everything
was battened down, and well it was, for instead of lifting to the
waves the cruiser dashed straight through them.
Tons of water swept her decks as far as the aftermost turret, the
spray flying in solid sheets high over her charthouse. Yet she
maintained a remarkably even keel, so that, had it been necessary,
her guns could have been fought with comparative ease.
Gerald, who, like the rest of the crew save those whose presence was
necessary in the chart-house, was compelled to remain below, could
not help admiring the steadiness with which the vessel behaved.
"Yes, she's a marvel!" assented Alec Sinclair, the first "luff."
"I don't want to alarm you, but this stability is owing to her low
metacentric height. It's only her speed that gives her safety, though
I would not give much for my life if she were caught broadside on by
one of those waves."
Fortunately these storms, though violent, are of comparatively short
duration, and, running directly across the path of a hurricane, it
was not long before the _Olive Branch_ emerged from the zone of the
tempest.
The sea still ran high, though the crests rarely broke inboard, but
the hatches were able to be unbattened, and the crew to breathe the
fresh air.
"Sail on the starboard bow!"
The officer of the watch, on hearing the hail, immediately acquainted
Captain Brookes. During the voyage several craft had been sighted,
but, with the exception of the _Puma_--which had previously been
ordered to rendezvous at a certain latitude and longitude--they had
invariably been carefully avoided. It was a matter of surprise,
therefore, that the captain ordered the cruiser's head to be turned
towards the strange vessel.
It did not take the _Olive Branch_ long to overhaul the craft, which
proved to be a German tramp steamer of about 4,000 tons. She was
rolling helplessly in the trough of the waves, alternately dipping
her topstrakes and showing the greater part of her bilge-keels, while
from her mainmast fluttered the international signal signifying that
her main shafting was broken.
Maintaining a bare steerage way the _Olive Branch_ was brought as
close to the disabled vessel as was consistent with safety, and by
the aid of a megaphone Captain Brookes expressed his intention of
giving the tramp a "pluck" into Pernambuco.
"Are you Engliche sheep of war?" asked the gold-laced Teuton in
command, knowing full well that in that case he would be freed from
the obligation of paying salvage.
"No," replied Captain Brookes, shortly.
"Den how much you want?" continued the German officer, astutely.
"The same as if this ship were a British Government vessel--nothing
at all. So stand by to get out a hawser."
The delighted skipper thereupon asked the name of the cruiser, but
Captain Brookes preferred to keep a mysterious silence. Possibly he
had ulterior motives in acting the good Samaritan, but Tregarthen was
unable to fathom them.
It was a hard task to bring the tramp's hawsers aboard the cruiser.
Twice they parted like pack-thread, but at the third attempt a strong
cable was secured to a stout "necklace" passing round the base of the
after-turret. Then, at a steady twelve knots, the _Olive Branch_
headed for Pernambuco, the disabled tramp wallowing astern like a
wounded porpoise.
[Illustration: Bending over the instrument was a young officer, his
head practically covered with a metal cap fitted with receivers.]
"We can now complete our tour of inspection," remarked Captain
Brookes, "since the presence of yonder craft interferes somewhat with
our preparations. Bring Mr. Stockton with you."
"Very good, sir," replied Gerald, and in a few minutes the captain
and his two _protégés_ were descending the steep iron ladder that
communicated with that part of the ship below the armoured deck.
Being below the water-line the place was lighted by electric lamps,
while every bulkhead and partition was traversed by a maze of wires,
hidden by metal casings, each painted in distinctive colours.
At length Captain Brookes stopped before a sliding steel door and
beckoned Gerald and Jack to enter. The two chums found themselves in
a small lobby, their progress barred by a door similar to the one
they had just entered. Carefully closing the outermost door their
guide proceeded to slide back the other panel, disclosing a small
room lighted only by the fitful bluish sparks emanating from an
electrical machine. Bending over the instrument was a young officer,
his head practically covered by a metal cap fitted with receivers
similar to those worn by telephone exchange operatives.
"This is our wireless room," said the captain, raising his voice to
make it audible above the succession of sharp reports like the crack
of a whip. "No overhead gear to be carried away in action or in a
gale; our wireless messages are received by an electrical current
passing through water. The apparatus is merely an extension of the
submarine signalling system. We are in touch with our agents at
Swanage in England, Plougastel in Brittany, Cape Cod in the U.S.A.,
and ere long with Sydney, N.S.W., and Antofagasta in Chili. Thus we
are well informed of events that are likely to call for our
intervention."
"Then that is how you learned the result of your experiments with the
_Zietan_, is it not?" asked Tregarthen.
"A shrewd guess, only it happens to be wrong," replied Captain
Brookes. "However, I'll enlighten you on this point."
From the wireless room he led the way for'ard, between walls of steel
that doubtless contained more wonders of mechanical triumph. Passing
the cable lockers he dived down a narrow hatchway, leading still
deeper into the bowels of the ship, till he arrived at the door of a
wedge-shaped room corresponding with the bow of the vessel. Here was
a table on which were several electrical coils and a pair of dials
resembling galvanometers.
"Here you are," continued the captain. "What do you make of this
contrivance?"
"I cannot say," replied Gerald, still nettled by the failure of his
previous conjecture.
"That apparatus gives us warning when we are passing over a submarine
cable. It used to be an accepted fact that the insulation of our deep
sea cables is so perfect that the 'leakage' is infinitesimal, but by
this instrument we can detect their presence in any depth down to one
hundred fathoms. This done, it is a comparatively simple matter to
grapple for the cable, hoist it to the surface and tap it. The great
disadvantage is that the ship must be brought almost to a standstill
to enable the 'detector' to act, and, of course, wholly so while the
wire is being brought on board."
"Then you tapped the Borkum and Lowestoft cable--I remember the
newspaper report stated that it was interrupted."
"No, I did not. If anything went wrong with that cable it was merely
a coincidence. What would be the use of tapping a cable if by so
doing it was made useless for transmitting messages? No, it was the
Middlekerke and Dumpton Gap lines we took on board, and consequently
heard the whole of the business concerning the _Zietan_, and a
considerable amount of other intelligence as well. Now I think you
have seen all that there is to be seen for the present," continued
Captain Brookes, after the engine-room had been inspected. "There is
one more marvel, on which I pride myself not a little, but until the
finishing touches are completed it would be better to say nothing
about it. Some day, and at no distant date, I hope to enlighten you
on that subject."
"One question I should like to ask--I hope you will not think me
impertinent or unduly inquisitive--that is, where did you obtain your
officers?"
The captain pursed his lips for a few moments before replying. "They
are, for the most part, gentlemen," he observed. "But, unfortunately,
they have fallen in the social scale, and wish to regard their past
as a closed book. I can tell you of a few cases, though, of course,
in strict confidence. Mr. Palmer, one of our lieutenants, for
example, was but a few years ago a commander in the Royal Navy. Ran
his vessel full tilt on the rocks, was court-martialled, and
'smashed.' As far as his friends are concerned, Palmer--though that
is not his real name--is supposed to be away for a three-years' tour
in the Rockies. Then there's White, the surgeon--also an _alias_, by
the bye. He was a well-known country doctor with a good practice till
he fell foul of a coroner's court over some trivial detail. It broke
him as far as England was concerned."
"And the men?"
"Are mostly the discarded victims of the British Admiralty's short
service system, with a sprinkling of merchant seamen who have been
ousted by cheap and inferior foreigners."
"Are you not afraid that some of them will desert and reveal the
secret of the _Olive Branch_?"
"It matters little so long as they do not desert in a body; but,
thanks to the condition under which they are engaged, I do not
anticipate any trouble in that direction. No man is acquainted with
the whole of this vessel's mechanism. Even the officers' duties are
not entirely interchangeable. For instance, Sinclair, the gunnery
Jack, would be helpless on the Z-rays; Taylor--oh! I have forgotten
something, after all. With the load of responsibility on my shoulders
it's a wonder that I am not even more forgetful. There's Taylor, the
scientist; he runs the laboratory with Guy Temple as his assistant. I
have not yet shown you his sanctum."
The laboratory was a spacious apartment on the starboard side of the
base of the fore-turret, with a hatchway communicating with the orlop
deck. In one corner was a wide bench covered with test tubes,
retorts, and similar articles used in chemistry, while on the floor
were ranged nearly a hundred cylinders.
"Where's Mr. Taylor?" asked Captain Brookes, of an alert young
officer who was engaged in some experiment of scientific research.
"I have not seen him during the last two hours, sir."
"H'm!"
"Shall I send for him, sir?"
"No, it does not matter particularly. Now, Mr. Tregarthen. Here are
the explosive charges for the 6in. shells. The projectiles are
discharged with Whaddite, an improved form of cordite, but what do
you think is the composition of the bursting charges? I'll tell you;
it's liquid air. With this explosive a 6in. is more deadly than a
thirteen point five shell charged with lyddite. No armour plate can
withstand it. Directly we have parted company with the tramp we have
in tow, I'll give a demonstration of its power."
The captain's words were interrupted by the appearance of a
lieutenant, pale-faced in spite of his tanned complexion, and
evidently labouring under suppressed excitement.
"Sir," he exclaimed. "Will you come on deck? The officer of the watch
has sent me to say that there's treachery aboard the _Olive Branch_."
"Oh, is that so?" asked Captain Brookes, calmly, then turning to
Tregarthen he requested him to accompany him to the quarter-deck.
"Well, Mr. Sinclair," exclaimed the captain as the officer of the
watch hurried to meet him. "What's amiss?"
"I observed someone in that vessel astern signalling from the shelter
of the bridge, sir," he explained. "I couldn't make out the message,
and judging by the manner in which they signalled I took it for
granted that the sender wished to avoid outside attention. When I
strolled aft the flag-wagging ceased, so I sent Mr. Weeks to your
cabin to investigate. He informs me that Mr. Taylor is in the
stern-walk and is signalling to yonder German."
"How could he gain the stern walk without attracting the attention of
the sentry on the half-deck?"
"I believe, sir, that he slipped over the rail when no one was
looking, lowered himself to the canopy of the gallery, and thence to
the stern-walk; that's a comparatively easy matter."
"Very good, Mr. Sinclair; carry on as if nothing were amiss."
Thereupon Captain Brookes made for the shelter of the after-turret,
whence from the sighting-hood he could command an uninterrupted view
of the German vessel without being observed.
"Can you understand German?" he asked.
"Fairly well, sir," replied Gerald.
"Then see what you can make of that," pointing to the rapidly waving
flag. "I shall require corroboration."
"'_Make an attempt to leave the ship tonight; we will be awaiting
you,_'" read Gerald.
"That's it," assented Captain Brookes. "They've finished for the
present; but I've learnt enough."
[Illustration: chapter IX]
CHAPTER IX
AN ACT OF PIRACY
DURING dinner there was nothing to indicate that ere morning strange
doings were to be enacted on board the _Olive Branch_. Captain
Brookes had given strict instructions to those who were in the secret
to maintain silence and to abstain from any words that might alarm
the traitor.
The meal therefore proceeded as smoothly as usual, though Gerald
noticed that Taylor, _alias_ Schneider, was ill at ease, refraining
from indulging in conversation, and looking across the table in an
absent-minded manner.
When permission was given to smoke the captain excused himself and
withdrew.
"Well, Mr. Sinclair?" said he to the officer of the watch.
"I've examined the stern-walk, sir; there is a snatch-block and a
coil of rope under the seat."
"You did not disturb them, I hope?"
"No, sir."
"Very good; I'll have the lights going in my cabin and the curtains
drawn over the scuttles and gallery door. Keep an eye on Taylor
without being observed, and when he makes for the stern-walk inform
me."
Shortly after midnight word was brought that the scientist had
lowered himself on to the stern gallery; and Captain Brookes, Gerald,
Stockton, and the officer of the watch crept cautiously aft so that
they could hear the traitor's movements.
The night was pitch dark. All the deck lamps were screened, save the
navigation lights, which were invisible from the quarter-deck. The
_Olive Branch_ was still maintaining a steady ten knots, her wake
showing a path of faint phosphorescence till it was interrupted by
the hull of the German tramp a cable's length astern.
After a quarter of an hour's vigil the watchers were rewarded by the
sound of a sullen splash, and a dark object, outlined in a spray of
dim light, veered slowly astern.
"Has he jumped overboard?" whispered Jack Stockton.
"Hist! No, he's slung the life-buoy overboard. There's a line bent on
to it."
"You're right," remarked Captain Brookes, as he watched the towed
craft through a pair of night-glasses. "They've brought the buoy over
the side."
Suddenly the canopy over the stern-walk vibrated violently. The
watchers instantly drew back and laid themselves flat on the deck.
The next instant the dark outline of a man appeared above the metal
covering of the stern-walk. It was Schneider.
The man was active in spite of his obvious cowardice, for with the
utmost dispatch he passed the heavy snatch-block over the hempen
cable that connected the two vessels and closed its hinged side.
From the hook of the block was a bo's'un's chair. On this the rogue
adroitly took his seat, and instantly let go. So cunningly had he
laid his plans that he had omitted no detail to ensure success, for
the sheave made no sound as the block descended the bight of the
hawser, showing that he had not forgotten to oil the large
lignum-vitae roller.
"Wait till he reaches the middle of the slack," ordered the captain.
Then, having ascertained by the aid of his glasses that the fugitive
was dangling a few feet from the water midway betwixt the _Olive
Branch_ and the German vessel, he whipped out a knife and proceeded
to sever the hawser.
"Good heavens!" muttered Jack Stockton under his breath. "It's
murder!"
"No fear; he'll only get a ducking. They'll haul him inboard by means
of the whip," replied Gerald. "Stand by and look out for the hawser
when she goes."
The warning had hardly been given when the last strands of the stout
cable snapped, the inboard portion flying across the deck. Then, like
a greyhound released from its leash, the _Olive Branch_ darted off
into the darkness.
"Pass the word for the searchlight to be run," ordered Captain
Brookes. "Hard a-starboard with the helm."
Round spun the cruiser. Her giant beams swept the gently heaving
water, and revealed the tramp, like a silver bark, lying well-nigh
motionless a couple of miles away on the starboard bow.
"That will do. Keep yonder craft in sight," continued Captain
Brookes. "Now gentlemen, we'll retire. To-morrow morning I'll finish
up this business."
At daybreak Gerald went on deck, eager to learn the state of affairs,
and found that Captain Brookes had already forestalled him.
Less than a mile away was the German vessel. Her crew had taken the
severed cable on board, and had doubtless discovered that the parting
of the tow-rope was caused by a deliberate act, for they had hoisted
a staysail and trysail, and were heading slowly S.S.W.
In obedience to the captain's order the _Olive Branch_ was brought
within hailing distance of the vessel she had befriended, and had in
return received such despicable treatment.
"Heave-to," thundered Captain Brookes. "I'm going to send a boat."
"Mr. Slade," he added, addressing one of the lieutenants, "you will
please board yonder craft and bring back Mr. Taylor at any cost. Mr.
Tregarthen, will you also accompany Mr. Slade?"
The gig's crew scrambled into the boat with alacrity. Every man was
armed with a cutlass, while from their somewhat exaggerated holsters
peeped the butts of revolvers. The lieutenant was also provided with
a pistol, but Gerald preferred to go unarmed.
As the boat drew near to the foreigner the bulwarks of the latter
were lined with fair-complexioned, stolid-faced Germans, but no
attempt was made on their part to encourage the men of the cruiser to
board.
"Throw us a line, will you?" shouted Slade.
"What do you want?" demanded the master of the tramp.
"We want the person who deserted from our ship last night. We know
that you aided and abetted him," replied the lieutenant.
"You no come aboard my ship," retorted the master, resolutely. "See
dis flag; dis ship German territory," and he pointed aft to where the
red, white, and black ensign fluttered from the staff.
[Illustration: The man staggered, clapped his hand to his shoulder,
and fell to the deck, the weapon slipping from his grasp.]
"In bow! Oars!" ordered the lieutenant, and the boat ran alongside
the towering wall-sided hull.
Taking advantage of the roll of the ship the bowman managed to obtain
a hold with his boathook on the iron bulwarks. The next instant a
sweep with a hatchet severed the head of the boathook and a lump of
coal was hurled into the boat. Fortunately it struck one of the
thwarts, which prevented the little craft from being stove in.
Slade's face darkened with anger.
"Do that again, and I'll fire," he shouted. At this threat the
Teutonic skipper leant over the bridge rails and flourished a
revolver. "You pirates!" he drawled. "Stand off, or me fire!"
Then, on giving an order to his men, the cruiser's boat was saluted
by a volley of coal and scraps of iron, some of the boat's crew
receiving nasty injuries.
This was more than the lieutenant could stand. Without another
moment's hesitation he drew his revolver, took a rapid aim, and
pressed the trigger.
There was no flash, no noise, only a slight twitching of the
lieutenant's arm as the powerful weapon kicked; but Tregarthen saw
the German stagger, clap his hand to his shoulder, and fall to the
deck, his weapon slipping from his nerveless grasp.
"Now, lads, away boarders!"
Aghast at the fall of their skipper, and still more astounded at the
silent messenger that had laid him low, the crew of the tramp offered
little resistance, and in a few minutes the cruiser's people were in
possession of the tramp's deck.
In response to a signal a second boat left the _Olive Branch_,
containing the surgeon in addition to an armed party. Examination
showed that the German master's wound was not serious, the bullet
having passed completely through the fleshy part of his shoulder; and
having attended to the wounded man, Dr. White ordered his removal to
his cabin.
"Look here, Tregarthen," exclaimed Slade, "you speak their lingo;
tell the first mate to muster his men on deck, or there'll be more
trouble."
Thoroughly cowed, the German obeyed, and the crew having fallen in on
the upper deck, Slade told off a party of his men to search the
_Afrika_, for that was the name of the vessel. A prolonged search
revealed no trace of the missing scientist. The mate was sullen under
examination, and for a time neither requests nor threats were of any
use.
At length, unable to curb himself, Slade drew his revolver and
pointed it at the man's head, bidding Gerald to inform him that
Taylor must be produced, dead or alive, within five minutes.
Whether the lieutenant meant to keep his word or not his grim
determined features compelled the mate to give way, and in response
to a guttural order two of his crew, accompanied by four of the
cruiser's men, descended to the fore-peak.
The deserter was discovered hidden in an empty tank, and in spite of
his strenuous resistance he was brought on deck and unceremoniously
bundled into the gig. Then, having achieved the object of their
mission, the two boats' crews pulled back to the cruiser.
"Take him below and lock him in his cabin," ordered Captain Brookes,
sternly. "Let two men remain with him in case he tries to injure
himself. Mr. Tregarthen," he added, "I have to thank you for your
assistance in the matter. No doubt you are in need of a meal; your
breakfast awaits you."
"I wonder why the captain was so keen on seeing that I had my
breakfast?" remarked Gerald to his friend Jack as the pair attacked
their meal.
"Goodness only knows," replied Stockton, who had already been
acquainted with the details of the visit to the _Afrika_. "But, by
jove, if that man calls himself the Exterminator of War, all I can
say is he's going a funny way to work. It will end with the _Olive
Branch_ being denounced as an ocean pariah, and we shall all be
hanged."
"It's certainly an act of piracy," assented Gerald. "I should not be
surprised if within a week an international squadron is sent in
pursuit of us. Yes, Jack, it's rank piracy."
And even while Tregarthen was thus expressing himself, Captain
Brookes, with the coolest audacity imaginable, had hoisted the white
ensign to the gaff as the _Olive Branch_ glided rapidly away from the
outraged German ship.
[Illustration: (_To be continued_)]
[Illustration: third instalment]
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "A Lad of Grit," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON_
*Synopsis*
GERALD TREGARTHEN, sub-lieutenant of H.M.S. _Calder_, being on leave,
sails from Poole with his old school chum Jack Stockton on board the
latter's yacht _Playmate_. In mid-Channel the yacht is run down; the
two friends are rescued, and find themselves on board a mysterious
cruiser--the _Olive Branch_--commanded by Captain Brookes. Finding
that Tregarthen is a British naval officer, Captain Brookes announces
his intention of keeping him on board, and, after due deliberation,
Gerald decides to fall in with the captain's plans, as far as his
sense of loyalty will permit.
Tregarthen is initiated into the secrets of the _Olive Branch_,
including that of the deadly ZZ-rays--an irresistible charge of
electricity whereby the destruction of a hostile ship can be effected
at will. Captain Brookes also explains that by the power at his
command he hopes to make war so terrible that no nation will venture
to declare war; thus universal peace will be assured.
During the voyage south Schneider, the ship's scientist, deserts,
taking with him some important plans. He is found on board a German
"tramp," and is brought back to the _Olive Branch_, whereby an act of
piracy is committed.
[Illustration: chapter X]
CHAPTER X
CLEARED FOR ACTION
IT was six bells in the forenoon watch. The _Olive Branch_, her speed
reduced to a bare ten knots, slipped noiselessly through the oily
waters, the tropical sun beating down fiercely upon the awning that
had been spread over the quarter-deck.
Seated upon chairs abaft the after-turret were the ship's officers,
while on either hand were mustered as many of the crew as could be
spared from their duties. There was an air of sternness about the
assembly, for Taylor, the scientist, was about to be tried on a
charge of desertion and treachery.
"Bring in the prisoner!" ordered the captain, and escorted by two
armed seamen the culprit was marched on deck and directed to take up
a position facing his judges.
"Mark Taylor," exclaimed Lieutenant Palmer, who appeared as
prosecutor, "you are accused upon direct evidence of having broken
out of this vessel and having sought to obtain a refuge on board the
German ship _Afrika_. That in itself is a serious charge; but not
content with that breach of discipline you wittingly informed the
master of the aforesaid _Afrika_ of the secrets appertaining to the
ordnance of this cruiser, the _Olive Branch_. Do you plead guilty or
not guilty?"
"Not guilty," replied the accused man, with a forced tone of
defiance. "I----"
"That will be sufficient for the present," said the lieutenant. "Your
evidence will be taken in due course."
Five witnesses for the prosecution having been called, the prisoner
was allowed to speak on his own behalf.
The accused scientist tacitly admitted that he had broken out of the
ship, but strenuously denied having given any information regarding
the cruiser to the master or any member of the crew of the _Afrika_.
At first his speech was delivered in perfectly pure English, but by
degrees he waxed excitable and spoke with a decided foreign accent.
"And I claim," he continued, "ze protection of ze German flag, for I
am a German by nationality."
"Is that so?" demanded Captain Brookes. "How is it that this fact was
concealed when you joined this vessel? And why has it remained a
secret till this moment?"
"I am a German," reiterated the prisoner. "My name is Schneider, not
Taylor. I told zese gentlemen it was so," indicating Gerald and Jack
with a wave of his hand. "I told zem I was a German subject, and zat
I was about to run away from ze ship as soon as I was able, and zey
know it."
"Then why did you not report this to me, sir?" asked Captain Brookes,
turning to Gerald.
"The man came into my cabin one evening in an excited manner,"
replied Gerald, calmly. "He certainly said his name was Schneider,
and began to tell us a long rigmarole concerning his private affairs.
We told him that if he had a grievance, you, sir, were the best
person to hear it. With that we kicked him out."
"Thank you," said Captain Brookes, and, addressing the prisoner,
continued, "Are you in a position to inform us where are the drawings
and specifications relating to the 6in. shells?"
The accused turned a shade paler than before.
"In one of ze lockers in ze laboratory," he replied.
"If I send you to the laboratory under escort, can you produce them?"
"Hein! If zey are not zare zey haf been stolen," exclaimed Schneider.
"Perhaps you haf hidden zem."
"They _have_ been stolen, sir," rapped out the captain, harshly; "and
by you. They were found in the cabin of the master of the _Afrika_ by
Lieutenant Slade. What have you to say to this?"
Schneider's limbs were trembling so violently that one of the seamen
had to support him, otherwise he would have fallen to the deck.
"Well, gentlemen, your verdict?"
"Guilty on both counts."
"Mark Taylor, otherwise Schneider, you stand convicted on charges of
desertion and treachery. With reference to the first crime I now
admit that you are a German subject, and that I was in error in
removing you from the protection of the German flag. However, the
mischief is done, and I must abide the consequences, though I fear
not the whole naval force of that Empire. As to your traitorous act,
I can only point out that while in my pay and holding a position of
trust on board this cruiser you wilfully betrayed your position as a
responsible officer of the _Olive Branch_. In every community
treachery against the supreme authority is punishable by death, and
it is in my power to inflict that penalty upon you. As, however, your
wretched crime has failed to achieve its object, and these drawings
are again in our possession, I will waive the capital punishment. You
are sentenced to solitary confinement, with sufficient exercise for
the maintenance of your health, as long as the _Olive Branch_ remains
in commission. Remove the prisoner."
Escorted by the two armed sailors, Schneider was led from the
quarter-deck. Grimly defiant, he marched between his guards, till on
arriving at the companion ladder one of the men preceded him, the
other stepping one pace in the rear.
The prisoner descended two steps, then, suddenly turning, he butted
the seaman at the head of the ladder. The man fell, and Schneider,
seizing his advantage, sprang over his prostrate body, cleared the
rail with a single bound, and leapt into the sea.
There was a rush to the side to see the termination of the tragedy,
but the luckless man was never seen again.
"That has saved us a great deal of trouble," said Captain Brookes;
"unless the mischief's already done," he added, under his breath.
On the following day the _Olive Branch_ was running off the east
coast of Patagonia, the rugged barren heights of that inhospitable
country being plainly visible on the starboard hand.
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Tregarthen," exclaimed Captain Brookes as
Gerald made his appearance on deck. He spoke with an affability that
had been missing during the last few days, but on this particular
morning his customary geniality seemed to have reasserted itself. "At
last I think that this vessel is fit for action; that is, as far as
her armament is concerned. Of course, there may be failures, but
these can be easily rectified. I mean to make an experiment to
demonstrate the power of the _Olive Branch_, beyond that of her
electrical means of offence. In another hour we ought to sight Carlos
Rock--you've heard of that, perchance?"
"No, sir," replied Gerald.
"Carlos Rock is a small uninhabited island of less than a quarter of
a mile in extent, and towering to a height of 600ft. How many rounds
from a 13.5in. gun would demolish it, do you think?"
"I cannot say, sir; but one hit would make a great difference in its
appearance."
"Then you'll have an opportunity of seeing what our 6in. gun will do.
By the bye, why are most of the British Dreadnoughts able to fire two
more guns astern than they can ahead."
"Merely the result of circumstances," replied Tregarthen, bridling
under the sting of the suggestion. "The position of the after-turrets
is to facilitate the broadside fire."
[Illustration: Schneider cleared the rail, and leapt into the sea.]
"Other nations may not think so."
"They can think what they like, sir," replied Gerald.
"So they can, so they can," rejoined Captain Brookes, with an air of
a man wishing to remove a wrong impression. "Now, if you will
accompany me to the conning-tower, we'll see what's to be done."
The order for general quarters was given by means of a bugle-call,
and in a few minutes the scanty crew of the _Olive Branch_ were
busily engaged in un-shipping stanchions and rails. Then, in response
to another order the decks were deserted.
"Do they call this 'cleared for action,' I wonder?" thought
Tregarthen, but barely had his mind expressed the thought ere Captain
Brookes thrust home a pair of levers. Silently the massive steel
windshields athwartships sank flush with the deck; the funnel dropped
out of sight; the steel boats and other deck lumber disappeared into
yawning cavities prepared for their reception; while simultaneously
every watertight door in the ship was hermetically sealed. From end
to end of the upper deck everything was cleared, save for the four
turrets, the light quick-firers, and the massive conning-tower.
"How's that?" asked Captain Brookes, enthusiastically. "Here we are
cleared to rapid torpedo-boat attack. Now, watch while I move this
lever."
This time the light quick-firers disappeared below the armoured deck,
leaving only the principal armament, while heavy steel plates slid
noiselessly over the pits into which they had vanished.
"This is where we score again. In modern battleships most, if not
all, of the light torpedo-repelling armament is badly protected. In a
general engagement the lighter guns would be dismounted in five
minutes, and the ship would fall an easy prey to a torpedo-boat
attack, especially if carried out with a combined dash. Here the guns
are ready whenever they are required. Now, here's Carlos Rock."
Gerald glanced ahead and saw a mass of stone rising almost
perpendicularly from the sea, its base lashed by the milk-white surf
that pounded incessantly upon its iron-bound shores.
Meanwhile Captain Brookes had given directions to the quartermaster
to encircle the rock at a distance of two miles so as to make sure
that it was inhabited by no human beings. Ten minutes were sufficient
for this manoeuvre, during which time the occupants of the
conning-tower swept the desolate-looking island with their glasses;
but beyond the presence of myriads of sea-birds the rock showed no
signs of life.
"Now, stand by!" exclaimed the captain to Gerald. "I cannot go into
details, but you will easily follow what I mean. All eight guns are
coupled, ready to fire a broadside. You see those three index-hands?
One shows the speed of the ship, the second the range of the object
to be fired at, and consequently the required elevation, the third
corrects the effect of windage. When set, a resultant pointer fitted
with telescopic sights gives us the correct aim. Stand here and look
through this aperture."
Tregarthen did so, and at that moment Captain Brookes depressed the
firing-key. Instantly there was a slight tremor throughout the ship,
an almost imperceptible recoil, and then a thin haze of brownish
smoke, but no noise was audible save the shriek of the projectiles as
they left the muzzle with a velocity of 2,500ft. per second. Four
seconds later the whole face of Carlos Rock was covered by a dense
cloud of dust, and with a dull rumble thousands of tons of rock slid
into the sea.
"You've altered Carlos's features, sir," exclaimed Gerald, when he
had recovered from the effects of watching this wonderful broadside.
"Ay!" assented Captain Brookes. "What ship would stand up to that,
d'you think? Now you can go below and watch the loading operations,
for we are going to keep up a rapid fire for half a minute."
Descending a spiral steel ladder which led from the conning-tower to
below the armoured deck, Tregarthen found nearly the whole of the
ship's company, including those men whom he knew to be captains of
turrets. Why the latter should be away from the turrets he could not
quite understand.
Seamen, stripped to the waist, were running small trucks laden with
shells from the after-magazine. These were placed in a metal hopper
at a position corresponding with the base of the foremost turret.
When twelve rounds had been deposited in this hopper its doors were
closed, and a red light instantly appeared in a dial overhead.
Once again a slight jar shook the ship, followed by eleven others in
less than twice that number of seconds. The next instant the hopper
door fell open and twelve empty and still smoking cylinders fell upon
the floor; a seaman dashed a bucket of water into the compartment,
and the work of reloading was repeated.
Then a bugle sounded the "Cease fire," and the officers returned on
deck to observe the effects of the terrible ordnance of the _Olive
Branch_.
"How's that for going into action?" asked Captain Brookes. "With the
exception of three men and myself all hands were safe beneath the
armoured deck. Automatic loading and firing, unerring aim, and the
victory's won, eh?"
"I certainly should not like to be on board a craft that received one
round from those guns, sir," replied Gerald. "But suppose, in the
heat of an engagement, one pair of guns was trained so that some
portion of this ship intercepted the line of fire?"
"That has been arranged for," said the captain. "Directly the arc of
fire on one pair of guns is exceeded, that turret remains locked till
the other guns are trained backward sufficiently for that pair to be
automatically linked up, so that damage to our own ship from that
cause is impossible. Of course, if necessary, each turret can be
worked independently, and in that case the captains of the guns would
have the control of the firing arrangements."
Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a signalman.
"Wireless message just received, sir," he reported, handing a sealed
envelope to the captain with a salute.
Captain Brookes broke open the envelope, and read and reread its
contents without moving a muscle; then he beckoned to those of the
officers who happened to be on the quarter-deck.
"Gentlemen," he exclaimed, "a wireless of extreme importance has just
been handed to me. The captain of the _Afrika_ has reported an
outrage by a ship flying the White Ensign, and representations have
been made by the German Ambassador in London. The British Government
has rightly repudiated the suggestion that the delinquent was a
British man-of-war, and has asserted that, from the description
given, it can only be the ex-Brazilian cruiser _Almirante Constant_.
Consequently the British and German Governments have issued a joint
note branding that vessel as a pirate, and have stated their
intention of hounding her down at all costs, and invite the navies of
all nations to join them in their task. So, gentlemen, the _Olive
Branch_ is a modern buccaneer. Every port and harbour is closed
against her. However, I'll stick to my purpose, but, rest assured, I
will never fire a shot against a British ship--I'll trust to the
_Olive Branch's_ speed to shake off pursuit. But"--here his face
clouded ominously--"should a vessel of any other nationality attempt
to interfere with us, I'll give her a fair warning. If she persist,
by Jove, I'll blow her sky high!"
[Illustration: chapter XI]
CHAPTER XI
WIPED OUT
ALMOST without further incident the _Olive Branch_ arrived off the
coast of Chili. Hostilities had broken out between that State and her
old rival, Peru, but beyond a few encounters between outposts on the
frontier, no serious fighting had yet taken place. Both republics
were unwilling to undertake the risk of sending an army into hostile
territory until the safety of their respective seaboards was assured,
and every day news of a decisive engagement between the rival fleets
was expected.
Directly the _Olive Branch_ was in touch with Captain Brookes's agent
at Antofagasta a wireless message was despatched in the form of an
ultimatum to the Presidents of Chili and Peru, stating that unless
the two fleets returned to their respective ports and peace were
declared within three days, the _Olive Branch_ would be compelled to
intervene.
The ultimatum was duly presented, and a copy appeared in the leading
newspapers of the two republics. People began to ask, "What is the
_Olive Branch_? And what is her nationality?" Then someone suggested
that the message was the work of either a practical joker or a
lunatic, and the heads of the two republics treated the message with
contempt. Not for one moment did anyone connect the _Olive Branch_
with the ex-Brazilian cruiser that had committed an outrage upon the
German flag off the port of Pernambuco. The very idea of a vessel
being able to travel from that port to Valparaiso--a distance of
4,600 miles--in less than four days never entered into anyone's head,
and when the journal _El Mundo_ broadly hinted that it was a ruse on
the part of the Peruvians to frighten the antagonists, the Chilian
fleet immediately put to sea.
This news was communicated to the _Olive Branch_ from Antofagasta,
followed by the information that the Peruvian fleet had steamed out
of Callao, bound south.
"Now we'll have them!" exclaimed Captain Brookes. "We'll get in touch
with the Chilian vessels first, then pass them hull down so as to get
between the two fleets. This done I hold them in the hollow of my
hand." Unfortunately for Captain Brookes his plans were doomed to
failure. The fleet of the Southern Republic was sighted and passed as
arranged, but in the interval the Peruvian squadron had altered its
course and was steaming for Iquique.
"There they are," announced Captain Brookes, late one afternoon,
pointing to a dense haze that obscured the otherwise clear horizon.
"Not much mistake about that, sir," assented Tregarthen. "If those
vessels are not burning Lota coal, I'm a Dutchman!"
"It's too late to do anything much to-day," added the captain. "I'll
give them a dose of Z-rays, and during the night we'll slow down and
hang on their flanks. To-morrow we'll press the business."
Throughout the night the Peruvian fleet, unable to use searchlights
and night-sights, pounded along, keeping an erratic compassless
course towards Iquique. Unable to explain the cause of the sudden
failure of their electrical gear, the officers and men were in a
state of nervous tension, expecting every moment to find the Chilian
fleet at their heels.
Just before daybreak the _Olive Branch_, to avoid being influenced by
the Z-rays that permeated the fleet, put her helm hard over in order
to allow the fugitives to gain a few miles.
As she did so a violent explosion shook the ship from stem to stern,
and a huge column of water sprang up from alongside her starboard
quarter.
"A mine, by Jove!" exclaimed Gerald.
He was right. The Peruvians had strewn the sea with mines as they
fled for shelter, and, on turning, the _Olive Branch's_ starboard
propellers had struck the dangerous weapon.
There was no panic. Every man was at his post, cool and alert. The
carpenter came on deck with the reassuring statement that the vessel
was not making water, but on the other hand the engineer reported
that the three starboard propellers were useless, and that the motors
actuating them had to be shut off. Thus with only the three port
propellers working, the speed of the _Olive Branch_ was reduced to a
bare fifteen knots.
"I'll make them pay for this!" exclaimed Captain Brookes, coolly.
"Keep her as she is, and at daybreak I'll show them what the _Olive
Branch_ is capable of doing."
The short twilight changed into day, and the rising sun revealed the
presence of the Peruvian fleet barely seven miles to the eastward.
There were four armoured cruisers--the _Santa Rosa_, _Lima_,
_Independencia_, and _Restauracion_, the first three built at
Elswick, and the last-named having been constructed at Stettin--and
three gunboats. The latter were the lame ducks of the fleet, and in
order to protect them the speed of the cruisers had to be reduced
from twenty-three to fourteen knots.
But to the surprise of everyone on board the _Olive Branch_ the
_Independencia_ turned and steamed straight for the solitary and
apparently foolhardy pursuer, the _Restauracion_ supporting her at
three cables' length on her port quarter. Throughout the night the
_Olive Branch_ had been cleared for action, and all that was
necessary now was for the men to go to their stations.
"She's too near to use the ZZ-rays," observed Captain Brookes to
Gerald, who, at the former's request, had accompanied him to the
conning-tower. "I've given orders for independent firing the moment
she shows her teeth."
On came the _Independencia_, the foam flying from her bows, her
funnels emitting dense clouds of smoke, while no less than five red
and white national ensigns flew from her mast-heads and signal
yard-arms.
Suddenly her forward 4.7in. Canet gun opened fire, and a huge
45-pounder came hurtling through the air. Fascinated, Gerald watched
its approach, unable to tear himself away from the slit in the steel
walls, though the projectile was apparently making straight for the
conning-tower. Often from behind a gun had he watched the flight of a
shell, but now the conditions were reversed.
The next thing he was aware of was a tremendous crash overhead,
followed by the fall of splintered steel and a dense suffocating
smoke.
"That's settled the charthouse and bridge," remarked Captain Brookes
as calmly as if discussing some triviality, then, pressing an
electric push, he gave orders for the forward turret to open fire.
The two 6in. weapons were discharged simultaneously, their
noiselessness contrasting vividly with the rapid detonation of the
Peruvian gun.
The doomed vessel was instantly swept out of existence. The massive,
yet graceful, outlines of the cruiser seemed to melt into a hundred
thousand fragments, then as the smoke slowly drifted, no trace of the
_Independencia_ was visible, only an ominous swirl in the agitated
waters as the disintegrated hull plunged to its ocean grave.
Appalled by the fate of her consort, the _Restauracion_ turned tail
and fled, being joined in her flight by the remaining cruisers, the
gunboats being left to their fate. But, satisfied by the moral effect
of his victory, Captain Brookes desisted from the pursuit.
"We're in a pretty pickle," said Gerald as he joined his friend
Stockton. "Partially crippled, and every port closed to us."
"Can't they make good the damage afloat?" asked Jack. "Divers could
go down, couldn't they?"
"If it were merely a matter of replacing the propellers they might,
but it's the damaged shafting that will cause all the trouble."
"Depend upon it, Captain Brookes will find a way out of the mess,"
replied Stockton, reassuringly. "The only thing that puzzles me is
what he will do should we be overhauled by a British cruiser. If he
keeps to his word he won't open fire on her, and if he attempts to
run away he'll be overhauled. That's a moral certainty."
[Illustration: The doomed vessel was instantly swept out of
existence. The massive outlines of the cruiser seemed to melt into a
hundred thousand fragments.]
"Well, let's hope we shan't be put to the test," said Tregarthen.
"But, by George, didn't the shell which hit us knock up a dust? It
simply swept the charthouse and bridge away like brown paper. That
means that all the steering will have to be done from the
conning-tower until we find time to make good the damage. But stand
by--here comes the captain."
Captain Brookes, however, passed them without apparently noticing
their presence. He seemed intent upon some great problem, and, lost
in thought, he descended the companion ladder and entered his cabin.
"What's the course, Mr. Slade?" asked Gerald of the navigating
lieutenant.
"We're going to fall in with the Chilian fleet next," was the reply.
"More pulverising?"
"I cannot say; captain's orders," replied Lieutenant Slade,
laconically.
At two bells in the first dog-watch the Chilian fleet was sighted,
but the victory was an easy, bloodless one. By means of the Z-rays
the fleet was demoralised, and thereupon a signal was sent to Admiral
Zaetos's flagship, informing him of the fate of the _Independencia_.
On learning that the _Olive Branch_ was no myth, the Chilian admiral
consented to return to Iquique to await further instructions from the
President, and an hour later the _Olive Branch_ was alone on the vast
Pacific.
"Now to get the damage made good," remarked Captain Brookes,
cheerfully. "Have you ever put into Talcahuano, Mr. Tregarthen?"
"No, sir."
"Neither have any of my officers; nevertheless I must do so, for
there is a government dry dock there, the only one on the west coast
of South America capable of taking the _Olive Branch_. Whether they
like it or not, I mean to have the ship repaired there."
Early on the following morning the cruiser came in sight of the port
of Talcahuano. Captain Brookes did not mince matters when dealing
with the Chilian town; he promptly isolated it by interrupting
telegraphic communication by means of the Z-rays, then falling in
with a small trading brig he expressed his intention of compelling
the master to pilot the _Olive Branch_ into harbour.
"Mercy on me, señor, I dare not!" expostulated the terrified man.
"The channel is mined; that is why my vessel was hove-to."
"Are you certain of this?" demanded the captain, sternly.
"Yes, señor."
"Well, gentlemen, you hear what the man says," continued Captain
Brookes, turning to his officers. "What do you say?"
"We are willing to leave the matter entirely in your hands, sir,"
replied Lieutenant Sinclair, confidently.
"That's what I expected," continued Captain Brookes. "And now,
señor, go forward and take the helm, for be there one or fifty
mines, I mean to enter dry dock before sunset. Mr. Palmer, clear away
the submarine."
[Illustration: chapter XII]
CHAPTER XII
THROUGH THE MINE FIELD
AT the mention of the word "submarine" Gerald felt the blood surge to
his temples. It was not the surprise of hearing that the _Olive
Branch_ possessed one of these master craft that affected him; he was
getting used to surprises. It was the glamour of the enterprise that
thrilled him.
For months past Gerald's ambition was to serve in the submarine
flotilla. His name had been on the "roster" as a volunteer for the
hazardous, yet attractive, service, but up to the time of his leaving
the _Calder_ his hope in that direction had not been gratified.
"May I accompany Mr. Palmer, sir?" he asked, bringing his hand to his
forehead with professional smartness.
"I think not," replied Captain Brookes. "This is a matter that
requires skilled men."
"Very good, sir."
Gerald felt the disappointment keenly, but like a true Englishman he
bore the refusal manfully. Not so with Stockton; his face showed
unmistakable signs of relief when his chum had been thwarted in his
desires to embark in a hazardous craft destined for a still more
hazardous enterprise.
The _Olive Branch_ was now within two miles of the entrance to the
harbour. On either side of the narrow mouth were stone forts faced
with earth, over which floated the Chilian flag--red, white, and
blue, with a white star on the upper "canton" nearest the staff.
Beyond were the Government works and the low stone houses of the
town, while in the distance the snow-capped Andes reared their lofty
peaks to a height of 14,000ft.
"Do you think they'll open fire, Mr. Sinclair?" asked Captain
Brookes, jerking his thumb in the direction of the forts.
"I don't fancy so, sir," was the reply. "They will trust to their
mines. Since the last war these johnnies think twice before tackling
an ironclad."
"Very well, then--carry on. Are your men ready, Mr. Palmer?"
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"Then look sharp about it, if we are to warp into the dock before
sunset. By the bye, Mr. Tregarthen," he continued, wheeling round and
facing Gerald, "have you had any experience of creeping?"
"Plenty of it in the Vernon, sir."
"I've changed my mind; you may go with Mr. Palmer."
Accompanied by Stockton, who, now that his chum was permitted to take
part in the expedition, wanted to share in the perils, Gerald
followed the lieutenant and a dozen men down to the orlop-deck.
Here, almost amidships, was an oval-shaped steel box, projecting
about three feet above the deck. Unfastening a massive securing-bar,
one of the men touched a knob, and the huge rubber-lined lid slowly
turned on its hinges and disclosed a similar, though slightly
smaller, box. It was the conning-tower of the submarine.
To Stockton the next few minutes seemed like a dream. The lid of the
conning-tower was raised, and five of the sailors descended into the
recesses of the little craft. Palmer then motioned to Gerald to
precede him, and with a hasty grasp of the hand Jack bade his friend
a silent farewell.
Then Palmer followed, and ere the lid closed with a ponderous clang
Stockton saw the dim glimmer of the electric light shining upon a
mass of complicated machinery.
"Stand aside, please, sir!" said one of the men who still remained on
the orlop-deck.
The cover of the outer box descended, the securing bar was carefully
locked, and the sound of inrushing water was borne faintly to
Stockton's anxious ears.
"They're off now, sir," added the seaman. "If you go on deck you'll
be able to see something of what they're up to."
From the top of the conning-tower, which in lieu of the demolished
bridge and charthouse was now the highest practicable coign of
vantage, Stockton and several of the officers watched the tip of the
submarine's periscope glide slowly along the surface of the water,
while some 30ft. in the rear was the tell-tale swirl of the vessel's
propeller and the characteristic wake of the submersed craft.
Every available glass was brought to bear upon the receding pole-like
object, as it kept an unswerving course straight for the entrance of
the harbour.
Suddenly a column of water was thrown 50ft. in the air. Stockton gave
an involuntary gasp of horror--what if the submarine had fouled one
of the deadly mines?
A minute passed. Even Captain Brookes began to look anxious, for no
trace of the periscope was now discernible.
"There she goes again!" shouted one of the men, as another slender
column rose high in the air.
Four times this was repeated, then once more came an ominous and
prolonged silence. While the attention of all hands was directed
towards the harbour the grey, porpoise-like hull of the submarine
floundered to the surface less than a cable's length from the port
bow of the _Olive Branch_. Thus, having announced her safe return,
the little craft disappeared beneath the waves, and, guided by
consummate skill and judgment, she glided underneath the hull of her
parent ship.
Half an hour later her crew came on deck of the _Olive Branch_.
"All correct, sir," reported Lieutenant Palmer. "Every mine exploded;
six in all."
"Very good," replied Captain Brookes. There were volumes of
commendation in those two words, and every man who took part in the
dangerous enterprise realised the fact.
"We must wait another hour till there's enough water on the bar, so
our pilot informs me," continued Captain Brookes. "Mr. Sinclair, I'm
going below; please report if anything unusual occurs."
"Well, old chap," exclaimed Stockton as the two friends gained the
seclusion of their cabin "how did you get on?"
"Splendidly," replied Gerald, enthusiastically. "The submarine is a
masterpiece. This was the mysterious object at which the captain
hinted during our inspection of the wireless room. I think I've
grasped the principle of it. The submarine is barely 30ft. in length
and 8ft. in beam, and is housed in a cavity underneath the ship
corresponding with the upper half of the submersible. Apparently its
natural buoyancy keeps it adhered to the hull of the _Olive Branch_,
but to prevent undue friction when running at full speed there are
several steel doors, which, when closed, complete the normal
curvature of the ship's bottom. You saw how we entered the
submarine?"
"Yes, by means of a watertight door in the orlop-deck, and a
corresponding one in the submarine's conning-tower."
"Well, directly I descended into the little craft I noticed that she
was propelled by electric motors, of about 35 horse-power I should
imagine. Forward there is a bow tube of less than 4ins. in diameter,
consequently she can carry twenty small torpedoes to our submarines'
four. I noticed that the vessel was submerged by means of water
ballast instead of relying upon horizontal rudders, although the
latter are utilised when running beneath the surface.
"Directly all hands were aboard Palmer opened a valve, and I saw the
pale green light filter through the glass of the conning-tower; we
had sunk clear of the _Olive Branch's_ hull. We descended quite
80ft., in fact, almost to the bottom of the sea, for I could see the
water discoloured by the muddy sediment caused by the rush of the
still ebbing tide. Then the motors were started, and, once well away
from the cruiser, Palmer hoisted the periscope, which hitherto had
been housed within the submarine.
"'Now, then,' said he, 'you know a mine when you see one, so will you
please stand by the conning-tower look-out; I'll keep the vessel on
her course by means of the periscope.'
"So saying he descended a short iron ladder and took his stand before
a small table coated with highly polished silver. This mirror
reflected an erect, right image, or, in other words, a faithful
reproduction of the horizon as seen from the surface.
"We were running at six knots, so that taking into consideration the
strength of the ebb, our rate over the ground was a bare three knots,
thus allowing an ample margin to bring up should we sight an
obstruction."
"How far could you see ahead?"
"About 100ft., for the water was fairly translucent in the bright
sunshine. Had it been dark we could have used a powerful searchlight.
"Suddenly I caught sight of a barrel-shaped object straining at its
sinker and cable like a gigantic long-stalked mushroom. Palmer was
instantly at my side, having ordered the motors to be eased down. The
principle on which the torpedoes are fired is similar to that by
which the guns are discharged on board this ship. I saw the slender,
fish-shaped weapon leave the tube and glide towards the mark, but the
target being a small one, and oscillating into the bargain, the
torpedo missed it by a foot.
"The second shot was successful, and although I did not hear the
detonation, the shock was sufficient to make the submarine lurch
violently.
"This operation was repeated till we found ourselves right inside the
harbour, the wharves and the shore being crowded with people
attracted by the unwonted spectacle of the presence of a mysterious
battleship in the offing."
"Then it's certain that all the mines have been destroyed?"
"All in the channel, at all events, for we could see the outlines of
the shoal on either hand, and not a trace of a mine remained. But
there's the engine-room telegraph; we're getting under way once more,
so let's go on deck."
On gaining the fo'c'sle the two chums found the Chilian skipper
shaking with apprehension and anxiety. He had been led for'ard and
was conning the ship under the charge of Lieutenant Sinclair, who was
an expert Spanish linguist. The lieutenant communicated the pilot's
directions to the quartermaster in the conning-tower, who in turn
held the _Olive Branch_ on her course at a steady five knots.
Even then the depth on the bar was so little that for some
considerable distance the ship's remaining propellers churned up
columns of liquid mud. Cleared for action she slowly approached the
harbour, but, as anticipated, there was no sign of resistance from
the forts. On the contrary they respectfully dipped their flags, a
compliment that the _Olive Branch_ returned by lowering her green and
white ensign.
"Mr. Sinclair, will you pipe away the cutter's crew. I want you to
take this letter ashore, and your knowledge of their lingo will be
useful in case they cannot translate it," said Captain Brookes. "I've
told them my requirements, and offer to pay all lawful dock charges
and dues. Inform them of events between the two republics, and of our
part in the matter."
An hour later Lieutenant Sinclair returned with the information that
Captain Brookes's requests were favourably received, and that the
_Olive Branch_ could go into dock at once. He also bore the
intelligence that the alcalde and the commandante of Talcahuano were
about to pay a complimentary visit to the cruiser that had, while
engaged in the work of settling the differences between Chili and
Peru, inflicted a severe loss upon the fleet of the latter republic.
"Good," remarked Captain Brookes, gleefully. "Nothing could be
better, gentlemen. I mean to make use of both the alcalde and the
commandante of the town during our stay here."
Without further delay the _Olive Branch_ was warped into dock and
shored up. The water was then pumped out, and, as the captain had
prophesied, the cruiser was dry-docked before sunset.
[Illustration: chapter XIII]
CHAPTER XIII
TRAPPED
DURING the docking of the _Olive Branch_ crowds of townsfolks,
soldiers, civilians, and peons flocked around the mysterious visitor,
expressing astonishment at her appearance, yet without showing any
signs of ill-will.
Nevertheless, no precautions were left undone to safeguard the ship.
Two of the guns were pointed at the custom-house, the other pairs
covered the arsenal, forts, and the principal public buildings,
while, being unable to use the Z-rays on account of the possible
consequences to the _Olive Branch_, a party of sailors under
Lieutenant Sinclair landed and marched up to the telegraph office
with instructions to prevent any messages being sent that related to
the presence of the proscribed cruiser.
"Commandante coming off, sir," announced the officer of the watch,
just as dinner was about to be commenced.
"Very well, then, turn out the guard of honour," replied Captain
Brookes. "Gentlemen, we must postpone the function for a few
minutes."
So saying he retired to his cabin to don his full-dress uniform, an
example that was followed by the rest of the officers.
On gaining the quarter-deck Gerald found that the guard of honour had
already formed up, while ashore a company of troops with a band in
attendance had fallen in on the quayside. The Chilian soldiers were a
mixed crowd of whites, half-castes, and blacks, attired in blue coats
with scarlet facings, white trousers, and gaudily decorated shakos.
The commandante, who was accompanied by the alcalde and a staff of
brilliantly uniformed officers, was awaiting with true Castilian
punctiliousness the appearance of the captain of the _Olive Branch_,
and directly the latter appeared at the head of the companion ladder,
the troops stood at attention and the band prepared to play.
"What tune are they going to honour us with?" said Gerald, in an
aside.
"Goodness only knows! As we are of no nationality, they cannot----"
Here Stockton's reply was interrupted by the blare of the band, and,
to the amazement of everyone on board, the Chilians struck up the
British National Anthem.
At the sound of the inspiring note, so thrilling to every true
Englishman, the crew of the outlawed ship forgot everything but the
fact that they were British-born. Circumstances that had caused the
majority of them to forswear the land of their birth were lost sight
of.
Standing stiffly to attention, the two groups of officers faced each
other, the commandante at the head of the gangway, the captain of the
cruiser in front of his staff; nor did anyone relax his rigid posture
till the last strains of the Chilian National Anthem that followed
the British one had died away. Then, led by Captain Brookes, the
commandante was taken to the ward-room, the other officers mingling
in an amicable manner, though signs had to take the place of ordinary
conversation.
In spite of this difficulty, dinner was proceeded with, Sinclair
undertaking the duties of interpreter, while from without came the
ceaseless noise of hammering as the work of repairing the damaged
shafting was in progress. It was not till after dessert that the
commandante--a don with a string of names that showed a connection
with the highest families of Spain--learned that he had made a
mistake. Up to this point he had imagined that the cruiser was a
British man-of-war, in spite of the fact that the green and white
ensign floated from her ensign-staff.
"Yes, Commandante da Silva. According to the decree of the principal
European nations this ship is a pirate."
"A pirate!" gasped the astonished officer. "What is your
intention--to hold the town to ransom?"
"No, señor," replied Captain Brookes. "My intentions regarding the
town of Talcahuano are perfectly straightforward and reasonable. As I
said before, I am willing to pay all dues and charges, and when these
urgent repairs are completed I'll put to sea once more. Meanwhile,
señor, you and your worthy alcalde must consider yourselves as my
guests till the time of sailing arrives."
"You would hold us prisoners? It is monstrous!"
"Pray do not look upon it in that light," replied Captain Brookes,
urbanely. "Rather consider yourselves my honoured guests, though I
must admit that my primary object in detaining you is to make use of
you as hostages for the good behaviour of the town."
Seeing that resistance was useless, and being assured of courteous
treatment, the commandante gave in with a good grace, and, with the
alcalde, was provided with accommodation in the captain's own
apartments.
This done, Captain Brookes took other steps to safeguard his
interests. He seized the railway station and allowed no trains to
leave the town, though he was unable to prevent them from coming in
from the north. But he realised that it was impossible to completely
cut off the town. Lota, a coaling centre, is barely twenty miles
south of Talcahuano, and the means at the command of the captain of
the _Olive Branch_ were insufficient to prevent people from going
thither and telegraphing the news of the daring "hold-up "; yet he
had gained a decided advantage, and in consequence no time was lost
in refitting the _Olive Branch_ for sea.
The damage done by the mine was not so great as was anticipated. Two
of the three port propellers' shafts were bent, and all three
propellers were hopelessly damaged. Fortunately a spare set was
carried on board, so the only difficult task was to draw the shafting
and straighten it in the Government workshops. On the evening of the
second day the work was completed, and preparations were in progress
for undocking the _Olive Branch_ at daybreak.
"Do you know, Mr. Palmer, that your gallant exploit in clearing the
mine-field was unnecessary?" asked Captain Brookes during dinner.
"Unnecessary, sir?" exclaimed the astonished lieutenant. "How so,
sir? Were they dummies?"
"No, not dummies, but real live electro mechanical mines. But our
Z-rays had, so the commandante informs me, thrown the firing-gear out
of action. It's strange that I never thought of that, though had they
been contact mines the danger would have remained.
"And now, commandante," he continued, "I must make some slight amends
for my conduct in detaining you. To-morrow, all being well, we must
part company, but before so doing our paymaster will settle all
accounts incurred ashore. Meanwhile, I ask you to accept this slight
token in remembrance of the hurried visit of the _Olive Branch_."
So saying he handed the Chilian officer a morocco case, with a bow
that would have put a high-born Spanish grandee in the shade. Within
the box was an English hunter, with a solid gold case, on which was
the representation of an olive branch set in diamonds. This gift, so
unexpected, so overwhelmed the commandante that it was some minutes
before he could frame a suitable reply.
To the alcalde Captain Brookes presented a jewelled scarf-pin,
bearing a device similar to that of the watch, and it was evident by
the expressions of gratitude of the two officials that they would
have welcomed a similar visit every day in the week.
In the midst of these courtesies there came a rude interruption.
The officer of the watch rushed into the ward-room, his face pale
with excitement.
"We're trapped, sir!". he exclaimed. "There's a British squadron
outside the harbour, and they've spotted us with their searchlights.
Signal just come from the flagship demanding our unconditional
surrender at daybreak."
[Illustration: chapter XIV]
CHAPTER XIV
RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
"DON'T distress yourself, Mr. Sinclair," said Captain Brookes, "it
may cause my guests considerable uneasiness. Reply by merely
acknowledging the signal; no more. Then report to me the earliest
moment at which the ship can be undocked."
When the lieutenant had retired the captain turned to his officers.
"This is a strange business, gentlemen," he remarked, briskly,
"though we must be prepared to deal with little unpleasantnesses of
this sort. In the first place I did not expect a British squadron in
these waters, still less did I think they would worry me with
messages of this kind. I can only conclude that a telegraphic message
has been sent from Lota or Coronel apprising the fleet of our
presence here. In any case they've been mighty smart about it."
"What do you propose to do, sir?" asked Lieutenant Slade.
"Do? Why, trick them. Look here, Mr. Tregarthen," he added, "I'll
remember my promise to you, and what is more, it's my resolution not
to commit any action that may be regarded as the act of a
belligerent. Meanwhile it would be a good opportunity for you to
write your report to the Admiralty, for, mark my words, they'll send
a boat in the morning."
"I've already done so, sir," replied Gerald. "Do you wish to see the
document?"
"No, no; I have the greatest confidence in you, Mr. Tregarthen; it
would be a breach of etiquette on my part if I were to supervise your
correspondence."
"I have not the slightest objection----"
"But I have, so please say no more on this subject. Ha! Here's
Sinclair once more."
"Message dispatched as stated, sir. The bos'n reports ship will be
ready to be undocked at midnight," laconically announced the officer
of the watch.
"Very good--carry on," was the stereotyped reply.
Captain Brookes appeared to be in no hurry. The dinner seemed unduly
prolonged, and it was six bells ere the captain set the example by
going on deck.
Away in the offing the powerful beams of the searchlights of the
blockading squadron played continuously on the town and harbour,
while from the mastheads of the ships the flashing signals blinked
incessantly. Judging by the number of beams there were at least four
vessels, but of what strength the officers of the _Olive Branch_ were
unable to ascertain.
In spite of Captain Brookes's coolness a sense of uneasiness pervaded
the officers and men of the trapped cruiser, for without resorting to
extreme measures it seemed impossible for the _Olive Branch_ to make
a bid for freedom.
Punctually at midnight the sound of rushing water announced that the
sluices to the culverts were opened, and three-quarters of an hour
later the cruiser, now fit to proceed to sea, was warped into the
centre of the harbour.
The commandante and the alcalde were sent ashore, all claims settled,
and with stores and water tanks replenished, the _Olive Branch_ swung
easily at her cable, awaiting the dawn.
"Do you recognise any of these vessels, Mr. Tregarthen?" asked
Captain Brookes as the sun appeared over the summit of the Andes.
"Yes, sir; the one flying the commodore's broad pennant is the
_Niobe_, protected cruiser; the others are the _Melampus, Cambrian_,
and _Amethyst_."
"All out-of-date vessels on their last legs," commented the captain
of the _Olive Branch_. "I suppose they are good enough for the
ordinary work on this station; but, by Jove! it's lucky for them that
I can keep myself under control. Either that commodore is mad, or he
does not know the risk he's running."
"Is it madness to carry out orders, sir?" asked Gerald, quietly.
"Under certain conditions, yes; discretion should always be a proviso
in such cases. But here comes a boat."
As he spoke a steam pinnace flying the white ensign came pelting
towards the harbour, throwing up columns of spray as she plunged
through the agitated water on the bar.
"Ship the accommodation ladder," ordered the officer of the watch,
and for the first time in the commission of the _Olive Branch_ was
this means of gaining access to the cruiser made use of.
"Desire the officer to step down to my cabin," said Captain Brookes,
as he turned to leave the quarter-deck.
The pinnace made the foot of the ladder to a nicety, and a lieutenant
in full uniform, accompanied by a "sub," came over the side,
punctiliously, yet sourly, returning the salute.
"Hello, Tregarthen! What the dickens are you doing aboard this
packet?" exclaimed the British officer in undisguised astonishment.
"Don't you know me?"
"Yes, of course; it's Blake."
"Right, old man; but again, why masquerading in mufti on this
hooker?"
"Because I cannot help it," replied Gerald. "To be exact, I'm a
prisoner, though only a nominal one. Also, I'm on leave. In another
twenty-three days I am supposed to rejoin the _Calder_, but I'm
afraid I shan't."
"We'll rescue you, old fellow, never fear."
"Don't be so sure about that. It's a long story, but this letter will
explain matters. Now you had better be off, for the captain awaits
you in his cabin, and the officer of the watch looks as if he's
growing impatient." So saying Gerald handed the lieutenant the
document he had prepared, and withdrew to where Stockton was
observing, with mixed feelings, the pinnace of the _Niobe_ as she lay
alongside.
[Illustration: 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.]
In less than a quarter of an hour the English lieutenant, accompanied
by Captain Brookes, reappeared on the quarter-deck. Without betraying
any of the circumstances of the interview the former went over the
side, and the pinnace steamed swiftly back to her parent ship.
"Well, gentlemen, it's only right that you should know the true state
of affairs," began the captain. "I have affirmed that, save for the
matter concerning the detention of Mr. Tregarthen and Mr. Stockton, I
have never committed any action against the British Government that
warrants such interference, and therefore I question the commodore's
right to demand our surrender. If, in the execution of my
self-imposed duty, I have unfortunately been compelled to take stern
measures with the _Afrika_, that quarrel is between the German
authorities and myself. On that score I have made my protest to the
commodore of yonder squadron."
An hour later the pinnace returned, the lieutenant bearing a verbal
message from the British commodore that he was there to carry out
orders, not to quibble over them, but that he was prepared to put
Captain Brookes's protest before the Admiralty in a favourable light
should the surrender be immediately carried out.
This message the lieutenant gave in the presence of all the officers
of the _Olive Branch_, possibly imagining that the moral effect might
be greater.
Captain Brookes's swarthy countenance darkened.
"Go back to your ship, sir!" he thundered. "Inform your superior
officer that I scornfully refuse his terms. Here is the _Olive
Branch. If he wants her, let him come in and take her_."
A low murmur of applause from his officers greeted this announcement,
and once again the English lieutenant returned to his ship.
"I am beginning to repent of our bargain, Mr. Tregarthen," remarked
the captain. "But, by Jove! I'll keep my word. We are safe enough for
the time being, for they will never dare to enter the harbour without
obtaining the consent of the Chilian Government. Meanwhile I can only
hope for an on-shore gale and a dark night."
All that day and the night following the blockading squadron remained
on the _qui vive_, but on the next morning the gale that Captain
Brookes wished for had begun.
Dead on shore it blew, the crested breakers thrashing upon the
shallows that flanked the entrance. The sky was overcast, and heavy
rain descended incessantly. At about noon the waves became so high
that the British ships, already rolling their main decks under, stood
out to sea so as to escape the discomforts of an on-shore berth.
Nevertheless, as night fell, the searchlights played with unceasing
vigilance upon the harbour of Talcahuano.
"Confound those searchlights!" muttered Captain Brookes, then turning
to Gerald he exclaimed, "Look here, Mr. Tregarthen, does my compact
forbid me the use of the Z-rays? I think not."
Gerald did not know what to reply. This act alone could hardly be
termed a belligerent one, and at the same time no permanent damage to
_personnel_ or material was likely to ensue.
"I'll risk it," continued the captain, and giving orders to clear
deck for general quarters, he made his way to the conning-tower.
One glance at the foaming bar where the water gleamed silvery white
under the beams of the concentrated searchlights showed him that the
plan was a desperate one. A deviation of half a cable's length to
port or starboard would be fatal even to the _Olive Branch_, for no
vessel could run aground on those deadly shoals and hope to survive.
Suddenly, as if by the touch of a magic hand, the searchlights
vanished, leaving only a black expanse of storm-tossed waters.
Captain Brookes had made use of the Z-rays.
Slowly the anchor came home from its muddy bed, the engine-room
telegraph signalled full speed ahead, and at her utmost possible
speed the _Olive Branch_ dashed towards the bar, every revolution of
her propellers bringing her nearer the alert yet mystified British
squadron.
She was running the gauntlet. Perils unseen awaited her ahead and on
either hand. Another five minutes would decide her fate.
_(Another long instalment of this splendid serial next month.)_
[Illustration: fourth instalment]
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "A Lad of Grit," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON_
*Synopsis*
GERALD TREGARTHEN, sub-lieutenant of H.M.S. _Calder_, being on leave,
sails from Poole with his old school chum Jack Stockton on board the
latter's yacht _Playmate_. In mid-Channel the yacht is run down; the
two friends are rescued, and find themselves on board a mysterious
cruiser--the Olive Branch--commanded by Captain Brookes. Finding that
Tregarthen is a British naval officer, Captain Brookes announces his
intention of keeping him on board, and, after due deliberation,
Gerald decides to fall in with the captain's plans, as far as his
sense of loyalty will permit.
Tregarthen is initiated into the secrets of the _Olive Branch_,
including that of the deadly ZZ-rays--an irresistible charge of
electricity whereby the destruction of a hostile ship can be made at
will. Captain Brookes also explains that by the power at his command
he hopes to make war so terrible that no nation will venture to
declare war; thus universal peace will be assured.
During the voyage south Schneider, the ship's scientist, deserts,
taking with him some important plans. He is found on board a German
"tramp," and is brought back to the _Olive Branch_, which when this
action is reported is branded as a pirate.
Hostilities break out between Chili and Peru, and Captain Brookes
determines to intervene. The _Olive Branch_ is damaged by a mine, and
puts into a Chilian harbour for repairs; but while in dock it is
trapped by a British squadron demanding its surrender by daybreak.
Captain Brookes is handicapped by a vow never to fire on a British
vessel. At midnight when the damage to his ship has been repaired, he
makes use of his Z-rays to extinguish the searchlights of the British
squadron. Then the _Olive Branch_ starts forward at full speed.
[Illustration: chapter XV]
CHAPTER XV
A ONE-SIDED ENGAGEMENT
THRASHING through the chaos of broken water on the bar, the spindrift
flying in blinding showers over her knife-like bows, the _Olive
Branch_ held swiftly yet steadily on her course, steered by her
impassive, automaton-like captain.
Every man was at his post, for the cruiser was cleared for action,
although it was an understood thing that not a shot would be fired
under any circumstances. Yet Gerald wondered, as he stood in the
darkened conning-tower, whether the mental strain might prove too
great, and whether the temptation to touch one of the deadly levers
that were within arm's length might overcome the captain's iron
nerve. Could any human being run the gauntlet, receive the fire of
four cruisers armed with modern quick-firing guns, and yet withhold
the means of offence at his command?
Not a word did Captain Brookes utter. With his hands steadily
grasping the electrical steering-gear, his eyes peering through the
narrow slit in the armoured walls into the intense blackness of the
night, he stood as rigid as a marble statue, save for an occasional
slight movement of his hand as he altered the vessel's helm.
To Tregarthen, looking through his aperture in the conning-tower, the
task of steering through that mirk of blinding rain and spray seemed
an impossibility; but, without a bearing to fix his course, and
ignoring the presence of the compass, Captain Brookes seemed to feel
his way by a supernatural instinct.
Exactly at four minutes from the time of getting under way a bright
flash, followed almost instantaneously by a crash that out-voiced the
roaring of the wind and sea, burst from the darkness away on the
starboard bow. Then with a long-drawn shriek a 4.7in. shell screamed
overhead.
Then another missile, coming from right ahead, struck the sea a bare
twenty yards to port, knocking up a cascade of spray that rose high
above the foam-flecked waves as it ricochetted into the darkness
astern.
Still the _Olive Branch_ held on, steering straight for the yet
invisible cruiser that had fired the second shot. The firing now
became general from the British cruisers, for the luminosity of the
spray churned up by the swiftly moving blockade-runner gave the
gunners some knowledge of the position of the on-coming craft.
_Crash!_
A 6in., striking the bow of the _Olive Branch_ in an oblique
direction, exploded with a deafening report, the flash throwing the
outlines of the ship into strong relief.
Then, with a concussion that shook the massive conning-tower to its
foundations, a heavy missile landed fairly on the base of the
armoured citadel.
Gerald could not refrain from closing his eyes, though the danger of
that particular shell had passed, yet he did not move from his
position at the look-out slit. The experience gained in the action
with the _Independencia_ was beginning to assert itself.
Now the blows that ought to have been described as staggering
redoubled as shell after shell struck the cruiser's armoured plating,
while to the louder detonations of the 6in. and the 4.7in. guns was
added the sharp bark of the 6- and 12-pounders. The air that eddied
furiously through the apertures in the conning-tower was foul with
the acrid fumes, while fragments of glowering metal even found their
way into the steel shell.
Suddenly one of the quartermasters who was standing in reserve at the
after end of the tower spun round, and blindly fumbling with his
outstretched hands, sank lifeless to the deck. As he did so he
grasped one of the levers, thrusting it downward as he fell.
Instinctively Gerald turned, disengaged the man's grasp, and replaced
the lever; but the mischief was but partly averted. The funnel,
windscreens, and the sliding hatches that concealed the boats were
beginning to raise themselves above the deck, and, caught by the
withering blast, the thin steel plating was riddled like paper.
Then did Captain Brookes shift his position; but it was not on
account of the damage caused by the lifeless quartermaster. The
_Olive Branch_ was drawing within the danger zone of her own Z-rays.
Separating the pointers and springing back to his post, the captain
put the helm hard over. Round swung the _Olive Branch_, listing
dangerously outwards as he described a short curve with undiminished
speed; and at that moment the British cruisers, freed from the
irritating influence of the Z-rays, threw their searchlights upon the
daring fugitive.
Having gained an offing, Captain Brookes shaped a course to the
south'ard, thus presenting the whole broadside as a tempting target
to the _Niobe_. Eight of her 6in. guns thundered on the irresistible
_Olive Branch_ with but little effect, though she reeled as the
missiles smashed against her lofty sides. A round from one of the
latter's weapons could pulverise the 11,000 tons unarmoured cruiser,
yet even in the heat of this one-sided encounter Captain Brookes kept
his word.
Then the running fight soon became a hopeless stern-chase, and
fifteen minutes after leaving Talcahuano Harbour the report of the
last gun died away in long-drawn reverberations like the growl of a
beast of prey.
Giving the helm in charge of the remaining quartermaster, and
ordering a lieutenant to take command of the conning-tower, Captain
Brookes began a tour of inspection. It was too dark to see the amount
of damage done on deck, for the arc lamps had been totally destroyed,
but below the glow of the incandescent lights showed that the _Olive
Branch_ had not come scathless out of the fray.
Aft, the lighter side armour, above the lower or turtle-backed steel
deck, had not been able to resist the passage of four 6in. shells.
Three of the officers' cabins were completely wrecked, the fireproof
furniture being shattered into fragments. The distilling plant and
the bread-room were also demolished, while for'ard, the impact of two
heavy projectiles on one spot had so weakened the armour plate that a
third shell had burst under the fo'c'sle, the concussion injuring the
delicate mechanism of the wireless gear.
Beyond the loss of the quartermaster the casualties were confined to
minor contusions, though most of the crew complained of deafness for
the next few days.
"This comes of adopting the principle of passive resistance,"
commented Captain Brookes. "There's a month's hard work to make all
shipshape again."
"I must give the skipper due credit for his word," said Gerald to his
chum as they turned in for the night. "I don't think I could have
blamed him if he had kicked."
During the greater part of the following day the _Olive Branch_
resumed her southerly flight, though for the space of one hour she
was hove-to. Daylight had revealed the extent of the damage done on
decks. Practically everything that could be shot away had vanished;
the two quarter boats had been swept from their davits, which were
twisted into fantastic shapes; the stanchions and handrails, though
stowed flat on the deck, were torn like pack-thread, while the steel
decks were furrowed in all directions by the glancing blows of the
projectiles. As for the conning-tower, it seemed a marvel how any of
its occupants could have escaped, for almost every square inch of its
massive armour was dented by the heavy shells, and pitted by the hail
of the quick-firers.
"Well, Mr. Tregarthen, how do you think the _Olive Branch's_ mission
of universal peace is progressing?" asked Captain Brookes.
"Since you've asked me, sir, I am afraid that I cannot say it is a
success. You see, sir, we fired the first shot in the Chilian and
Peruvian set-to, and sent a cruiser to the bottom."
"That I admit. But see the result. By the sacrifice of the
_Independencia_ the two fleets were prevented from coming to blows. I
know these fellows; they fight like tigers, so I can claim credit for
saving twenty times the number of poor fellows lost in the Peruvian
cruiser, while the war is stopped--that is, unless that British
squadron, by driving us away, have encouraged the two Republics to
fly at each others' throats."
"That may be so," assented Gerald.
"Here comes Mr. Selkirk, with trouble written on every line of his
face as plainly as A B C. Well, Mr. Selkirk, what's amiss now?"
Selkirk, the chief engineer, was a Scotsman whose whole existence
seemed bound up in his beloved motors. He was a comparatively young
man, with thin drawn features and a crop of sandy hair. When off duty
he possessed a vein of dry humour that belied the oft-repeated
statement that a man born north of the Tweed can never appreciate a
joke; but while on duty his attention to his particular work was
beyond reproach.
"No. 3 propeller on port side, sir," he exclaimed. "Wurkin' a wee bit
loose."
"Then disconnect the shafting," replied Captain Brookes.
"Will ye no stop the ship awhile, sir. Wi' the shaft at rest the
propeller may hauld on, but I ha' ma douts. An' ye'll call to mind
we've no spare wan."
"In that case we'll haul it aboard. It's the best thing to be done,
Mr. Selkirk. How long do you think it will take the divers to unkey
it?"
"A matter of twa hoors, sir."
"Then carry on. I'll give orders to bring-to. Mr. Slade, tell the
bo's'un's mate to warn the diving party for duty."
By this time the _Olive Branch_ had outrun the storm, though by the
erratic behaviour of the mercury there was every reason to expect a
repetition of the gale. Nevertheless, there was a long heavy sea on,
so that the task of shipping the defective propeller was hazardous
both to the divers and the working party on deck.
When at length the propeller was hoisted in over the side Selkirk was
on the verge of despair; for one of the phosphor bronze fans was so
badly fractured that it was a marvel how the greater part of the
blade had not been torn away.
"Yes, it's a bad job," asserted Captain Brookes, "but it cannot be
helped. There's only one thing to be done, and that is to make for
some secluded creek, take the fan ashore, and weld it. I don't think
we can do better than make for Desolation Inlet."
[Illustration: chapter XVI]
CHAPTER XVI
IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE PATAGONIANS
DESOLATION INLET is an unfrequented creek on the northern or
Patagonian shores of the Magellan Straits. Save for the occasional
visit of a hardy whaler the harbour is rarely occupied. The inlet
well deserves its name. Imagine a tortuous channel of deep water,
surrounded by lofty snow-clad mountains that tower to the height of
7,000ft., presenting the appearance of a Norwegian fjord without the
beautifying effect of the foliage and pasture land in the
intersecting valleys. For, with the exception of a few stunted pines
and occasional patches of hardy, thorn-like scrub, vegetation does
not exist.
It was early in September, or towards the end of the winter of the
Southern Hemisphere, when the _Olive Branch_ glided slowly up the
placid waters of the creek. Although hardly a ripple disturbed the
mirror-like surface, Desolation Inlet is subject to sudden storms
that sweep down from the mountains with well-nigh irresistible force,
so that their effect upon a slowly moving vessel was extremely
dangerous.
Although the lead gave no depth at seventy fathoms during the first
ten miles, Captain Brookes dared not proceed with more than a bare
steerage way, owing to the extreme irregularity of the bottom of the
badly charted harbour; and it was with undisguised relief that the
order was given to let go in eight fathoms, with the shore less than
two cables' length away on either hand.
[Illustration: 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.]
Hardly had the _Olive Branch_ moored when a party of natives appeared
on the beach, regarding the huge cruiser with obvious amazement and
curiosity. They were tall, muscular men, wild and shaggy in
appearance, and scantily clothed in spite of the severity of the
weather. In their hands they carried long, slender spears, which they
brandished menacingly when a white flag was waved on board the
cruiser.
Having lost the small boats in action the only means of communicating
with the shore was by the motor cutter and the barge. These two boats
were hoisted out by the crane with comparative ease, and a party of
men prepared to go ashore for the purpose of setting up a temporary
forge for the repair of the propeller.
Gerald and Jack asked, and readily obtained, permission to go ashore,
Captain Brookes cautioning them not to wander far from the boat, and
not to give the savages any cause for offence; so buckling on their
revolvers they took their place in the cutter.
On the approach of the boat, moving swiftly and noiselessly through
the water under her well-silenced motors, the natives fled
precipitately, till they gained the shelter of a cluster of pine
trees.
At length, by dint of signs, one of the savages was induced to come
down to the water's edge. This he did slowly, and with manifest
hesitation and distrust, but the bait of a piece of copper proved
irresistible. No sooner had he obtained possession of the metal than
he bolted back to his companions. Two more followed his example,
received various blankets, and as promptly fled. Then others summoned
up courage, and soon the shore was lined with natives, with every
symptom of good-will, who accepted the various presents with the
greatest eagerness.
The savages having been pacified, steps were immediately taken to
build a forge, and the damaged fan was laid upon a bed of sand so as
to receive the molten metal. This work took two days to perform, some
of the seamen being lodged in temporary shelters so as to prevent any
attempt on the part of the savages to remove the metal under cover of
darkness; but so docile did the Patagonians seem that there appeared
no necessity for the precaution.
While the welding operations were in progress Gerald and Jack,
accompanied by a party of armed men, made several short excursions
into the interior. The snow-drifts made walking a difficult matter,
while the air was so piercingly cold that the men were especially
cautioned against sitting down to rest while on their expeditions, as
the result would be fatal.
"I wonder where those poor brutes sleep?" remarked Jack, as the chums
trudged wearily through the fleecy mantle that covered the ground to
the depth of a foot. "In caves or rough huts, I expect," replied
Gerald. "They must be a wiry set. As far as I can make out their food
consists wholly of shell-fish, yet they seem to thrive on it."
"What's that over there?" exclaimed Stockton, pointing to a series of
snow-covered mounds standing about a foot from the ground on the
shores of a small cove or creek.
"Canoes, turned bottom upwards," replied Gerald, after making a
lengthy examination through his field-glasses. "And on the other side
of the inlet is a small village, though what those people are doing
on this side I cannot make out."
"Perhaps they don't want us to know the position of their village,"
remarked Jack, as they resumed their way back to the boat, the rest
of the party straggling in the rear.
On returning to the landing-place they found that the repairs to the
propeller had been completed and the massive casting had already been
placed on board the cutter.
"We've been waiting for you the last half hour," observed Mr. Slade,
with asperity, for the coldness of the atmosphere and the tedious
delay had not improved his temper. "Now then, men, fall in. Number."
On the landing-party "numbering-up" the astounding discovery was made
that one man was missing, and further inquiries revealed the
knowledge that the straggler was a petty officer named Black, who was
known to have accompanied Gerald's party.
"He must have fallen out on the way back to the shore," exclaimed one
of the men.
"Well, it's no use standing here--he must be found," said Slade. "As
I am in charge of the landing-party, I'm held responsible. Look here,
Mr. Tregarthen, will you take command of the cutter, and take the
propeller off to the ship? I'll take half a dozen men and go and look
for Black."
Jack Stockton also expressed his intention of forming one of the
search-party, so leaving twelve men on the shore to stand by the
launch, Lieutenant Slade followed the well-defined footsteps through
the snow, while Gerald undertook the duty of taking the cutter back
to the ship.
Ere the little craft could accomplish her journey a squall swept down
upon the harbour with its customary fierceness and intensity. In
spite of the fact that the cruiser was riding to a strong ebb tide
the strength of the icy blast caused her to swing broadside on and
athwart the swirling stream. The motor craft, notwithstanding her
comparatively high freeboard, took in water on both sides, nor was
Gerald able to bring her alongside the _Olive Branch_ till she had
gained the comparative shelter of the lee of the cruiser.
Somewhat to young Tregarthen's surprise no one was waiting to receive
the boat and its weighty and important cargo, so having secured the
cutter to the swinging boom her crew clambered up the wire rope
ladders and gained the deck of the _Olive Branch_.
Here they found that, in spite of the hissing shower of hail and
snow, the whole of the remaining crew of the cruiser were lining the
weather-side of the deck and peering intently ashore.
It was a strange sight that met Gerald's gaze as he crossed the deck
and looked in the direction of the landing-place.
Sheltering under the lee-side of the forge and the adjacent temporary
buildings were the men of the launch, quite oblivious of what was
taking place a bare hundred yards from where they stood, while on the
snow-covered plain betwixt the shore and the fringe of the pine trees
a scene was being enacted in which those on board the _Olive Branch_
were powerless to interfere.
Plunging and staggering across the snow was one of the seamen of the
_Olive Branch_, at his heels a score or more of Patagonians, with
their long spears poised ready to plunge into the fugitive's back,
yet restraining themselves in order to prolong the savage delight of
the chase. Against the fleet-footed natives, to whom the soft,
yielding snow appeared to offer no obstacle to their speed, the
sailor had no possible chance. Once he turned, raised his revolver,
and fired, and one of the savages fell. But for the silencer the shot
might have terrified his pursuers, but regarding the weapon merely as
they would a piece of cold steel, the moral lesson was thrown away.
Evidently it was his last cartridge, for dashing the weapon in the
face of the nearest native the man resumed his flight, till within
twenty yards of the place where his unsuspecting comrades were
sheltering he stumbled.
During his dash for safety the man gave vent to a warning shout; the
men had just time to stand to their arms ere the Patagonians were
upon them. The issue was not long at stake. The powerful yet silent
weapons of the white men drove the savages back to the shelter of the
forest.
"Hoist the signal for recall and clear away the for'ard turret,"
ordered Captain Brookes. "I'll shell the rest of those rascals into
smithereens."
Muttering threats of vengeance against the treacherous natives the
crew of the launch came over the side. Three of them had sustained
slight wounds in the conflict on the shore that necessitated the
attendance of the surgeon, though the wounded men submitted to his
ministrations with a bad grace. As for the rest of the crew of the
_Olive Branch_ they besought their officers to lead them on an
expedition to rescue or revenge their missing comrades.
To these entreaties Captain Brookes turned a deaf ear. "Too many
risks have been taken already," he declared. What he meant to do was
to inflict a stern punishment on the savages who had violated the
hospitality of their visitors.
"One moment, sir," exclaimed Gerald. "If we open fire with the 6in.
guns we'll probably exterminate friend and foe; that is, if our
comrades are still alive, as I think they are. I quite agree with
you, however, on the impracticability of sending a punitory force
ashore."
"By Jove! it's worth trying," cried Captain Brookes, after the young
sub-lieutenant had unfolded his plan, and to the astonishment of the
rest of the officers and crew orders were given for the _Olive
Branch_ to weigh and proceed to sea. Twenty minutes later the cruiser
had left her anchorage in the inhospitable waters of Desolation
Inlet.
[Illustration: chapter XVII]
CHAPTER XVII
GERALD'S RUSE
IT will now be necessary to return to the events that befell the
expedition.
Having followed the tracks across the open plain with comparative
ease the party plunged into the sombre gloom of the forest, if forest
it might be termed, for the trees grew in clumps with frequently a
clearing of fifty to a hundred yards between.
"We'll strike an arm of the creek in a few minutes," observed
Stockton.
"The sooner the better," replied Slade, shortly, for in the keen
biting air talking could only be maintained by an effort. Every
breath seemed to lacerate the lungs, while the wind was so bitter
that the thick woollen garments worn by the men seemed totally
insufficient to withstand the numbing effects of the intense cold.
"It's snowing, sir," exclaimed one of the men. "I've served in the
Arctic, and I know what this means. Our tracks will be covered up in
a few minutes."
"Well, what do you propose?" asked Slade. "We've no compass."
"Send a man back to blaze the trees before the track is wiped out,
sir, then do the same as we advance."
"Very good. Roberts, you make your way back and slice a piece of bark
off a tree now and again, so that each mark can be seen from the one
nearest to it. Now, look sharp, you others, if we are to find Black
alive."
Roberts set out on his return journey, while the rest of the
expedition, bending low in order to force their way against the
driving hail and snow, proceeded on their way.
Suddenly above the moaning of the wind a blood-curdling yell, issuing
simultaneously from a hundred throats, burst upon the ears of the
astonished party, and a shower of spears thrown with tremendous force
came hurtling through the air.
Three men fell, badly wounded, while two more received slight
flesh-wounds. Taken completely by surprise the survivors strove to
draw their revolvers, but ere their benumbed hands--rendered
additionally clumsy by reason of their thick woollen gloves--could
perform their task, the savages were upon them.
Having all his work cut out to defend himself, Jack Stockton could
pay no heed to his companions; it was a case of each man for himself.
Contriving to obtain a grip at his revolver Jack fired, but the
small-calibred nickel bullet, with its high initial velocity, passed
through the shoulder of his nearest opponent so cleanly that the
muscular savage was unaware that he was hit. Even at that critical
moment Stockton wondered whether the weapon had missed fire, till he
remembered that it had "kicked," and quick as lightning the thought
flashed through his mind that Captain Brookes's methods of
exterminating war could not be favourably applied when opposed to
savages.
The next instant Jack was grappling with the brawny Patagonian; and
though the Englishman was powerfully built and "hard as nails," his
strength was like that of a child compared with that of his
antagonist.
He felt himself being forced backwards till it seemed as if his spine
was on the point of snapping, jagged spear-heads were poised ready to
be driven home, and ponderous clubs were whirled above his head.
Then a merciful unconsciousness came upon him and he remembered no
more.
Meanwhile Slade, fighting right manfully, had succeeded in flooring
three of his antagonists by well-directed blows of his fist; for, in
spite of his gloves, the lieutenant's knuckles struck home with
sledge-hammer force and precision. For a time it seemed as if he
would be able to keep his foes at bay, till a wily savage, stealing
up from behind, dealt him a crashing blow with a club. Slade
possessed a thick skull in more senses than one, and on this occasion
it served its purpose. Under the blow, that would have killed most
men, Slade fell senseless in the snow.
When Stockton regained consciousness he found himself lying under the
shelter of an overhanging rock, with Slade and one of the seamen
lying close to him. Were it not for the actual contact all three
would have been dead through exposure to the intense cold. At first
he could hardly open his eyes, for the blood that had oozed from a
gash in his forehead had congealed and had thus prevented a copious
loss of the vital fluid.
Gathered around the prostrate forms of the survivors of the
unfortunate expedition were nearly a hundred savages, some of whom
were still squabbling over the distribution of their prisoners'
effects, for every metal article had been unceremoniously taken from
them. Gradually the details of the surprise dawned upon the young
Englishman, and he vaguely wondered why the Patagonians had not
completed their murderous work. Perhaps he and his companions were
being reserved for a lingering death.
After a while Slade began to stir, then, starting to his feet, he
stumbled a few paces, and collapsed in the snow. A roar of derisive
laughter from the savages greeted this performance, and a pair of
dusky giants lifted the lieutenant and dropped him by the side of his
comrade.
"Hello, Slade!" began Jack, wearily, but in reply came a torrent of
inarticulate words. The lieutenant was in a delirium. Once he shouted
that the men were shirking their task of holy-stoning the decks; then
he craved for a cocktail; the next moment begging for a draught of
water, till his exhausted body sank beneath the strain and he
relapsed into unconsciousness.
Stockton, too, was on the verge of insensibility when a native came
running with some news of more than ordinary interest. What the
intelligence was Jack could not, of course, comprehend, but the
outcome of it was that most of the savages made off, leaving barely a
score to watch their helpless prisoners.
One of the native scouts had brought word that the white men's
floating village had gone, and the other savages, doubting (as
uncivilised tribes invariably do) the word of one of their number,
had gone to the shores of the creek to satisfy themselves on that
point.
[Illustration: Like a terrier let loose amidst a swarm of rats the
submarine dashed towards the canoes.]
In less than an hour the main body of the natives returned. They were
in a great state of joy and excitement, for the _Olive Branch_ had
sailed, and the creek was clear, and they could now ferry themselves
across and regain their miserable village without fear of
molestation. Three litters were hastily constructed by means of
spears and lengths of undressed hide, skins being thrown upon them to
complete these rough-and-ready contrivances. Upon them the white
captives were unceremoniously deposited, and with a weird song of
triumph the savages wended their way through the forest to the shore
of the creek.
Here a score of muscular arms soon righted the upturned canoes, and
on being launched the unstable, yet heavy, dug-outs were so crowded
that their gunwales amidships were barely six inches above water.
Still scarcely alive to the hazardousness of his position, Stockton
found himself lying at the bottom of one of the largest canoes, with
Slade and the seaman beside him, both still unconscious and breathing
heavily.
Well it was that the storm had abated as suddenly as it had sprung
up, and that the ebb tide had now changed to the gentle flood,
otherwise the canoes would have inevitably been swamped.
Urged by the powerful strokes of a score of paddles, the craft in
which Jack lay shot ahead of the other canoes, its crew giving vent
to a long-drawn song as they kept time with their quickly flashing
blades.
Suddenly the song of the savages gave place to a yell of terror. They
dropped their paddles, stood upright in their fragile craft as if
paralysed by a nameless horror; then, overcoming their immobility,
they plunged over the side. Relieved of their weight the canoe rocked
violently, while a cascade of splashes from the agitated water
descended upon the bodies of the three white men.
Then to Stockton's utter astonishment he heard a hearty voice
exclaim, "Here they are, by Jove!" and three brawny seamen took a
flying leap from somewhere fair into the bottom of the canoe.
"Be sharp! Pass them out!" ordered a voice that Jack knew so well,
and the next moment he found himself being carefully, but swiftly,
lifted from the canoe on to the narrow platform of the _Olive
Branch's_ submarine.
"Thank goodness you're saved!" muttered Gerald, fervently.
The survivors of the unfortunate expedition were carefully passed
through the narrow forehatchway, then, scorning to take shelter,
Gerald steered the submarine from the skeleton platform surrounding
the outside of the conning-tower.
There was no need for the vessel to plunge; her sudden appearance
from beneath the waters of Desolation Inlet had struck panic into the
hearts of the savages, and now, like a terrier let loose amidst a
swarm of rats, the submarine dashed towards the remaining canoes.
Some of the natives let fly a shower of spears in a half-hearted
manner. Most of the weapons fell short, while a few glanced
harmlessly from the rounded plating of the avenging craft.
Crash! The snout of the steel monster caught the nearest canoe a
formidable blow amidships, the dug-out being lifted clear of the
water by the impact. The next instant it fell, cut completely in two,
and those of its occupants who were not killed or stunned by the
concussion were swimming for their lives.
Gerald, in his lust for revenge, resolved to sink the remaining
canoes. In their flight the savages lost all sense of strategy and
kept together as if seeking comfort in companionship. Thus the
submarine's work was rendered still more easy.
Just as the avenger reached the last of the native craft, a savage,
in the courage of despair, took a flying leap upon the tapering bows
of the submarine. Then, as agile as a cat, he ran along the narrow,
sloping deck-plating, and, ere Gerald could avoid the unexpected
attack, the muscular Patagonian grasped the sub-lieutenant round the
waist.
Gerald's shout for aid was drowned by the crash of the shattered
timbers of the canoe, and ere he could repeat the cry the native had
shifted the grip of his right hand to his antagonist's throat, while
with his left he strove to wrench Tregarthen from the narrow
platform.
Realising that the moment he relaxed his grasp of the iron rail he
was a lost man, Gerald contrived to strike out with his left.
Handicapped by the fact that his hands were encased in thick woollen
gloves, and that his reach was limited, the blow fell comparatively
light. Then he tried to kick his antagonist clear, but at the first
attempt the agile black, intent only on encompassing his enemy's
destruction, twisted his legs in a crushing embrace round Gerald's
waist, while both his sinewy hands were engaged in squeezing the
sub-lieutenant's throat.
Tregarthen felt his strength was ebbing, his breath came in quick
gasps, and he gurgled in the throat under the relentless pressure.
Even in those few moments of peril Gerald realised that once he fell
into the sea the submarine would leave him to his fate, plunging
onwards till those below could see that by her erratic course she
lacked a guiding hand at the helm. By that time it would be too late.
Held in the merciless grip, Gerald's range of vision was limited to
the grey steel walls of the conning-tower two feet from his face.
Even in the fierce, yet silent, struggle a slight dent in the metal
wall exercised an unaccountable fascination till everything grew
white and a filmy mist swam before his eyes.
His hands were relaxing their hold, stronger came the succession of
heaves as the savage sought to hasten the end. Flesh and blood could
stand the strain no longer; the rail seemed to slip from his grasp,
and with his antagonist still locked in an unyielding embrace he fell
backwards.
Weakened as he was Gerald braced himself to meet the shock of the
icy-cold water, but with a jerk that almost broke his ankle he found
his leg seized in a vice-like grip, while simultaneously the
tenacious hold of the Patagonian was relaxed. He was dimly conscious
of being unceremoniously hauled back to the platform of the
submarine, and of Watson, one of the mechanics, making a sudden dart
for the steering gear, a heavy spanner still grasped in his hand.
Then everything became a blank.
[Illustration: chapter XVIII]
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CAPTAIN'S REVENGE
GERALD'S ruse had been successful. Knowing that the Indians of
Patagonia frequently take prisoners any small parties of the crews of
whaling vessels who allow themselves to be treacherously surprised,
so as to plunder and afterwards hold them to ransom, he reasoned that
the savages would remove their captives to their village directly the
_Olive Branch_ had left the anchorage. Evidently the natives wished
to keep the locality of their village a secret, and only Tregarthen's
scouting instincts had given him the clue.
So the submarine, in which were Lieutenant Palmer and the usual crew
of that craft, was submersed in mid-channel till the canoes attempted
the passage, the result of which was fatal to the savages and nearly
so to the originator of the enterprise.
When Gerald came to himself he found himself lying in the fore part
of the submarine in the company of the still unconscious members of
Slade's force. The fore-hatch had been uncovered to admit the air,
for 'tween decks the atmosphere was almost stifling.
"Well, old fellow, how goes it?" asked Mr. Palmer.
"I feel a bit rocky, but I shall be all right in a minute or two."
"Case for the sick bay, eh?"
"No fear; but it was a narrow squeak. I wonder how I managed to shake
that brute off my back."
"You didn't. If it had not been for Watson noticing that the boat's
head was pointing dead on shore you would not be here. He managed the
rascal very neatly by a tap with a spanner, and grabbed you as you
were on the point of disappearing overboard."
"Where are we now?"
"Brought up at the anchorage. We've telephoned to the _Olive Branch_,
and she's on her way back."
Ten minutes later the cruiser appeared round a bend in the channel,
and without undue delay the submarine was made fast alongside her
parent ship. Stockton and Slade and the surviving seaman were hoisted
over the side and sent below to the sick bay, while Gerald, still
feeling the ill effects of his encounter, hastened to make his report
to Captain Brookes.
"Excellent," was the captain's comment. "By the bye, you appear to
have thoroughly adapted yourself to my views. This is a practical
instance of the extermination of war. But we haven't done yet; I'm
going to send a charge of dynamite ashore, stow it in the centre of
their village, and blow the place to bits."
"Haven't we done enough, sir?" asked Gerald, for, now the excitement
of the struggle was over, the appalling nature of the business was
beginning to assert itself.
"Enough? No! Be thorough--that's my motto. Look here, Mr. Tregarthen,
can you give me one good reason why I should withhold my hand when
dealing with these rascals?"
"Suppose the whole tribe be wiped out--where does the warning to the
others come in? They won't know who is responsible for the act,
neither will they be able to understand why it was done. On the other
hand, if we give these rascals a thundering good fright, they will
have good cause to remember us, and behave better in the future."
Captain Brookes frowned. For the space of a minute he remained gazing
in the direction of the inhospitable shore, then, wheeling swiftly,
looked Gerald squarely in the face.
"Mr. Tregarthen, I don't know why it is, but you are the only man on
the ship that dares to thwart my purpose. Nevertheless, I like you
for your outspoken manner. Now carry on, and let me know what is your
alternative."
"We have not as yet given the ZZ-rays a practical test," remarked
Gerald, tentatively.
"Good gracious! The ZZ-rays!" exclaimed the captain, with
astonishment. "The only argument in favour of the ZZ-rays in
preference to a bombardment is that their action is instantaneous and
consequently painless. Is that your idea of mercy?"
"No, sir. In any case we must land a party to search for our missing
comrades. No doubt we can also 'round up' the savages, since they
won't be in a state to offer much resistance."
"And then?"
"We can land a hundredweight of explosive, place it on yonder rock,
which I believe is plainly visible from the village, and take the
_Olive Branch_ down to the mouth of Desolation Inlet, whence she can
explode the stuff by means of the ZZ-rays."
"In the meantime what will the natives be doing?"
"We can leave a party to keep them under guard. I will undertake that
task if required, sir."
"You have more faith in the infallibility of my invention than I
have," observed Captain Brookes, with a grim smile. "What if I
miscalculated the distance and wiped you out instead?"
"With due precautions there is no risk, sir."
"All right, Mr. Tregarthen. Since you are willing I make no
objection. Only remember, the men required to guard the prisoners--if
we succeed in taking any--must be volunteers, duly warned for the
service."
Meanwhile the submarine had been submersed and housed in its
accustomed berth; the divers had made rapid progress towards
replacing the repaired propeller, and preparations were in hand for
the proposed visit to the native village.
At sunrise on the following morning the launch, with the explosive
safely stowed on board, lay alongside the cruiser. Captain Brookes
signified his intention of heading the landing-party, which consisted
of eighty well-armed men.
"I am going to land on the eastern side of the inlet first," said the
captain. "I mean to visit the site of the ambuscade. This done, we
will cross to the other side and make a survey of the village."
It was some time before the track of the unfortunate expedition could
be picked up, since the snow had obliterated the footprints, and none
of the survivors were sufficiently recovered to accompany the
landing-party.
At length a "blaze" was found, and from that point the direction
taken by the former expedition was followed with little trouble.
Although it was practically certain that all the natives who had
taken part in the treacherous attack had been completely demoralised,
Captain Brookes took no risks. Advanced and rear guards were told
off, the men keeping their arms ready for instant use. In addition,
the silencers had been removed from the rifles.
"Why are those men halting?" demanded Captain Brookes, as the advance
guard came to an abrupt stop.
"They've found something, I think, sir," replied Lieutenant Sinclair.
"Then tell them to continue the advance."
By this means the gap between the three divisions being maintained,
the main body arrived at the spot where their comrades had halted;
then exclamations of rage burst from the lips of the infuriated
seamen, for lying, half covered by a mantle of snow, were the bodies
of the victims of the savages' treachery. "Isn't that enough to knock
the sickly sentimentality out of the most case-hardened
humanitarian?" asked Captain Brookes. "I may be wrong in my opinion,
but with the experience of not only today, but of years past, I feel
convinced that fear is the only means of keeping these savages in
order, and, by Jove, I'll teach them a lesson!"
Having made this unpleasant discovery, Captain Brookes led his men
back to the shore, whence they were transferred to the opposite bank
of the inlet.
Here they again formed up and marched towards the village, which was
cunningly concealed save from one particular direction--namely, from
where Gerald had noticed it from the eastern shore of the creek.
[Illustration: 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.]
Detaching a party of twenty men under Lieutenant Sinclair, with
instructions to make a detour to the opposite side of the village, so
that the savages' retreat would be cut off, Captain Brookes halted
the main body till a prearranged signal was given to show that
arrangements for surprise were complete.
"Now, forward, my lads!" exclaimed the captain, as the report of a
rifle was heard in the distance.
At the double the seamen rushed towards the collection of hovels that
formed the Patagonian village. A few of the natives showed fight, but
the majority fled, yelling with terror, in the direction of the
narrow defile held by Sinclair and his men.
Soon the fugitives were driven back; men, women, and children bolted
to their huts, and the work of capturing the natives began.
The savages offered but little resistance as they were seized and
securely bound. As for the women and children, they stoically
remained with their men-folk and finding that they were not to be put
to death--as they fully expected to be--the savages began to lose
their sullen manner and to take a faint interest in the seamen's
preparations.
On an open space in front of the village the natives were placed--the
men, individually bound and roped together as an additional
safeguard, sitting on the ground in a circle, with the women and
children in the centre.
Meanwhile another party of seamen had carried seven tins of dynamite,
each containing 16 1/2 lbs., to the base of the crag that Gerald had
indicated--at a distance of a mile and a half from the village--and
separated from it by the main channel of Desolation Inlet.
Gerald had detailed his volunteers for the task of guarding the
prisoners, and all the preliminary preparations were now complete.
"Now for a practical test of the ZZ-rays, Mr. Tregarthen," exclaimed
Captain Brookes, as he bade Gerald farewell. "It is now 10.30 a.m. At
noon punctually I shall liberate the electric current from the _Olive
Branch_, at a distance of nine sea miles from yonder crag. You will
please remain here, and on no account release the prisoners till my
return, which, I hope, will be at 1.30 p.m."
"Very good, sir," replied Gerald, with a salute, as the captain
ordered the remainder of the landing-party to fall in.
Meanwhile the divers had been working incessantly, and the propeller
was again fit for its task; the anchor was weighed, and the _Olive
Branch_ once more glided down the waters of Desolation Inlet.
Left in charge of the prisoners Gerald had ample time to reflect upon
the action he had taken. In his anxiety to save the savages from
extermination he had made a somewhat hasty proposal; and now, with
the execution of his plan in progress, the force of Captain Brookes'
objections came home to him.
The hitherto untried ZZ-rays might prove themselves far more
destructive than their inventor claimed; their radius of action might
overlap the area governed by those sinister chequers on the
indicator; the distance and direction of the pinnacle from the _Olive
Branch_ might be misjudged--and then?
Tregarthen glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to twelve.
"Smith!" he called out, addressing one of the petty officers.
"Sir?"
"Pass the word for the men to take off their bandoliers, empty the
magazines of their rifles, and stow the cartridges under yonder
tree."
Without betraying his surprise at the unusual order the man hurried
off to communicate Gerald's instructions. Implicit obedience was
Smith's sheet anchor.
"There, I've taken every possible precaution," mused the young
officer. "Now things must take their course."
As the minutes slowly sped the tension amongst the seamen increased.
Even the savages seemed to have an inkling that something
extraordinary was afoot.
Watch in hand Gerald waited till the long hand pointed at a minute to
the hour.
"Look!" he shouted, pointing to the distant crag.
The natives, although they did not understand the word, followed the
direction indicated, and a tense deathly silence seemed to fill the
air.
Precisely at noon a terrific detonation shook the ground, and a thick
cloud of dust and smoke obscured the view of the pinnacle. When the
cloud had dispersed the rock had completely vanished, only a heap of
boulders marking its position.
The effect upon the natives was astonishing. In an agony of fear they
threw themselves face downwards in the dust, shrieking and moaning in
a most dismal manner. By a pure coincidence the rock that Gerald had
selected for destruction had been regarded by the savages as the home
of the tutelar god of war, and its disintegration had appalled the
superstitious savages far more than any personal chastisement. They
realised that the power of the white man was greater than that of the
deity whom they regarded as their protector in their treacherous
attacks upon harmless trading and fishing vessels that stress of
weather had driven into their harbours.
Punctually at the time stated Captain Brookes returned with the rest
of the landing-party.
By means of signs the savages were told that they were spared on
condition that they refrained from molesting the crews of any ships
that might at some future time visit Desolation Inlet. This they
seemed to understand, and by gesticulations promised to conform to
their captors' commands.
"Cast them adrift," ordered Captain Brookes, then turning to Gerald
he continued: "Well, that's done with. There's not much doubt as to
the efficacy of the ZZ-rays. But the wireless is now in working order
once more, and the first message that I received is one that requires
our urgent presence in the Mediterranean Sea. Until I hear further
details I had better not say any more, but, rest assured, Mr.
Tregarthen, that compared with our next venture, recent events are
mere child's play."
(_To be continued_)
[Illustration: 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.]
[Illustration: fifth instalment]
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "A Lad of Grit," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON_
*Synopsis*
GERALD TREGARTHEN, sub-lieutenant of H.M.S. _Calder_, being on leave,
sails from Poole with his old school-chum Jack Stockton on board the
latter's yacht _Playmate_. In mid-Channel the yacht is run down; the
two friends are rescued, and find themselves on board a mysterious
cruiser--the _Olive Branch_--commanded by Captain Brookes. Finding
that Tregarthen is a British naval officer, Captain Brookes announces
his intention of keeping him on board, and, after due deliberation,
Gerald decides to fall in with the captain's plans, as far as his
sense of loyalty will permit.
Tregarthen is initiated into the secrets of the _Olive Branch_,
including that of the deadly ZZ-rays--an irresistible charge of
electricity whereby the destruction of a hostile ship can be made at
will. Captain Brookes also explains that by the power at his command
he hopes to make war so terrible that no nation will venture to
declare war; thus universal peace will be assured. During the voyage
south a German "tramp" is boarded for the recovery of some plans
which had been stolen by a deserter, and for this action the _Olive
Branch_ is branded as a pirate.
Hostilities break out between Chili and Peru, and Captain Brookes
determines to intervene. The _Olive Branch_ is damaged by a mine, and
while undergoing repairs is trapped by a British squadron. Captain
Brookes is handicapped by a vow never to fire on a British vessel.
By the aid of the Z-rays, however, the _Olive Branch_ escapes, though
not without sustaining injury. The vessel puts into a creek in the
Patagonian coast for repairs. A number of blacks which are
encountered at first appear friendly, but afterwards prove
treacherous, and to cower them Captain Brookes utterly destroys, by
means of the ZZ-rays, a huge rock regarded by the natives as the home
of their god of war. Later the captain receives a message which,
without disclosing particulars, he tells Tregarthen is to the utmost
urgency, and involves immediate action.
[Illustration: chapter XIX]
CHAPTER XIX
GERALD'S PROMOTION
A WEEK later the _Olive Branch_ was once more ploughing the waters of
the North Atlantic. Since leaving Desolation Inlet her battered
appearance had undergone a great change. The bridge and chart-house
had been replaced, but the task of renewing the automatic
steering-gear was, for the time being, beyond the resources of the
ship. Thus, day and night, one of the quartermasters and two
assistants had to take their places at the wheel, instead of merely
keeping a sharp look-out as the _Olive Branch_, like an intelligent
human being, pursued an unswerving course.
By this time the identity of the hitherto mysterious _Olive Branch_
had become common property, and the principal European nations had
agreed that she was not to be ignored as a fighting machine.
Incidentally, Gerald's report to the British Admiralty had served a
useful purpose, for, unknown to Captain Brookes and his officers,
code messages had been dispatched to the numerous ships flying the
White Ensign on the high seas, ordering them to abstain from
hindering or molesting the cruiser, unless the latter were caught in
the act of committing an outrage on British shipping. No doubt
Captain Brookes's magnanimous forbearance when he ran the gauntlet
from Talcahuano Harbour had much to do with this decision, but, being
ignorant of it, the captain of the _Olive Branch_ still took
precautions to avoid coming into contact with a British man-of-war.
How this was to be accomplished, especially in the somewhat congested
waters of the Straits of Gibraltar, through which he must pass in
order to gain the Eastern Mediterranean--since the passage of the
Suez Canal was out of the question--required careful forethought.
News having been received by wireless from one of his agents that
several of the Russian Volunteer Fleet were making the passage from
Libau to Sevastopol gave Captain Brookes his opportunity; nor was he
slow to act. The _Olive Branch_ was to be disguised as a Russian
vessel.
Accordingly, two huge canvas funnels were rigged up; an additional
mast with a dummy wireless installation was erected; a calm day
afforded the opportunity of painting the ship a greenish hue, similar
to that adopted in the Imperial Russian Navy; the name Ekaterinoslav,
conspicuously written in Slavonic characters, graced her stern, while
the blue cross of St. Andrew on a white field floated from the ensign
staff.
"I think that will pass muster," observed Captain Brookes. "But, by
Jove! I hope we won't encounter a stiff breeze, or our make-believe
funnels will sweep the deck."
"It will give the show away if they do," rejoined Lieutenant
Sinclair. "We've guyed them as firmly as it is possible to do, and
even now they are whipping before the wind."
"We must ease down a bit. I intended to in any case, so that we can
slip through the Straits in a decorous manner. Will you please tell
the engine-room to slow down to fifteen knots, and then stow and
secure the windshields."
At sunset the _Olive Branch_, which was running in a northerly
direction off the southwest coast of Spain, altered her course to
S.E., and boldly stood in towards the historic Straits, so as to pass
midway betwixt the batteries of Gibraltar on the north and Ceuta on
the south, or African, shore.
The evening being warm, Gerald Tregarthen appeared on deck
accompanied by Jack Stockton. The latter was making rapid progress
under the skilful care of Dr. White, and though the wound had proved
a severe one, no complications had arisen.
"That's Cape Tarifa," observed Gerald, as a fixed red light became
visible on the port bow. "We ought soon to pick up the white light on
Europa Point. But, by Jove! Jack, I hardly like this phase of the
proceedings. Once we are in the Mediterranean, how are we to get out
again if this blockading business is continued? It's all very well
dodging a few cruisers, though, mind you, it was a fine performance;
but when it comes to having to tackle the whole of the British
Mediterranean Fleet, that's a rather tall order."
"But we seem to be slipping through unobserved."
"After the fashion of a crab entering a crab-pot--it's on the return
trip that we have to pay toll. This disguise will serve us for the
present, but the first appearance of the _Olive Branch_ in her
natural guise will set the whole of the Mediterranean Fleet about our
ears."
"If they----"
Jack's sentence remained uncompleted, for with the suddenness
peculiar to the Straits a vicious squall swept down from Carnero
Point, taking the _Olive Branch_ full on the broadside. Instantly the
two dummy funnels disappeared overboard, where, held by the wire rope
guys, they became gigantic drogues or floating anchors, against which
the action of the rudder was powerless.
Then as swiftly as it had arisen the squall subsided.
Captain Brookes was, as usual when in a tight place, ready for all
emergencies. Ordering the motors to be stopped lest the propellers
should foul the straining canvas, he gave word for the bo'sun's mate
to pipe the watch to clear away the wreckage.
Lustily the men sprang to their work, axe in hand, but, ere a dozen
blows had been struck, the dazzling rays of a searchlight picked out
the _Olive Branch_ with the utmost precision.
"A cruiser," remarked Captain Brookes, calmly. "Carry on, men; then
general quarters."
As he sprang towards the conning-tower the searchlight was switched
off and a masthead signalling lamp began to "call up" the motionless
_Olive Branch_.
"Acknowledge," ordered the captain, shortly; and in reply a lamp from
the bridge began its succession of rapid short flashes.
"_What ship is that?_"
"It's no use bluffing them, Tregarthen. I'll show my true colours,
and if they've any regard for their own safety they'll sheer off,"
remarked Captain Brookes, and turning to his signalman he ordered him
to reply:--
_"The cruiser 'Olive Branch.'"_
Almost without a moment's hesitation the intercepting vessel
signalled:--
"_Is Lieutenant Tregarthen on board?_"
"Ha, Mr. Tregarthen, you're promoted, I understand. Allow me to
congratulate you," said his temporary "chief."
An affirmative reply having been given, the British cruiser--for
British she undoubtedly was--continued:--
"_I wish to communicate; am sending boat._"
"They can't do us much harm while the boat's alongside," commented
Captain Brookes. "Nevertheless, we must take precautions. A few
revolutions with the port propellers, if you please, then carry on
with the work of clearing away the wreckage."
Hardly had the accommodation ladder been rigged when the sound of
oars could be heard, and the outlines of a cutter could be discerned
as it approached the side of the _Olive Branch_.
"Two communications, sir; one for the officer commanding this ship,
the other for Lieutenant Tregarthen. Will you please favour me with
an acknowledgment in each case?" announced a lieutenant as he came
over the side.
"I trust you will honour me with your presence in my cabin," replied
Captain Brookes affably, and, as the party of officers moved towards
the companion, he continued "Might I be inquisitive enough to inquire
how you were so ready with your message?"
"Merely the result of a general order, sir," replied the lieutenant
of H.M.S. _Galatea_, one of the latest super-Dreadnought cruisers.
"Since your marvellous display of speed one never knows where you
might turn up next. We happened to be the vessel that stood in your
way."
There was a marked difference between the respective manners with
which Captain Brookes and Gerald received their communications.
The former calmly and deliberately cut the flap of the envelope with
a paper-knife, while his subordinate tore his with almost feverish
anxiety.
Gerald's contained a copy of a general order, in which it was stated
that Sub-Lieutenant Gerald Tregarthen had been promoted Lieutenant in
His Majesty's fleet; and, further, that he was appointed for special
duties for an indefinite period, thereby proving that My Lords were
both willing and anxious for him to continue his stay on board the
_Olive Branch_, although they hesitated to say so in plain words.
Nevertheless, the communication lifted a great load off Gerald's
mind, although in his excitement he could not fully realise his good
fortune. Meanwhile Captain Brookes had completed the reading of the
letter addressed to him. Not a sign did he give of its effect, but,
inscrutable as the Sphinx, he carefully selected a quill, pointed it,
and began to write.
Gerald had before remarked that these pens were the only obsolete
articles on the ship. Captain Brookes, past master in the art of
modern appliances, had a peculiar liking for quills; and it was with
almost pre-Victorian punctiliousness that the captain penned his
reply. This done, he carefully sealed the envelope with wax and
handed it to the British officer with a courteous bow.
Then, having waited till Gerald had written his acknowledgment, he
broke the official ice by requesting the lieutenant of the _Galatea_
to partake of a bottle of choice old Madeira.
For nearly half an hour the midnight reception continued, and though
the conversation was mainly small talk, Captain Brookes noticed that
his visitor was keenly taking in his surroundings, though, the
captain reflected, there was little information to be gleaned in that
cabin that would prove of use to a stranger.
By the time the _Galatea's_ cutter had returned to her parent ship
the work of clearing away the debris was accomplished; and with a
courteous interchange of signals the two vessels separated, the
British cruiser heading towards Gibraltar Harbour, the _Olive Branch_
tearing at forty-five knots towards the vast tideless waters of the
Mediterranean.
Shortly before eight bells on the following morning all hands, save
those whose absence was absolutely necessary, were mustered on the
quarter deck.
As Gerald emerged through the companion he noticed that the Russian
Ensign no longer floated aft, but held ready to be hoisted was the
green and white flag that the _Olive Branch_ claimed as her own.
"There's something in the air, Jack," he whispered to his chum.
The officers and men had mustered with anxious faces. They knew that
a communication of some import had been received from a British
cruiser, but the vaguest details of its contents were missing.
Presently Captain Brookes, in full uniform, came on deck, striding
proudly like a young bantam, as the point of his scabbard clanked
across the metal plating. Walking as he did between, yet slightly in
advance of, two tall lieutenants, his gait would have appeared
ridiculous had he been other than the captain of the _Olive Branch_;
but there was a determination in his bearing that outweighed his
comparatively diminutive stature and his pompous walk.
As eight bells were sounded the ship's ensign was hoisted, all hands
standing rigidly to attention as was their wont. Then, taking from
his pocket the document that he had received overnight, Captain
Brookes began to read its contents.
_From My Lords executing the office of Lord High Admiral of His
Majesty's Ships and Vessels on the High Seas to the officer
commanding the cruiser (nationality uncertain) "Olive Branch._"
SIR,--You are hereby informed that, as far as His Majesty's
Government is concerned, the decree of piracy issued against you,
dated 29/8/--, is cancelled, provided that you and the vessel you
command abstain from committing any act of violence against any of
His Majesty's subjects, ships, buildings, or other properties of
the Crown.--(Signed) BALDERSTOWE, Secretary to My Lords, etc., etc.
For a few seconds following the conclusion of this announcement
absolute silence prevailed. The officers were too phlegmatic to allow
themselves to express their feelings with acclamation; the men took
longer to grasp the meaning of the declaration. When at length its
significance came home to them, the seamen burst into a prolonged
cheer.
Thoroughly loyal to their chief, the officers and crew had realised
that the captain's policy had brought them into dangerous paths; nor
could they forget that they were Britons by birth. But now the
amnesty had been received the load on their minds had been removed;
they could pursue their plans with a good grace.
"You see, my men," exclaimed Captain Brookes, "there's more in this
than the British Admiralty feel inclined to put into writing. We are
recognised as an important factor in preserving the world's peace.
Nay, I will go farther. Should Great Britain in her hour of trial
require our assistance--and events seem to show that clouds are
already gathering on the political horizon--the _Olive Branch_ will
not hesitate to range herself on the side of the champion of true
liberty.
"Now occurs the opportunity of informing you of the _Olive Branch's_
present mission. For some considerable time past there have been
signs of an approaching rupture between Turkey and Greece, and events
have proved that the trouble between these two States has almost
invariably ended in European war.
"I have every reason to believe that a secret treaty exists between
Greece and Russia, whereby the Russian Black Sea fleet will force the
passage of the Dardanelles directly the first shot is fired between
the Greeks and Turks; while, on the other hand, Austria and Italy
will support the Hellenes. It naturally follows that the Russian
troops will swarm over the Carpathians. Under the existing
understanding between Germany and Austria the former country will not
remain passive while Muscovite armies are massing on her eastern
frontier; nor is it unreasonable to suppose that France, ever burning
to wipe out the indignity of losing Alsace-Lorraine, will side with
her old ally, Russia.
"This conflict between Greece and Turkey must, therefore, be nipped
in the bud. The encounter between the respective fleets must not take
place; and it is the _Olive Branch's_ duty to prevent it."
Another outburst of cheering greeted the conclusion of the captain's
speech, and the men were dismissed.
As Captain Brookes was about to descend the companion, Selkirk, the
chief engineer, came towards him.
"We're running verra short of fuel, sir," he reported. "A matter of
twa days will clear us oot o' the last drap."
"That's serious, Mr. Selkirk."
"If she'll take a mixture of lubricating and paraffin maybe I'll
screw another four hoors out o' the motors, sir; but the----"
"Very well, Mr. Selkirk. Economise as much as you can; meanwhile I'll
see what's to be done."
Captain Brookes realised the gravity of the situation. At half speed
it would be just possible to reach Malta, but it was deemed
inadvisable to claim the hospitality of a British dependency at this
early stage of reconciliation.
On the other hand, the _Olive Branch_ would soon be in a state of
comparative impotence, since the running of her dynamos from which
her offensive and defensive power was derived, would be seriously
affected by the under-fuelled motors.
Consequently, Captain Brookes decided to take a bold step; he would
shape a course for the Straits of Messina, intercept one of the many
oil-tank vessels plying between Baku and the French Mediterranean
ports, and by fair means or foul take possession of her cargo.
[Illustration: chapter XX]
CHAPTER XX
THE AIRMAN
JUST before dawn the _Olive Branch_ gained the northern approach of
the Straits of Messina. Away on the starboard quarter glimmered the
lights of the Sicilian town of Milazzo, while well down in the
northern sky a faint ruddy glare betokened the position of the
smouldering fires of Stromboli.
"There's Cape Faro," observed Sinclair, pointing to a headland that
loomed against the pale diffusing light. "We'll soon be in the thick
of the shipping."
"The sooner the better," rejoined Lieutenant Palmer. "The chief has
just been informed that we can only keep going another two hours."
"Port light showing, sir," shouted the look-out, as a faint red star
moved slowly from behind the intervening headland.
"Be careful not to excite suspicion," cautioned Captain Brookes, as
she gave a warning blast on her syren. "Ask her to make her number."
A reference to the code-book showed that the stranger was the British
steamer _Bletchley Hall_.
"Done this time!" grunted Sinclair, as the _Olive Branch's_ helm was
altered to show her red. Nor was the second venture more successful,
the vessel in this case being the _Pluton_, from Zante to
Castellamare.
Then, in order to economise their precious fuel, the _Olive Branch's_
engines were stopped. As the sun rose, however, a tramp, emitting
dense volumes of oil-fed smoke, laboured slowly through the Straits.
The practised eye of Captain Brookes regarded her with satisfaction.
"If that's not an oil-tank, I'm a Dutchman," he exclaimed.
Unsuspectingly the tramp gave her name, port of clearance, and
destination, and the nature of her cargo--crude petroleum. Then, to
the astonishment of her skipper, the _Olive Branch_ made a peremptory
signal for her to heave to.
To give the Russian credit he did not immediately accede to this
demand. Smoke poured from the tramp's funnels in increasing volumes
as she altered her course with the intention of seeking safety in
flight. As well might a hedgehog seek to outpace a dog, for, with the
last of her fuel the _Olive Branch's_ motors worked up to a speed of
thirty knots, while a solid shell, passing twenty yards in front of
the tramp's bluff bows, caused her to stop and reverse her engines.
"Pipe away the cutter," ordered Captain Brookes. "Mr. Palmer, you
will please take charge--you know your orders, I presume?"
"Yes, sir," replied the lieutenant.
As the cutter ranged alongside the tramp's rusty sides her captain, a
tall, broad-shouldered, heavily bearded Slav, began abusing the
intruders, cursing them in a medley of all the seafaring epithets of
Europe.
"Belay there!" exclaimed Palmer. "Don't worry, old fellow! All we
want is some oil."
"Then you'll haf to want," replied the irate skipper, who spoke
English with tolerable fluency.
"We mean to pay you a fair rate."
"No, no--I will not sell."
"Then we must make you."
"Pirate, eh?" sneered the Russian. "Me report you, an' you'll go so,"
making a rapid circle with his thumb and finishing with an upward
jerk. "What's the name of your sheep?"
"The _Olive Branch_--isn't that good enough for you?" retorted
Palmer, beginning to lose his temper.
The effect of this announcement was almost magical. The crew of the
tramp, mostly fair-haired Finns, disappeared from her bulwarks, while
the captain hastened to leave the bridge and lower a rope-ladder over
the side.
Thirty seconds later Palmer and six of his men were in possession of
the Russian vessel, and the cutter was sent back to the cruiser.
Then, carefully manoeuvred, the _Olive Branch_ came alongside the
tramp and the work of spoliation began.
The hoses were already connected up, and under the action of six
powerful centrifugal pumps the precious oil was transferred to the
tanks of the _Olive Branch_, till six hundred tons completed the
carrying capacity of the cruiser.
This done, Captain Brookes made out a draft in payment and handed it
to the Russian skipper, at the same time making him a present of a
case of whisky, which the man received with an ill grace.
"We may as well give him a taste of the Z-rays, just to show there's
no deception," remarked Captain Brookes as the _Olive Branch_ showed
her heels to the tramp.
"Will the rays not effect the submarine cable between Reggio and
Messina?" asked Gerald.
"What matters? If they want an explanation there are the subjects for
theory," replied the captain, waving his arm in the direction of the
invisible Etna. "Volcanic disturbances, eh?"
The Z-rays were accordingly released for ten minutes, during which
time the _Olive Branch_ had passed the renowned Scylla and Charybdis
of the ancients and was heading towards the port of Catania, sixty
miles to the south'ard of the Straits.
"Wreck ahead, sir," reported the look-out.
Glasses were instantly levelled, and an object was discovered that at
first sight appeared to be a small sailing craft lying on her beam
ends.
"If that be the case, she's a rum sort of sailing boat," remarked
Stockton. "She has a sail set on her keel as well."
"It's a monoplane," announced Captain Brookes. "The airman has come
to earth on the water, to perpetrate an Irish bull. Stand by there,
for'ard!"
Orders were given for the _Olive Branch_ to reduce speed, while the
crew prepared for salvage work. In the course of a few minutes the
distance had decreased sufficiently for the wrecked aeroplane to be
plainly visible to the naked eye. Although it owed its buoyancy to
the fact that two cylindrical aluminium floats were attached to the
chassis, the disabled monoplane was deeply submerged. The engine was
lost to view, the tips of the twin propellers just projecting above
the surface, while the extremities of the planes dipped to each
successive swell.
Seated up to his waist in water was the aviator, clad in a partially
inflated rubber suit. He had already seen that aid was approaching,
and with the utmost deliberation he had taken an air-tight case from
his pocket. From this he drew a huge cigar, which he proceeded to
light with an automatic lighter, puffing away with the greatest
unconcern, as if a plunge into the sea in a monoplane was an
every-day event.
"Steady on your helm, there," cautioned the captain, as the huge hull
glided slowly to leeward of the wrecked aeroplane; then leaning over
the rail he hailed "Ahoy, there! What's the length of your planes?"
"Fifteen feet," came the reply.
Noiselessly one of the cranes swung outboard; the block with its
electrical grappling device was lowered, and engaging the framework
fairly amidships, held it in a vice-like grip. The next instant the
monoplane was swinging in the air, a cascade of water and oil pouring
from every point of its complicated framework.
"You've come to grief, I see," observed Captain Brookes genially, as
the airman slipped from his seat on to the deck of the cruiser.
"No need to tell me that, sir," replied the stranger, speaking with a
pronounced American twang. "I guess I'd give a dollar or two to find
out how she busted up. First time I've known an engine of the
Maxfield Universal Gold Star Motor Company, of Petersburg, Pa., to
play that low-down trick. But here's my card, sir: Sidney P. Flew, of
New York City, and of Portland, State of Oregon; until a few minutes
ago, on tour from Queenstown to Cairo by monoplane. What ship is
this, sir?"
"You are on board the _Olive Branch_," said Captain Brookes, taking
the piece of pasteboard.
"What, that durned pirate? Wal, if I ain't come out on top after all.
Shake, sir! I'm that downright fortunate that I feel like pinching
myself in case I'm fooling myself."
"Then you have heard of the _Olive Branch_?"
"Heard of her? Why, the whole of Europe and the United States have
been talking about her. When I left New York the last words my pa
said to me were, 'Sidney, young fellow, mind that durned _Olive
Branch_ doesn't snap you up.' 'I wish she would,' says I. 'It would
be the stunt of a lifetime, and you would be the proudest man in
Broadway if you knew your son set foot aboard that vessel.' And now,
here I am."
"Well, your wish is gratified, though I don't know whether your
expectations will be realised, Mr. Flew," replied Captain Brookes,
hardly knowing what to make of the young man's verbosity. "Meanwhile
one of my officers will take you below. The hospitality of the _Olive
Branch_ is at your service for a few hours at least."
"No need of refreshment at present, sir. Had breakfast at Cosenza not
two hours ago. With your permission I'll dismember my machine and
overhaul the engine before the salt-water plays the mischief with it.
Durned if I can cotton to it! The motor was going like a clock, when
all of a heap it stopped. Ignition all to blazes. So down I planed,
like a ptarmigan with a broken wing."
"I think I can explain it," observed Captain Brookes. "I was
compelled for certain reasons to let fly an electrical current, and
unfortunately for you, your monoplane came within its influence."
"More luck!" exclaimed the American, enthusiastically. "Sidney P.
Flew, of New York City and Portland, fired at by the electrical guns
of the world-renowned cruiser, _Olive Branch_. What a heading for the
New York Herald."
"He's a harmless young enthusiast," remarked Captain Brookes to
Gerald, as the aviator turned his attention to the rescued monoplane.
"You might take him in hand and show him those parts of the ship that
are of no particular importance. As soon as his craft is all
ship-shape, we'll start him on his journey. By the bye, I hear that
the Turkish fleet is still in the Golden Horn, and that nothing is
likely to transpire for a few days. What do you say to a run across
to Malta?"
"I should be glad of the opportunity, if no inconvenience is caused."
"There will be none. Sinclair is going, so if you care to take your
friend, Stockton, now's the opportunity. The cutter will take you
into Catania, whence a steamer plies regularly to Valetta."
Tregarthen and Stockton had barely fifteen hours ashore at Malta, but
not a minute was wasted. Gerald had a previous knowledge of the
island, and was thus able to pilot his chum. His chief object in
making the trip was to procure a lieutenant's uniform. Now that the
Admiralty had given the sanction to Gerald's presence on the _Olive
Branch_ he felt he could with propriety wear the uniform of his rank.
So directly he landed at Valetta he hurried to a naval outfitter's,
where by dint of promises of liberal payment he prevailed upon the
Maltese tailor to have the uniform ready at the expiration of twelve
hours.
"There's no time to be lost if we are to stop this business," was
Captain Brookes's greeting on Gerald's return. "The Turkish fleet has
cleared the Dardanelles at last. Turn in and take a good night's
rest, for I'm sure you want it."
"One moment, sir--how's the airman?"
"Oh, he's a nuisance. Makes out he can't get his engine to work
smoothly. I believe it's only an excuse to hang on. However, it can't
be helped; I can't pitch him out at a minute's notice, so I've had
the monoplane unrigged and stowed away beneath the armoured deck.
After this business is over we can land him if he's still unable to
fly. Look, there he is, talking to Palmer. By the bye, he seems very
fond of that young fellow. Now, off you go, Mr. Tregarthen, for by
sunrise to-morrow we may be cleared for action."
[Illustration: chapter XXI]
CHAPTER XXI
THE MISSING WIRELESS GEAR
THE narrow waters of the strait between Negropont and Andros
presented an unwonted spectacle to the crew of the _Olive Branch_ as
they stood at general quarters.
Straining and grinding at their utmost speed of nine knots were four
Turkish battleships--the _Azizieh_, _Mahmoudieh_, _Orkanieh_, and
_Osmanieh_, while on their flanks were the cruisers _Abdul Medjid,
Fezibahri_, and _Hamidieh_, compelled, for defensive purposes, to
reduce their speed to that of their consorts. By dint of strenuous
exertions--so incomprehensible to the kismet-abiding Turk--the
battleships had been cleaned of the deposit of barnacles that had
encrusted their hulls during years of idleness in the Golden Horn,
and were about to try conclusions with the smaller, yet more
serviceable, warships of Greece.
The Hellenic fleet, consisting of the three battleships _Hydra,
Psara_, and _Spetsai_, and three modern cruisers built by the Italian
firm of Ansaldo, did not hesitate to put to sea, and now at less than
seven miles apart the rival fleets prepared for the opening stages of
the conflict.
At her utmost speed the _Olive Branch_ dashed in between the fleets,
a huge white flag flying from the truck of a forty-foot spar lashed
to her diminutive signalling mast. Then, reversing her propellers,
she brought up within three cables' lengths of the Turkish flagship,
the _Azizieh_.
All hands on board the _Olive Branch_ were now at their stations,
only Captain Brookes, Gerald, Lieutenant Slade, the signal bo's'un,
and two yeomen of signals remaining on the bridge or within the
conning-tower.
"Make the general signal to both fleets," ordered the captain, and
hoist after hoist rose to the yard-arm with the utmost celerity.
_From captain of "Olive Branch" to the commanding officers Turkish
and Hellenic Fleets:--_
Abandon hostilities and return to respective ports. Every vessel
disregarding this order by opening fire will be destroyed.
The Turkish admiral was beside himself with rage. He had heard of the
_Olive Branch_, and of her dealings with the Peruvian fleet, but was
he, a Mussulman, to be overridden by a Giaour? Slowly the foremast
turret of the _Azizieh_ swung round, the muzzle of the 9.2 Krupp
pointing menacingly towards the distant _Psara_. For quite ten
seconds the gun remained thus trained, the admiral still hesitating
to give the word to fire.
Then, trained by the manual power imparted by a score of toiling
seamen, the turret turned till the muzzle gaped straight at the
_Olive Branch_.
"Better take shelter, gentlemen," remarked Captain Brookes, calmly.
"The old gentleman yonder seems to be forgetting himself."
Even as he spoke the Krupp opened fire. The Turkish gun-layer,
distrustful of the quality of the charge, had allowed for the
admitted inferiority of the explosive; but this particular powder was
far above the usual standard.
The result was that the projectile, possessing a high initial
velocity and a low trajectory, flew handsomely over the _Olive
Branch_, although sufficiently close to allow the windage to be felt
by those on the bridge as they hastened to take cover.
"For'ard turret: load with Mark 2 projectile," ordered Captain
Brookes. Then turning to Gerald he remarked: "Perhaps that gunner
lost his head. I'll give them the benefit of the doubt."
The captain's humane consideration was thrown away. The shot had been
intentional, and the Turkish admiral, finding there was no reply,
prepared for a second round.
"Give it to her!" shouted the captain.
Mark 2 projectiles, though of low bursting power compared with the
_Olive Branch's_ first quality shells, were not to be despised.
The right-hand gun of No. 1 turret kicked slightly and emitted a
slight bluish haze as the projectile screamed on its way towards the
Turkish flagship.
The _Azizieh_ was an old ship, being built on the Clyde in 1864, yet
her 5 1/2in. belt was still capable of standing a lot of hammering;
at least, so thought the Turkish authorities.
The 6in. shell took her fairly and squarely amidships, and though the
ship was not instantly pulverised--as she would have been had Captain
Brookes so wished--her destruction was none the less complete.
A small jagged hole marked the place of entry of the projectile; but
on the explosion of the shell it seemed as if the vitals of the ship
were thrown high in the air.
Twice the _Azizieh_ made a double list, then settling down by the
stern she showed that her wound was fatal. With true Oriental
indifference the Turks had gone into action without throwing
overboard their inflammable gear; even their wooden boats were still
in davits or on the booms, and these were burning furiously.
Calmly the lithe, brown-skinned seamen lowered themselves over the
side or plunged into the water. Many were caught by the propellers as
the ship, by some inconceivable means, threw her stern in the air and
plunged bows foremost beneath the waves, dragging down many of the
swimmers in the smoke-enshrouded whirlpool that marked her grave.
Then a deafening roar, as the water came in contact with her boilers,
gave place to an ominous silence. The _Azizieh_ was no more.
That was the end of the action. The rest of the Turkish vessels
immediately went about and made off at full speed towards the
Dardanelles; while the Grecian admiral, having made a signal thanking
the _Olive Branch_ for her intervention--an acknowledgment that
Captain Brookes deliberately ignored--retired southward.
Thus the near Eastern difficulty was settled with a promptitude
hitherto unknown; but, though Captain Brookes was unaware of it, the
averting of a European war was not complete. The inevitable struggle
was ere long to be diverted through another channel.
"See here, Mr. Tregarthen," remarked the American airman, a few days
after this occurrence, "I'd just like to have a look inside that
wonderful conning-tower. Can you work it?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Flew; at least, not without Captain Brookes's
permission. Why don't you ask him?"
"Thanks, I just won't," was the reply. "Don't mention it to him."
Five minutes later the captain appeared on deck.
"Why is that Yank so keen on knowing what is within the
conning-tower, Mr. Tregarthen?"
Gerald flushed with surprise. The perception of the captain of the
_Olive Branch_ seemed beyond comprehension.
"Don't look so flabbergasted, Mr. Tregarthen. You are not the first
person that fellow has broached on the matter. "However, I've made up
my mind to get rid of him at the earliest possible opportunity. He
may be all right, but, bluntly, I don't like his inquisitive manner."
[Illustration: "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.]
"Inquisitiveness is one of the traits of the American character,
sir."
"That I can make allowance for. But why didn't he come straight to me
with his request?" Just then Flew, who was promenading the port side
of the quarter-deck in company of Lieutenant Palmer, came abreast of
the spot where the captain and Gerald were talking. In response to a
sign from Captain Brookes the airman crossed the deck.
"How long will it take to get your motor tuned up, Mr. Flew?" asked
the captain.
"A couple of hours; why?"
"See yonder land? It is the coast of Syria. I would suggest, Mr.
Flew, that you continue your tour from this point. The Syrian and
Palestine littoral will no doubt be interesting to you, and, as we
are shortly bound for the eastern part of the Mediterranean, this
favourable opportunity cannot lightly be ignored."
Captain Brookes spoke genially, but there was a veiled command that
the airman could not fail to detect.
"Very good, sir," he replied deferentially. "I guess I'll quit right
here."
As a matter of fact the work of assembling the monoplane and
adjusting the motor was performed in less than an hour and a half,
during which time the _Olive Branch_ was running southward at an easy
ten knots, keeping a course parallel to the Syrian coast.
"All ready now, sir."
"Then nip below and have some refreshment. By the bye, is this
distance too great for your flight to land?"
"Not at all, sir."
"Will you require any of the stanchions to be cleared away?"
"No, I claim I can rise in the air at a less distance and more
obliquely than any other aviator. I guess I'll not scratch the
paintwork."
So saying, the airman, accompanied by Lieutenant Palmer, went below,
where he remained for over half an hour. When he reappeared he was
fully attired for his flight, though, protesting that the heat made
the device uncomfortable, he would not inflate his indiarubber suit.
Practically all the officers and crew had assembled to watch his
departure, the men crowding as far aft as they dared. Shaking hands
with the officers, Sidney P. Flew climbed into his seat above the two
air-pontoons. One or two preliminary touches, and like a gigantic
hawk he was off, amid the hearty cheers of the crew.
While all eyes were fixed upon the rapidly soaring and receding
figure there was a sudden commotion, and Lieutenant Palmer,
white-faced and staggering like a drunken man, tottered up the
companion.
"Stop him!" he gasped. "He's stolen the wireless reciprocators," and
without another word he collapsed upon the quarter-deck.
Captain Brookes was one of the first to recover his composure--if
indeed, he had lost it.
"To the conning-tower, Mr. Tregarthen. The Z-rays."
Gerald comprehended these brief orders. By means of the electric
fluid the aviator would be brought down as he attempted to cross the
zone representing the minimum limit of the rays. It meant a headlong
race for'ard, but the crew automatically cleared a path for the young
officer, and with the least possible delay he gained the armoured
citadel.
Swiftly, yet deliberately, Gerald set the pointers. There was no
answering spark. He tried another and yet another square; still no
response. The Z-rays apparatus had been tampered with.
Realising the uselessness of investigation at that critical moment,
Gerald tore aft and reported the occurrence.
Captain Brookes looked in the direction of the retreating aviator.
"Clear away that 6-pounder."
Quickly the gun was manned and a shining copper and steel cylinder
thrust into the breach.
"Four thousand yards," sang out Lieutenant Sinclair, who, without
waiting for instructions, had taken the distance by means of his
pocket range-finder.
"Fire!"
"Good shot!" yelled several of the officers, carried away by their
excitement, as, by the aid of their glasses the missile was seen to
burst just above the fugitive.
For a full ten seconds the monoplane held on its course, then,
lurching like a wounded bird, it swooped swiftly downwards, striking
the water with a terrific splash.
"Full speed ahead. A leadsman in the chains," ordered Captain Brookes
as he made his way to the bridge.
A few minutes were sufficient to bring the _Olive Branch_, with very
little way on, immediately over the spot where the aeroplane had
disappeared, the airman's cap and one of the inflated floats still
marking the scene of the disaster.
The leadsman made a cast, then as he heaved the buoyed log-line
overboard he shouted, "Eighty fathoms."
[Illustration: chapter XXII]
CHAPTER XXII
THE TOUCHSTONE OF PERIL
"CLEAR away the cutter; pipe the creeping party. Three grapnels and
the necessary line," ordered Captain Brookes; then turning to his
officers he continued: "Before we take steps to sweep for the lost
gear an investigation ought to be made. Will you, Mr. Slade, inspect
the wireless room and report to me? Mr. White, you will please attend
to Mr. Palmer, who evidently needs your services. Pull him together
as far as you are able, so that he can give some account of this
mystery. Now, Mr. Tregarthen, we'll see what's wrong with the Z-rays
apparatus."
The fault in the conning-tower was quickly discovered. A small hole
had been drilled in the steel column conveying the wires from the
batteries to the indicator-board, and a metal rod had been inserted,
thus causing a short circuiting of the current.
The mystery was as deep as ever, for how did the miscreant find time
and opportunity to make his way unobserved into the conning-tower and
proceed to drill the thick metal standard?
"There's hours of hard work in front of us," declared Captain.
Brookes. "The disarrangement of this intricate mechanism is far more
serious than one can imagine. Whether the ZZ-rays are similarly
affected I cannot tell. We must find a clear field to undertake that
experiment. However, we can do nothing more at present, as far as the
conning-tower is concerned, so now for Slade's report."
"All the reciprocators are missing, sir, except the Plougastel one,"
announced Lieutenant Slade. "That happened to be in the instrument."
"Is the receiver damaged?"
"No, sir; at least, I was able to communicate with Plougastel."
"That's something to be thankful for," ejaculated the captain,
fervently. "Though the loss of these reciprocators is irreparable. It
means that we are cut off from all intelligence except by means of
our Brittany agent. And now to interview Mr. Palmer."
"Mr. Palmer is now in a sufficiently normal state to be interrogated,
sir," said the surgeon. "He is still suffering from the effects of a
narcotic--opium by the symptoms."
"Very good, Mr. White," answered the captain. "I'll see him in his
cabin."
Lieutenant Palmer, looking utterly miserable, staggered to his feet
and saluted as his captain entered.
"Sit down, Mr. Palmer," said the captain, kindly. "Let me hear what
you know of this business."
Captain Brookes took a seat and waited for the lieutenant to pull
himself together, giving a hasty, yet comprehensive, glance round the
room as he did so. The cabin was small and plainly furnished. In
addition to the ordinary "fitments," there was a small indicator on
the wall which at present was showing a blue light. This signified
that the wireless was not in operation, a red light giving the
operator warning that his presence was required in the wireless room.
On the table was a coffee pot and cup and saucer, large draughts of
this beverage being beneficial in the treatment of opium poisoning;
while on the floor stood a galvanic battery that Dr. White had used
to a good purpose.
"Now, Mr. Palmer."
"I'm awfully, sorry, sir."
"So am I, but up to the present you've done nothing to be sorry for
as far as I can see. Pray proceed."
"There is very little to say," began the lieutenant, simply. "The
Yankee came in to my cabin to say good-bye and offered me a
cigarette. I remember taking a few draws, then everything became
misty, though I have a dim recollection of the man lifting me over to
my bunk. How long I lay there I cannot tell, but somehow or the other
I managed to open the port. The cool air revived me, and then I saw
that the wireless indicator light was out. Naturally I looked towards
the place where the key of the wireless room was kept, but the key
was missing. Then I realised that I had been tricked, and rushing on
deck to give the alarm, I found that Flew had already started."
"How were the reciprocators secured?"
"There are four of them, each in a small cylinder, with a steel chain
passing through a ring-bolt at one end of each."
"Could they be concealed on his person without being separated?"
"I think so, sir."
"Then that simplifies matters. If he did not sever the chain--and
most likely he had no time to do so--they might be grappled for, even
if they fell clear during his downward plunge. However, that will do
for the present, Mr. Palmer; I'll see how things are progressing on
deck."
The cutter had already been launched and was running at a slow speed,
barely half a knot, in ever diverging circles around the buoy that
marked the spot where the airman had disappeared. Over her stern
trailed a stout 3in. rope to which the grapnel was secured.
"What's that place yonder?" asked Stockton, pointing to a distant
headland on the Syrian shore, as the two chums stood watching the
dragging operations.
"Tripoli," replied Gerald, "so called because it was built
simultaneously by the Syrians, Sidonians, and Aradians. It's a pity
we can't go ashore there, for the ramshackle old place is full of
historic interest. They say there are traces of the siege by the
Crusaders early in the twelfth century. It is also--hello, what's
happened?"
This ejaculation was occasioned by the sudden stopping of the cutter.
Her crew began to haul in the rope, but as soon as the slack was
taken up the grapnel obstinately refused to leave the bottom.
"She's fouled something, sir," shouted the lieutenant in charge of
the boat.
"What strain have you put on?"
"As much as the rope will stand, sir; we can't get it home another
foot."
"Then buoy the rope and haul up the lead," replied Captain Brookes.
The buoy indicating the lead-line was within a few feet of the
cutter, and with but little trouble the buoy was transferred from the
log-line to the grapnel-rope, and the former was hauled up.
"What have you got?" shouted Captain Brookes, as the heavy weight was
lifted over the side of the boat.
Lieutenant Sinclair examined the "arming," or tallow filling the
hollow in the base of the lead.
"Looks like iron scales, sir, or something covered with rust."
"Strange substance for the lead to bring up," muttered Captain
Brookes; then hailing the boat, "Get out the second grapnel; sound a
couple of lengths further out, and report."
The lead was again sent down. This time the cast revealed the
presence of a dark ooze at seventy-four fathoms. Then the grapnel was
set to work, but after traversing a short distance it became
inexplicably entangled in some object. A third grapnel was lost in a
similar manner.
"There's something out of the ordinary down below," remarked the
captain, as the result of the third dragging operation was announced.
"I'm afraid we're beaten."
"One moment, sir."
Captain Brookes turned sharply on his heel and saw Lieutenant Palmer,
pale yet self-possessed, standing close to him.
"Well?"
"I'm responsible for this, sir, and I hope to be able to rectify
matters. Can I descend in the submarine?"
"The submarine? You must be mad. Do you know the depth? Eighty odd
fathoms, representing the tremendous pressure of 224lbs. to the
square inch."
"The submarine is tested to 230lbs., sir."
"Much as I esteem your devotion, and much as I value the missing
wireless gear, I cannot give my consent."
"Sir, I know the risk, and will take every precaution. With the
electric grab there is no need to descend to the extreme depth."
"Mr. Palmer, I know you to be a levelheaded and calculating officer.
I'm proud of you. If you will give me your word of honour to work
cautiously, I'm willing to withdraw my refusal. Now, pick your crew;
five men will be sufficient, and what is more, they must be
volunteers, fully acquainted with the risk they are running."
"I'm with you," said Gerald, calmly.
"Thank you," replied Palmer, quietly, holding out his hand, which
Tregarthen grasped firmly for a few seconds. It was a simple action,
with a wealth of meaning behind it. Both men understood.
The remainder of the volunteer crew were quickly forthcoming. The
difficulty was to pick and choose, since every man capable of service
in the submarine signified his willingness to take part in the
enterprise; but at length Palmer, Tregarthen, and three seamen fell
in on the quarter-deck as the heroes of a desperate venture.
[Illustration: 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.]
Captain Brookes addressed them in a few words, urging the men to
carefully consider the step they were taking.
"You will," he continued, addressing Lieutenant Palmer, "descend for
not more than one hour. If at the end of that time the submarine does
not reappear I must take it for granted that some mishap has befallen
you--which Heaven forfend. Meanwhile, all of you will do well to take
a quarter of an hour's rest. Should any man, during that interval,
think better of his decision, he may withdraw."
When the little crew were dismissed Gerald retired to the seclusion
of his cabin. What he did during those fifteen minutes no human being
knew, though many hazarded a guess that was not far from the truth.
Then, having shaken hands with his messmates and received their good
wishes for the enterprise--though the proceedings savoured of a party
of doomed men setting out for execution--the five members of the
submarine's crew descended to the orlop deck and entered the
vault-like cavity of the steel cylinder.
Hardly a word was spoken during the descent, save when, from time to
time, Palmer's voice could be heard speaking slowly and deliberately
into the wireless telephone to acquaint the _Olive Branch_ of the
submarine's downward progress.
Circling in wide curves the steel monster plunged slowly downwards.
Every moment the pale green light that filtered through the sunlit
sea grew dimmer, while as the pressure increased the revolution of
the propeller became slower and slower.
At thirty-five fathoms the wireless telegraphy became useless, while
the darkness became so opaque that the powerful electric searchlight
in the conning-tower had to be switched on. By the aid of its
gradually diverging beams Gerald could see a waste of water,
boundless, trackless, lifeless. Sixty fathoms. The motor was running
most abominably, emitting long sparks as the increased resistance of
the water strove to stop the already slow-running propeller-blades.
"What's that?" hissed Palmer, pointing to a thick, indefinite line
intercepting the rays of the searchlight.
Gerald looked, then thrusting the vessel's rudder over slightly, he
allowed the submarine to glide past the obstruction.
"It's one of the grapnel lines."
"Impossible!"
"Yes, you've forgotten the magnifying power of the water. It shows we
are not far out of our course."
"All right down there, Halliday?"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Inform me the moment there's any sign of the plates yielding."
"Very good, sir."
The seaman was perfectly cool. Implicitly he trusted the two officers
in the conning-tower, though he knew that now at any moment the
massive steel structure might be crushed like an egg-shell by the
tremendous weight of water without.
Suddenly, at sixty-five fathoms, Palmer seized the reversing lever
and brought the forward motors of the craft to a standstill. Both he
and Gerald saw a sight that filled them with nameless awe.
It was as if the submarine was heading straight for the summit of a
mountain--a mountain of weed and barnacles covering an object that
was not the work of Nature--it was the work of man.
Slowly the submarine swung round, her searchlight travelling the
length of that mass of rusty, weed-encrusted iron and steel. Now the
beams played upon a gaping gunport, its weapon still thrust
aggressively forward, as if to repel an attack from above. Now the
searchlight revealed a huge circular turret with a pair of monster
guns; while beyond towered the fragments of a shattered bridge still
carrying its silent semaphores.
Then, faintly outlined in the feeble ray, could be discovered a pair
of funnels, both tottering through decay and held in position solely
by the stout wire guys; while like a phantom could be traced the
outlines of a mast with two military tops.
Already the submarine had gathered stern-way and was backing away
from the threatening embraces of the shattered gear that surrounded
the wreck, and as the vision faded slowly from their view both
officers exclaimed simultaneously:--
"The Victoria!"
The two men had seen the melancholy relic of a disaster that, though
it occurred twenty years ago, is still regarded as one of the most
terrible that has ever overtaken the British Navy. Hidden from mortal
eyes ever since the fatal day when the Camperdown rammed her, the
Victoria lay in eighty fathoms of water, and now, by the wildest of
coincidences, the submarine of the _Olive Branch_ had descended
nearly on top of the wreck of the ill-fated ship.
"If the reciprocators have fallen amongst that tangle they are
hopelessly lost," remarked Lieutenant Palmer, indicating the position
in which the wreck lay.
"That's what the grapnels fouled," added Gerald. "However, as the
aeroplane sank its planes would doubtless cause it to describe a
spiral-like motion. We may as well investigate all round the wreck.
Have we backed sufficiently to turn?"
"I think so," replied Palmer, and ordering half-speed ahead, he
thrust the helm hard over.
Seventy-five fathoms; only thirty feet from the bed of the sea. The
searchlight was deflected till the lower sector of the ray was
intercepted by the blunt nose of the submarine, while the light was
of sufficient intensity to cast a faint luminosity over the
wilderness of ooze that formed the floor of this marine desert.
"She's standing it all right," exclaimed Palmer, cheerfully. "Not a
sign of a weak spot."
"Yes, it's safe enough, I think. Now, keep a sharp look-out."
The elevating planes were now turned to an almost horizontal
position, barely sufficient to counteract the small reserve of
buoyancy preserved by the submarine; and eddying in great circles the
huge steel craft pursued her voyage of exploration.
The searchlight revealed a place of utter desolation. No trailing
seaweed served to remind the men of the wonderful submarine pictures
that artists love to depict; only a vast field of dark mud,
surmounted by fathoms of practically opaque water.
Gerald feared for the success of their search in that maze of
trackless ooze, for without a mark from which they might take their
bearings the submarine must eventually wander far from the spot where
she had descended. He glanced at his watch, it showed a quarter to
five. That meant that in another twenty-five minutes the submarine
must reach the surface, or Captain Brookes would imagine that some
disaster had befallen them.
"How's the air below there?" sang out the officer in charge.
"All serene, sir; the mice are quite chirpy," replied one of the
seamen.
"You had better be on the safe side and release a little more
oxygen," continued Palmer. "Then stand by with the grapnel."
The grapnel was secured to the outside of the submarine, whence by
means of an electric wire it could be lowered and engaged with the
object to be salved. Its length was not sufficient to allow the
possibility of fouling either the planes or the propeller.
"All ready, sir."
At that moment Gerald's quick eye caught sight of a mass of twisted
aluminium bars and canvas. It was the monoplane.
Wedged between the framework was a long, thin object covered with a
greyish material. The two officers could hardly recognise the body of
the treacherous and ill-starred aviator.
Overcoming their feelings of horror the two men looked for the
missing reciprocators. The submarine was now brought to a standstill,
her keel resting on the ooze, while her searchlight played straight
upon the victim of the tragedy.
"There they are, I believe; do you see those bulges under his coat?"
exclaimed Palmer.
"It certainly seems so," replied Gerald. "Now, what do you propose to
do?"
"Rise right over the aeroplane, engage the grapnel, and blow the
ballast tank."
"Mind you don't overrun it, and get the propeller fouled," continued
Tregarthen.
"I'll try not to. Now, here goes."
Slowly the submarine began to rise; the grapnel was dropped, and with
an almost imperceptible jar the implement became entangled in the
wreck of the monoplane.
"Easy ahead."
The motors, running jerkily in their endeavour to overcome the
pressure of water on the propeller-blades, were gradually advanced to
their utmost capacity, but still the submarine remained anchored to
the bottom of the sea, till with a succession of sharp jerks the
little craft wallowed helplessly in the ooze.
"Blow the for'ard ballast tank," ordered Palmer, calmly. "She'll rise
like a bird."
Two of the men hastened to pump out the tank, but so great was the
outside pressure that they were unable to expel the water. On the
contrary, a slender stream hissed through the glands of the pumps
with terrific force. One of the seamen, struck full in the face by
the jet of water, was hurled against the arched sides of the vessel.
"Belay there!" exclaimed the commander, seeing that more harm than
good was likely to result; then turning to Gerald he whispered, "Now,
what's to be done?"
"Reverse the planes and try running the engine at full speed astern,"
suggested Tregarthen, now fully alive to the seriousness of their
position.
For a few seconds it seemed as if this manoeuvre would prove
successful, though the water hissed through the tightly packed
propeller shafting as the blades went astern. Then, with a decided
swoop, the submarine returned to her muddy bed.
"That's done it!" exclaimed Palmer, gloomily. "We've lost our slight
reserve of buoyancy; don't say a word to discourage the men, but I
fear it's all up."
Gerald did not reply. Mechanically he pulled out his watch; it was
twenty minutes over the hour.
(_To be continued_)
[Illustration: The four men threw themselves on the astonished
foreigners, and a desperate conflict ensued.] [_See page_ 486.
[Illustration: sixth instalment]
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "A Lad of Grit," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON_
[Illustration: chapter XXIII]
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CRIPPLED SUBMARINE
"BETTER switch off the searchlight," said Gerald. "It's doing no
good, and we must economise the air."
"There's enough oxygen to last for two hours," observed Palmer; "but
we had better try the motors full speed ahead once more. It can't do
much harm, and the longer we remain inactive the deeper the boat will
sink in the ooze."
But beyond a slight pulsation of the hull the submarine remained in
her hazardous position.
"Look here," exclaimed Gerald's companion, hopefully, "why not close
the torpedo compensating tank and discharge all the torpedoes? That
will get rid of some of our gear."
"What happens to the torpedoes when they have finished their run,
provided they miss their mark?" asked Gerald.
"If they have practice-heads they rise to the surface; if provided
with war-heads they sink."
"The same as our Whiteheads: the exhaustion of the compressed air
actuating the propellers opens a valve that admits water into the
air-chamber?"
"That is so."
"Then I'm afraid your plan is useless, for in expelling the torpedoes
we are only getting rid of objects lighter than the weight of the
water they displace."
"You're right," assented Palmer, ruefully.
"Beg pardon, sir," exclaimed one of the seamen, "but are we hitched
up here for good?"
"It looks like it," replied Palmer, almost brutally.
"Then couldn't I go out by the air-lock--I am willing to risk it--and
take a line up with me? We've nearly a hundred fathoms aboard."
"Impossible, man; you would be crushed to death."
"We ought to try something, sir; the oxygen seems to be giving out,
and the mice are getting torpid."
"I thought we had two hours' supply?"
"So did I, sir, but something's wrong with the stuff."
"We will have to rely on the oxygen helmets, then. Serve them out; it
may prolong our lives a few hours, though I know not to what
purpose."
Slowly the minutes passed. Illuminated only by the glimmer of a
solitary incandescent lamp the interior of the submarine presented a
picture of gloomy despair. The crew began to realise that they were
imprisoned in a living tomb.
"We must make some attempt to communicate with the _Olive Branch_,"
exclaimed Gerald, shaking off the growing feeling of apathy and
drowsiness by a great effort. "Why not write a report stating our
condition, enclose it in one of the torpedoes, and fire it to the
surface?"
"To what purpose?" asked Palmer. "They can't help us."
"It will show them that we've done our best."
"All right, then, though personally I think it a waste of time."
Somehow or other Gerald wrote out a brief account of the vicissitudes
of the submarine. This both he and Palmer signed, and enclosed in a
practice-head of one of the torpedoes.
The impulse charge was sufficiently strong to eject the cigar-shaped
cylinder from the tube, though at the expense of another slight rush
of water; then, as there was nothing more to be done, the crew
prepared for the worst.
It was a peculiar sensation that came over the doomed men. Apparently
paying scant heed to their peril they sat down, with their heads
buried in their arms, awaiting the sleep that precedes death. The
white mice--the surest means of indicating the presence of impure
gases--had long since been lifeless; only the soft purr of the dynamo
and the laboured breathing of the men broke the oppressive silence.
How long Gerald remained in a semi-unconscious state he knew not;
time and place were alike forgotten; he hardly possessed the power of
thinking, and, knowing his fate, he seemed absolutely indifferent to
it.
Suddenly a sharp metallic clank caught his ear, but, beyond hearing
the sound, Tregarthen paid no heed to it. Yet something was moving
across the outside of the massive steel shell. Perhaps, he wondered
dreamily, it was one of those enormous submarine animals that exist
only under enormous pressure, and whose bodies have from time to time
been cast ashore, to the wonder of scientific men.
Slowly the bow of the submarine began to rise. Gerald sat bolt
upright; he could scarce believe the evidence of his senses. Higher
and higher it rose till his inert comrades rolled sideways upon the
steel floor, and began to slide helplessly towards the dim recesses
occupied by the motors.
Grasping the lowermost rung of the ladder leading to the
conning-tower, Tregarthen tried to collect his scattered wits in
order to find some explanation for the sudden tilting of the helpless
boat. Perchance her afterpart had rested over a fissure, and the
slimy bed had given way as the hull began to settle down.
Then the sensation of drowsiness began to reassert itself, and the
lieutenant felt his grip relaxing, till, just as he was on the point
of joining his companions who lay in a confused heap--dead perhaps,
but at all events unconscious--a voice exclaimed peremptorily, "Empty
your ballast tanks."
It was through the receiver of the loud-speaking wireless telephone
that the voice came. It meant that the submarine had been raised
several fathoms, sufficiently for the telephone to be used once more.
Staggering up the sloping deck, Gerald grasped the pump lever of the
'midship tank. Thank goodness the pressure had been reduced
sufficiently for the powerful pump to act.
With his last remaining strength Tregarthen plied the lever, till at
length a ruddy sunset glare streamed in through the thick glass
apertures in the conning-tower. The submarine was awash.
Climbing the ladder into the conning-tower Gerald threw back the
double-action lock securing the hatchway, but the task of opening the
massive steel plate was beyond him. The next moment he was drinking
in the pure air, supported by a burly petty-officer who had slid down
from the cruiser to the deck of the submarine.
"Hurry up and pass these men out," he heard Captain Brookes exclaim.
"Perhaps some of them may be still alive."
Half conscious, Gerald was lifted over the side of the _Olive
Branch_, Jack Stockton supporting him with the utmost solicitude.
"A pretty fine pass," he heard Captain Brookes remark. "I did not
think that Palmer would disobey orders. And nothing gained, after
all."
Gerald stopped, just as he was about to be assisted down the
companion ladder, and with a sudden impulse that surprised his chum,
he wrenched himself clear and staggered across to where the captain
stood.
"No, sir; something is gained after all. The missing wireless gear is
strung underneath the submarine."
Then everything seemed to swim around him in a white mist, and but
for Lieutenant Sinclair's prompt action he would have fallen headlong
to the deck.
"We thought you were all done for when you did not return at the end
of the hour," said Stockton next morning.
"So did I," replied Gerald. "But how did they manage to raise the
boat?"
"Mainly by a slice of luck, and also through Captain Brookes's
perseverance and energy, old chap. Directly we felt certain that
something was amiss the captain ordered a couple of hands to the
cable-cutting room. The dynameter detected the presence of a very
weak current----"
"That must have been after we shut off the searchlight and stopped
the motors."
"Well, at any rate, it was sufficient to enable us to fix your
position. Three times the grab was lowered without result. During
these operations a torpedo came to the surface."
"Yes, we discharged it without allowing the propellers to actuate, so
that it would come nearly straight to the surface."
"By jove, it did! I should never have believed it had I not seen the
thing jump. It shot nearly twenty feet in the air, missing the cutter
by a bare boat's length. Then someone suggested unfixing the head,
and within we found your message.
"With that we knew you were still alive, and that the submarine had
not collapsed under the pressure of the water, as Captain Brookes had
feared. Shortly afterwards the grab engaged, and we found that under
a strain of half a ton it was beginning to come home. It was an
anxious time, as the cable was only tested to twelve hundredweights,
but it held, after all, as you know."
"How is Palmer?"
"Bad. The strain coming on top of the narcotic has played havoc with
him. The other men are progressing favourably; but Gerald, old man,
where's your shaving-mirror? Then hold it so that you can see the
back of your head."
Tregarthen did so, and to his surprise he found that on his dark
brown hair was a patch as white as snow, almost the size of a man's
hand.
"That's strange, Jack. I remember putting my hand to my head when the
boat began to tilt. It's a case of utter funk, I suppose."
"You've something to remember the eighty-fathom dive by for the rest
of your natural life."
"I don't want that to remind me," replied Gerald, with a shudder.
"Well, it's all over now, and little harm done; but do you know there
was something very remarkable about that message you sent up? You
gave an account of everything that happened save one thing--the
object of your trip. You never mentioned the missing wireless gear."
[Illustration: chapter XXIV]
CHAPTER XXIV
A FRUSTRATED PLOT
THE recovered reciprocators were none the worse for their prolonged
submersion, thanks to the protection afforded by the steel cylinders
in which they were encased.
A diver having removed them from the body of the ill-fated airman,
the wrecked monoplane was released and allowed to sink once more to
the bottom of the sea.
The aviator's body was brought on board the _Olive Branch_ in order
that it might be given a decent burial, and then it was that an
astonishing discovery was made.
The man was not an American. Papers found on him, carefully concealed
in the double thickness of his indiarubber coat, revealed the fact
that he was the agent of a certain European power, and that it was
his intention to find out as much about the _Olive Branch_ as he was
able to do. The flight across the Straits of Messina was part of a
prearranged plan, and, though his fall into the sea under the
influence of the Z-rays was not strictly in accordance with his
programme, it materially helped to mature the plot that had all but
succeeded.
The damage done to the Z-rays apparatus was considerable,
necessitating the removal of the diagram board and the wires between
the dynamo and the conning-tower. While this was being done the
ZZ-rays were consequently out of action, hence Captain Brookes's
anxiety to have the work put in hand without a moment's delay.
In this partially crippled state advantage was taken of the proximity
of the Santorin Islands to clear the cruiser's under-body of the
marine deposit that was already beginning to have an appreciable
effect on her speed.
Practically the whole of these islands are of volcanic origin,
sulphur springs, being strongly in evidence around the shores of Port
Megalos, while the water possesses the property of killing and
removing in less than thirty-six hours the weeds and barnacles that
adhere to a ship.
"What do you say to a run ashore, gentlemen?" asked Captain Brookes
of several of the officers on the afternoon of their arrival. "I'm
told the crater is very interesting."
"I, for one, will be very glad of the opportunity, provided I can be
spared," replied Sinclair.
"And I," exclaimed Gerald, Stockton, Temple, and Slade in chorus.
"Very well, only be careful not to go too close to the sulphur
springs, and beware of loose stones rolling down the mountain. You
will be practically in sight of the ship the whole time, so keep a
good look-out in case I have to make a signal for recall."
Two hours later, by dint of much exertion and considerable agility,
the party of officers gained the edge of the crater. For some time
they remained looking at the scene of desolation.
"What's that, by Jove!" exclaimed Jack Stockton, pointing to an
elongated yellow object swaying in a deep hollow a few hundred yards
away. The others looked in the direction indicated.
"It's an airship--one of the Zeppelin type," said Gerald. "What on
earth is it doing in this part of the globe?"
"I wish I'd brought my marine glasses," remarked Sinclair. "This
looks like an interesting discovery. She's anchored, I think."
"Ay, and there are some men coming this way; they've just descended
by a rope ladder. I wonder if they have spotted us?"
"I don't think so. Look here, you fellows, they mean mischief!
Suppose we take cover and watch their little game?"
The only shelter worthy of the name was afforded by a clump of
withered thorns. Foliage there was none, but by lying flat on the
ground and keeping behind the thick uncovered roots, the officers
could follow the movements of the men of the mysterious airship.
Evidently the clump was the objective of the strangers, since from it
they could command a view of the _Olive Branch_ without appearing on
the skyline. The new comers were three tall, bearded men dressed in a
brown uniform. One carried a revolver in a pouch, the others were
apparently unarmed; all had field-glasses slung over their shoulders.
Unsuspectingly they stopped at the clump of thorns, only a few
tangled branches separating them from Gerald and his comrades. Out
came their glasses, and with them glued to their eyes the chance of
detecting the concealed officers was materially lessened.
"Yes, there she is," exclaimed one of the strangers, speaking in a
guttural tongue that both Gerald and Sinclair were conversant with.
"Adolphe was right this time."
"Looking at her from here, sir, one would not imagine her to be such
a formidable ship."
"Appearances are deceptive, Captain Dorge. However, there she is, and
now is our opportunity. Once we settle with her our chances against
England are wonderfully improved."
"Will forty kilos of the explosive be sufficient?"
"It will wipe her out of existence. We must be sharp, for the moon
rises at two."
"If we blunder?"
"There will be no blunder. I'll bring the 'Voertwards' immediately
above her, and drop to within thirty metres of her deck. They will
never expect an attack in this harbour, especially from the sky."
Gerald's grasp tightened on Sinclair's shoulder. That officer nudged
Temple in a manner that required no verbal explanation; while
Stockton, who had observed the signal, was not slow to comprehend.
"Now!" shouted Sinclair.
Simultaneously the four men sprang to their feet, burst through the
intervening bushes, and threw themselves on the astonished
foreigners.
The man addressed as Captain Dorge made as if to draw his revolver,
but Gerald had already seized him round the waist, while Jack
Stockton deftly took possession of his weapon. In an instant he was
capsized, Stockton sitting on his chest so that he could only writhe
helplessly in the dust.
Temple, a strapping great Scot, had little difficulty in overpowering
his antagonist, but Sinclair found all his work cut out in tackling
his man. Fiercely they struggled, the stranger striving to grip his
adversary by the throat. Failing that, he inserted his fingers in the
lieutenant's hair and tried to gouge his eyes out with his thumbs--a
continental trick that Sinclair was conversant with.
The first lieutenant's left arm shot out straight from the shoulder,
and, taking his antagonist fairly in the chin, sent him reeling a
dozen paces ere he fell like a log.
"Now what's to be done?" asked Gerald breathlessly, as he wiped the
perspiration from his forehead.
"Done? Why, drag the bounders back to the ship," replied Sinclair.
"We've three important hostages for the airship's good behaviour."
"Easier said than done."
"Not when you know the way, but we must look alive, for I see yonder
gentleman is recovering from the effects of my knock-out blow. I
wonder if the other fellows belonging to the airship have spotted
us?"
So saying, Sinclair relieved the two prisoners of their belts, and,
ordering the men to stand side by side, he fastened the left arm of
one to the right arm of the other by means of the leather straps,
tying their thumbs together by means of a piece of thin cord as an
additional safeguard.
Meanwhile Gerald and Stockton had raised the semi-dazed officer,
while Temple brought up the rear with the captured revolver well in
evidence.
It had taken nearly two hours to climb the crater, but the descent
occupied barely twenty minutes.
Smothered in clouds of pumice dust, continually dodging enormous
boulders that rolled down the mountain side, the officers of the
_Olive Branch_ and their captives pursued their headlong descent, and
on gaining the beach they found that a boat had already been
despatched to bring them off to the ship.
"What has happened, gentlemen?" asked Captain Brookes as the party
gained the quarter-deck. "I was watching you through my glasses, and
could see that you were having an encounter of some sort."
Briefly the "first luff" made his report. The captain's brows
clouded.
"This is bad news," he remarked. "Whatever design these people have
against Great Britain is evidently a secret. I've been in
communication by wireless with our Swanage agent, and he assures us
that there is no sign of international complications. However, it's
lucky you nipped this little plot in the bud, for I have no doubt
that that airship would deliberately violate all the etiquettes of
neutrality. I'll ask our prisoners a few questions."
"I am Hans von Rippach," replied the man who was evidently the senior
officer of the airship.
"Herr Hans von Rippach, I salute you," rejoined Captain Brookes,
without betraying the fact that he understood the nature of the
foreigner's reply, though he shrewdly suspected that his prisoner was
a member of the Royal House of a powerful European State. "Might I
inquire the reason why you proposed to attack my vessel treacherously
in neutral waters?"
"I refuse to offer explanations to a pirate," replied the prisoner,
rudely.
Finding that it was useless to attempt to gain further information,
Captain Brookes ordered the captives to be removed and confined in a
cabin under an armed guard.
"Couldn't we have a smack at the airship, sir?" asked Lieutenant
Sinclair. "A six-pounder could be taken ashore and dragged up to
yonder ridge without much trouble."
"We might harm some of the inhabitants of the island," replied
Captain Brookes. "There's bound to be a crowd gathered around to see
the sight."
"I venture to suggest that the crew have kept them at a respectful
distance, sir."
"I'll not take the risk. If the airship ascends I'll wing her sure
enough, not otherwise. But I mean to get under way at once and head
at top speed for English waters. There's mischief brewing; of that I
feel certain."
Ere nightfall the _Olive Branch_ had cleared Santorin Harbour and was
tearing towards the Straits of Gibraltar. The English agent at
Swanage was kept constantly in touch by means of wireless, greatly to
that individual's annoyance, since he saw no reason for Captain
Brookes's continuous messages. But, four hours after clearing the
Straits, a wireless was received that caused the blood of every
member of the crew of the _Olive Branch_ to surge madly through his
veins. It was brief and yet to the point: "Triple Alliance has
commenced hostilities against Great Britain."
[Illustration: chapter XXV]
CHAPTER XXV
THE EMPIRE'S ORDEAL
IN the course of a few hours the officers and crew of the _Olive
Branch_ were in possession of the state of affairs so far as it was
possible for their English agent to impart information. Great things
were taking place, events of momentous importance, yet with few
exceptions the country was kept in ignorance of the initial disasters
of the war.
A secret treaty had been contracted between three great European
Powers, and so well were the terms of the understanding guarded that
the British Foreign Office was absolutely unaware of the existence of
any agreement between the countries concerned. Simultaneous "autumn
manoeuvres" had been the means of the foregathering of a powerful
combined fleet in the Atlantic, where, though away from the
recognised trade routes, it was within twelve hours' steaming
distance of the south coast of England.
At the same time most of the British warships under the supreme
command of Sir Protheroe Hobbes, Admiral of the Fleet, were cruising
off the west coasts of Scotland and Ireland, while through unforeseen
defects, an unprecedented number were under refit at the home ports.
Several events, to which no one at the time attached the real
importance, took place during the week preceding the outbreak of war.
A large British-owned vessel entering Portsmouth Harbour with a cargo
of Norwegian granite for use on some of the dockyard works, ran
aground opposite the Round Tower--the narrowest part of the mouth of
the harbour. As she swung round broadside on to the strong flood tide
there was an explosion amidships and the vessel sank in ten minutes,
completely blocking up the fairway, and consequently "bottling up"
six useful units of the British Navy.
On the same day a mysterious outrage took place in Scotland, the
centre spans of the Forth Bridge being destroyed by some powerful
explosive. This act was wrongly attributed to Anarchists, who had
been extremely active of late. Though fortunately there was no loss
of life entailed, the consequences were disastrous, since, until the
debris was removed, the naval base of Rosyth was completely isolated.
The following afternoon the ambassador of the Triple Alliance left
London, and hostilities, without a formal declaration of war,
immediately broke out.
Under cover of darkness simultaneous attempts were made by airships
upon the principal naval ordnance magazines of Great Britain. The
attack upon Priddy's Hard Magazine failed, mainly through the
initiative taken by a young lieutenant in charge of B Y aeroplane at
Fort Blockhouse; but the enemy succeeded in destroying the magazines
of Bedenham, Chattenden, and Bull Point, though in the last instance
the airship dealing the blow was so crippled by the effect of the
explosion that she was compelled to come to earth at Saltash, where
her crew were immediately taken prisoners.
A small coasting steamer entering Plymouth Sound struck a submarine
mine a few cables from the Mewstone, and sank with all hands. It was
subsequently discovered that the channel on either side of the
breakwater had been strewn with mines, so that ere a battleship or
cruiser dare leave the Hamoaze the Sound had to be "swept" as far
seaward as a line joining Rame Head and Wembury Point.
Meanwhile the fleet of the Triple Alliance--outnumbering Admiral
Hobbes's command by no less than seven Dreadnoughts and
super-Dreadnoughts, eleven armoured cruisers, and more than twenty
ocean-going destroyers--sought to cut off the British fleet and
compel it to give battle. Once the British fleet were destroyed the
position of the Empire would be hopeless. Without landing a single
hostile regiment her downfall would be only a matter of a few weeks;
with her seaborne commerce captured or destroyed England would be
starved into submission; the partition of the Empire would follow in
due course.
The minute Admiral Hobbes heard by wireless of the outbreak of war,
he issued orders for the fleet to steam at its greatest speed
straight for the English Channel. A man of undoubted courage and
skill, he never hesitated to count the cost; disregarding the
disparity of force, he resolved to take the initiative and do his
best to win a decisive action.
At daybreak on the day following the departure of the British fleet
from Bantry Bay, two of the swift coastal destroyers signalled that
the enemy's ships were standing northwest in quarter line.
Unfortunately this information, though correct, was not complete, as
a strong division, in line ahead, was steaming parallel to that of
the main fleet, though some fifteen miles to the south-west. Thus,
should the British admiral of the fleet attempt to break the enemy's
line--as he decided to do--he would have to run the risk of being
raked by the guns of the powerful division lying hull down on his
starboard side.
Admiral Bloch, in supreme command of the combined hostile fleets, had
laid his plans carefully, but he had not reckoned with Captain
Brookes, of the _Olive Branch_. Bloch it was who had planned the
annihilation of the dreaded cruiser by means of a surprise night
attack by one of the latest type of airships.
The crew of the airship had cabled news of the failure of the
enterprise, but unfortunately for the enemy, owing to an error on the
part of a Greek telegraph operator, the code word for "destroyed" was
substituted for that signifying "escaped."
Consequently Admiral Bloch, imagining that all danger from that
source was at an end, did not hesitate to meet the British fleet,
well knowing that the latter, though powerful, was vastly inferior in
numbers to his own.
Meanwhile the _Olive Branch_ was tearing across the Bay. Two hundred
miles from Finisterre she overhauled a British transport homeward
bound. This vessel she promptly warned of the danger ahead, and as
the transport turned and made towards Gibraltar her sides were
crowded with troops who cheered the formidable cruiser to the echo.
The defects to the _Olive Branch's_ electrical gear had been made
good ere she passed Gibraltar; the 6in. shells were charged with
their powerful explosive; magazines were opened and water-tight doors
closed.
[Illustration: "In view of possible events I must ask you to take up
your quarters beneath the armoured deck," said Captain Brookes.]
As far as was humanly possible the vessel under Captain Brookes's
command was fit and ready for action.
At six bells the dull rumble of a terrific cannonade was heard away
to the nor'-west. The van of Admiral Hobbes's fleet was in touch with
the enemy.
It was a prolonged yet terrible encounter. The British fleet,
advancing in line ahead in double columns, suffered severely as they
received the concentrated fire of the hostile ships. It was a running
fight at this stage, for Admiral Bloch's main division, relying on
its superior numbers, was slowly retiring so as to subject its
pursuers to a heavy cannonade at long range ere the second division,
fresh for action, converged upon the flank of the British fleet.
In twenty minutes the _British Orion_ and _Thunderer_ were sunk,
while the _Princess Royal_, _Vanguard_, _Inflexible_, and
_Foudroyant_ had fallen out of line. In spite of their complicated
system of water-tight doors they were leaking badly, their powerful
centrifugal pumps being barely sufficient to cope with the inrush of
water. The _Foudroyant_ in particular was in a deplorable condition,
being battered entirely out of recognition.
The "lame ducks" must go. Admiral Hobbes could not hazard the rest of
his fleet by standing by. The cripples were ordered to make their way
as best they might for Haulbowline, trusting to luck to avoid the
detached armoured cruisers of the hostile fleet.
In this running fight the enemy possessed a decided advantage in the
fact that both torpedoes and mines could be employed, whereas the
pursuing vessels were unable to use either.
Nor had they suffered lightly. The huge 20,000-ton battleship
Kronprinz Gustave, her armoured sides shattered by the 13in.
projectiles of the King George V., was slowly settling down by the
head. The _Askoldin_ and _Trodet_--both regarded as formidable
vessels--had already disappeared, while the _Styx_, _Vonderflack_,
and _Gelion_ had dropped astern hopelessly crippled. These three
vessels, finding themselves overhauled by the British fleet,
surrendered at discretion. But Admiral Hobbes was not in a position
to take possession of the disabled ships; all he could hope was that
his own "lame ducks" would be able to complete the surrender.
Then with a terrific roar a small cruiser steaming about two cables'
length on the quarter of the _Donetz_--Bloch's flagship--burst into a
thousand fragments. Admiral Hobbes hailed this success with as much
delight as if it had been the sinking of one of the enemy's
super-Dreadnoughts, for the vessel had been recognised as the
_Hekla_, a mine-layer of the most aggressive type.
Thus the losses on the side of the Triple Alliance outnumbered those
of the British by one. This, Admiral Hobbes knew, was good, but not
good enough. Should the action be continued with the same proportion
of losses the allies would come out with a balance of eleven ships
to the good--and that without taking into consideration the as yet
invisible division of Vice-Admiral Neboff.
By noon the rival fleets, covering a front of eleven miles, were in
the vicinity of the Lizard. The British commander hoped that some of
the units left at Devonport might make a flank attack on the enemy.
His wireless gear had been swept away, and consequently he was cut
off from communication with the shore.
Then instead of the expected reinforcement one of the scouts came
within signalling distance with the grave news that another hostile
division was closing in on the British starboard quarter.
Half an hour later Admiral Neboff's division opened fire.
Admiral Hobbes realised that his position was hazardous in the
extreme. Cornered between two powerful fleets he had either to beat
an undignified retreat or to fight to the death. Quickly he made up
his mind; he would hammer and be hammered as long as a single ship
remained afloat.
At this juncture a grey cruiser, cutting through the water at an
inconceivable speed, was seen approaching from the south-east.
Eagerly, though hardly daring to hope, Admiral Hobbes watched her
approach through his glass. As she passed within a mile of the
partially disabled _Hertzog_ the foreigner imprudently let fly an
11in. shell. The mysterious cruiser returned shot for shot, but one
only was sufficient. Like a cardboard box the _Hertzog_ appeared to
crumple up, and amid a thick cloud of steam and smoke she disappeared
beneath the waters.
"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed the British admiral, fervently. "'Tis the
_Olive Branch_."
[Illustration: chapter XXVI]
CHAPTER XXVI
THE VINDICATION OF THE "OLIVE BRANCH"
FOR three nights preceding the arrival of the _Olive Branch_ on the
scene of action Captain Brookes rarely left the deck. Content with
two hours' rest a day he seemed to be independent of a desire to
sleep. Yet the enormous physical and mental strain was beginning to
tell.
"I shall have rest in plenty after this business is done; my lifelong
task will soon be accomplished," he replied in answer to Gerald's
remonstrances. "But now I must see the prisoners personally. Will you
please accompany me?"
Outside the cabin in which the officers of the airship were confined
stood two armed seamen. On the captain's approach they unlocked the
door, and followed their superior into the apartment; but with a
gesture they were dismissed, and Captain Brookes and Gerald were
alone with the three prisoners.
"Good morning, Herr Hans von Rippach," exclaimed Captain Brookes. "I
regret to have to inform you that owing to possible events I must ask
you to take up your quarters in a cabin on the main deck."
"Beneath the armoured deck, I presume?" replied the individual who
concealed his identity under the Continental equivalent of Mr. Nobody
of Nowhere. The man spoke in fluent English, with hardly a trace of a
foreign pronunciation. "That means you are going into action?"
The captain assented.
"Might I take this opportunity of expressing my regret for the rude
manner in which I spoke to you on my arrival on board?" continued the
officer.
"I accept your apologies, sir."
"And to answer your original questions I beg to announce myself
as----"
"Prince E. von Bulow von Ratalewis, second son of----"
"Thank you, Lord Stanningborough," rejoined the prince with an air of
a practised duellist who has effected a successful counter. "Need I
recall our most pleasurable meeting in Vienna in '09?"
"You heard what the prince said?" said the captain, abruptly, as he
and Gerald left the cabin after the expiration of ten minutes'
conversation. "Please keep this matter to yourself, as I particularly
wish to preserve my incognito."
Gerald bowed; he was on the point of replying "Yes, my lord," but,
checking himself, he merely answered "Yes, sir." The revelation had
momentarily staggered him, for he clearly remembered the case of the
mysterious disappearance of Lord Stanningborough early in the second
decade of the present century. For the first time he was able to
recognise the peer's features in spite of the addition of the
torpedo-beard.
Lord Stanningborough had been a prominent member of a committee of
Imperial Defence, and had been submitted to a severe criticism for
his outspoken utterances at the time of the three-power standard
controversy. Even his personal friends treated him as a harmless
fanatic, while the Government of the day ignored his well-meant
warnings. At last, in utter disgust, Lord Stanningborough announced
his intention of undertaking a big-game expedition to Uganda, and
within a month of landing in Africa all traces of him had vanished.
But Gerald Tregarthen understood; Captain Brookes was to remain
Captain Brookes till his life's work was completed.
A bugle sounded "General quarters." From his position in the
conning-tower Gerald could see the ungainly lattice-work masts of
Admiral Neboff's division showing just above the horizon.
"Independent firing, foremost turret," ordered Captain Brookes, as an
11in. shell from a partially disabled ship ricochetted harmlessly a
hundred yards across the _Olive Branch's_ bows.
"That's done it," he exclaimed, as the hostile vessel disappeared
from view. "Now for the enemy's flanking ships."
Neboff had witnessed the arrival of the redoubtable cruiser. He had
been duped; the _Olive Branch_ had not been annihilated but had
arrived at a critical moment.
A signal fluttered from the flagship of the vice-admiral's division.
Every available 11in. and 14in. gun was to be trained and fired
simultaneously at the _Olive Branch_ in the hope of sending her to
the bottom.
For the space of twelve seconds over fifty heavy shells were hurtling
through the air at a velocity of considerably more than a thousand
yards a second. But the gun-layers had forgotten one important
consideration; they had omitted to make due allowance for the
cruiser's abnormal speed, and, with one exception, the projectiles
fell harmlessly astern, thrashing the sunlit water into a cauldron of
foam.
The shell that struck home--a 14in. missile--simply swept the whole
of the afterpart of the _Olive Branch_ out of existence. Everything
above the armoured deck and abaft the rearmost gun-turret was blown
away, the concussion shaking the cruiser from stem to stern.
"The bos'un to sound and report state of hull," ordered Captain
Brookes; "then take necessary steps to keep the leak under."
"The range?" he continued, as he bent over the ZZ-rays indicator.
"Fourteen thousand yards, sir," replied Gerald.
The next instant the horizon in the direction of Admiral Neboff's
division seemed to be one blaze of dull red fire, a thick pall of
smoke rose in the air, and presently the dull revibration of a series
of detonations was faintly borne to the ear of the young lieutenant
in the conning-tower.
"Hurrah! That's settled their hash," he shouted, carried away by the
excitement of the moment. "The----"
The sentence remained unfinished, for, happening to turn his head, he
saw the figure of his commanding officer huddled over the
indicator-board.
"Hit, sir?" he exclaimed, anxiously.
There was no reply. Gently Gerald lifted the body of the captain and
laid him carefully down upon the floor of the conning-tower. Then, in
answer to a hurried order, two seamen entered the citadel by means of
the armoured spiral staircase, and Captain Brookes was carried below
to be placed in the hands of Dr. White.
There was no time to be lost in bewailing the latest catastrophe.
"Pass the word for Mr. Sinclair to take command," ordered Gerald,
then, without waiting for the first lieutenant's appearance, he
directed the quartermaster to head towards the left flank of the main
division of the enemy's fleet.
A hurried glance at the ZZ-ray apparatus showed that this potent
means of offence was no longer available.
[Illustration: An admiral's pinnace was approaching the shattered
_Olive Branch_. Gerald hastened on deck to receive the distinguished
officer.]
The pointers had been kept in position for such a length of time
during the captain's collapse that every unit of electricity had
escaped. Tregarthen realised that at their utmost capacity the
dynamos would have to be working for six hours ere sufficient power
was restored to bring the ZZ-rays up to their normal power.
It was to be by gunfire alone that the _Olive Branch_ must complete
her work of retrieving the fortunes of the day.
"Independent action!" roared the lieutenant through the
speaking-tube, for the electrical indicators communicating with the
turrets had been disorganised by the concussion of the shell that had
burst inboard.
In the space of a quarter of an hour the supreme conflict was
decided. The enemy's feint had been changed into a disorderly
retreat; many were sunk by gunfire, while the remainder, overhauled
by the superior speed of the British fleet, hoisted the white flag.
The naval Armageddon had been fought and won.
"Where's Sinclair?" asked Tregarthen, as the wearied, yet triumphant,
crew came on deck to witness the British warships taking possession
of their surrendered foes.
"Down, sir; fatally wounded, I fear."
"And the captain?"
"Dead, sir," answered Dr. White, who was unable to conceal his
emotion.
For some moments Gerald could say nothing, so grieved was he at the
news. Then he asked, simply:--
"Where was he hit?"
"He is untouched by the enemy's shot; it is a case of heart failure
caused by the strain of the last few days, culminating in the
excitement of the action," replied the surgeon.
"Pass the word for the officers to come aft," said Lieutenant
Tregarthen.
In a few broken words Gerald formally conveyed the news of their
great loss, then, producing a document with which Captain Brookes had
entrusted him, he read the instructions that were to be carried out
in the event of the death or disablement of the captain of the _Olive
Branch_.
This done, Tregarthen with his own hands lowered the green ensign and
hoisted the blue ensign half-mast in its place, as the British naval
regulations forbid the use of the white ensign. Then, gathering the
struck colours under his arm, the lieutenant went below to where the
body of the gallant captain lay.
All that was mortal of Captain Brookes had been placed on one of the
junior officer's bunks, for the senior officers' cabins had been
swept away by the 14in. shell. Reverently Gerald covered the body
with the green ensign, the most fitting homage he could pay to the
memory of his temporary chief.
"Admiral coming off, sir."
Tregarthen hastened on deck to find that a pinnace--one of the few
that was still seaworthy, so fierce had been the enemy's fire--was
approaching the _Olive Branch_, a Union Jack denoting the rank of
admiral of the fleet flying from a jack-staff in her bows.
With the customary honours Admiral Hobbes came over the side,
regarding the shattered quarter-deck of the mysterious cruiser with
ill-concealed interest.
Gerald, in his uniform of lieutenant in His Majesty's fleet, stepped
forward to receive the distinguished officer, and informed him of the
death of Captain Brookes and of his written instructions to hand over
the _Olive Branch_ formally to the British Government.
"I am not ashamed to confess," remarked Admiral Hobbes to Gerald as
they stood in the presence of the great captain, "that but for the
assistance of the _Olive Branch_ our position would have been
hopeless. Now, thanks to Captain Brookes, all danger is at an end,
and England still remains Mistress of the Seas. More than that, she
will be incontestably supreme for all time. It's a sharp lesson, but
an effectual one. All honour to the man who fulfilled his mission,
and by one great action made further war impossible."
And standing rigidly at the salute, the veteran admiral paid his
homage to the Sea Monarch.
THE END.
[Transcriber's Notes:
"THE CAPTAIN, A MAGAZINE FOR BOYS & 'OLD BOYS.'"
was a monthly magazine for young boys. It contained articles
about how to make things yourself, about schools, photography,
and short stories by different authors. The magazines were
also published collectively as half-year volumes. In 1911
volume XXV appeared and it included this story by Percy F.
Westerman.
This story was published the next year (1912) by Adam &
Charles Black, as a novel.
The 1911 edition contains a number of misprints.
The following misprints have been corrected:
[from beneath, his feet.] -> [from beneath his feet.]
[I wil hasten to] -> [I will hasten to]
["I am begining to] -> ["I am beginning to]
Beneath an illustration the following text was found:
[the tips of the twin propellors] ->
[the tips of the twin propellers]
[the companion Selkirk,] ->
[the companion, Selkirk,]
[in the Altantic] -> [in the Atlantic]
Several words occur with different notation. It could not be
established which spelling is correct, so no corrections were
made for:
[charthouse]/[chart-house]
[bos'n]/[bos'un]/[bo's'un]
[siren]/[syren]
A reversal was detected (but not corrected) in the following
fragment:
["destroyed" was substituted for that signifying "escaped."]
Following the story-line, the author probably meant to write:
["escaped" was substituted for that signifying "destroyed."]
The plain text file uses underscores to indicate italic text
and asterixes to indicate bold.
A contents-list and an illustrations-list have been
added for the convenience of the reader.
]
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