Submarine U93
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Title: Submarine U93
Creator: Charles Gilson
Illustrator: George Soper
Release date: March 5, 2012 [eBook #39387]
Most recently updated: April 5, 2012
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39387
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUBMARINE U93 ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: THE "MONDAVIA" SWUNG IN UPON HER VICTIM--THE IRON BOWS
SMASHED INTO THE U93. See page 249.]
SUBMARINE
U93
A Tale of the Great War, of German Spies,
and Submarines, of Naval Warfare, and
all manner of Adventures.
BY
CAPTAIN CHARLES GILSON
_Author of 'A Motor Scout in Flanders,' 'The Lost Empire,' 'The Sword_
_of Freedom,' 'The Pirate Aeroplane,' 'The Spy,' 'The Race Round the_
_World,' 'The Sword of Deliverance,' 'The Fire-Gods', 'The Lost
Island,'_
_'The Lost Column,' etc._
[Illustration: THE VERY FIRST PROJECTILE BURST DIRECTLY OVER THE BRIDGE]
LONDON
"THE BOY'S OWN PAPER" OFFICE
4 Bouverie Street
1916
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME._
THE BOY'S LIBRARY OF
ADVENTURE AND HEROISM.
The Fifth Form at St. Dominic's. By Talbot Baines Reed.
A Hero in Wolf-skin. By Tom Bevan.
The Adventures of Val Daintry in the Greco-Turkish War. By V. L. Going.
The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch. By Talbot Baines Reed.
The Cock-house at Fellsgarth. By Talbot Baines Reed.
Wild Life in Sunny Lands. By Gordon Stables, M.D., R.N.
A Dog with a Bad Name. By Talbot Baines Reed.
The Master of the Shell. By Talbot Baines Reed.
From Scapegrace to Hero. By Ernest Protheroe.
My Friend Smith. By Talbot Baines Reed.
Comrades under Canvas. By Fredk. P. Gibbon.
Parkhurst Boys. By Talbot Baines Reed.
Reginald Cruden. By Talbot Baines Reed.
Roger Ingleton, Minor. By Talbot Baines Reed.
For Queen and Emperor. By Ernest Protheroe.
The Cruise of the Golden Fleece. By Sardius Hancock.
That Boy of Fraser's. By Ernest Protheroe.
A Collegian in Khaki. By William Johnston.
With Rifle and Kukri. By Frederick P. Gibbon.
Meltonians All! By F. Cowley Whitehouse.
Myddleton's Treasure. By Ernest Protheroe.
The Baymouth Scouts. By Tom Bevan.
The Last of the Paladins. By Charles Deslys.
Rollinson and I. By W. E. Cule.
Under the Edge of the Earth. By F. H. Bolton.
Derrick Orme's Schooldays. By Edith C. Kenyon.
Sir Ludar. By Talbot Baines Reed.
Tom, Dick, and Harry. By Talbot Baines Reed
LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY.
----
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--The Admiral's Sixpence
CHAPTER II--In Defiance of Authority
CHAPTER III--The World Plot
CHAPTER IV--Shadowed
CHAPTER V--Dropping the Pilot
CHAPTER VI--Captain Crouch
CHAPTER VII--In the Hold
CHAPTER VIII--A False Witness
CHAPTER IX--The "Dresden"
CHAPTER X--The Mysterious Message
CHAPTER XI--The Middle Watch
CHAPTER XII--The U93
CHAPTER XIII--To the Boats!
CHAPTER XIV--The Doomed Ship
CHAPTER XV--The Penitence of Captain Crouch
CHAPTER XVI--At the "Goat and Compasses"
CHAPTER XVII--Number 758
CHAPTER XVIII--"Mr. Russell"
CHAPTER XIX--A Clue
CHAPTER XX--Commander Fells
CHAPTER XXI--On Board a White Star Liner
CHAPTER XXII--By the Dogger Bank
CHAPTER XXIII--The Loss of the "Kitty McQuaire"
CHAPTER XXIV--The Tables Turned
CHAPTER XXV--Vae Victis
CHAPTER XXVI--The Titans
CHAPTER XXVII--The Battle of the Dogger Bank
CHAPTER XXVIII--The Wounded "Lion"
CHAPTER XXIX--Conclusion
----
ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By GEORGE SOPER
THE "MONDAVIA" SWUNG IN UPON HER VICTIM . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
THE VERY FIRST PROJECTILE BURST DIRECTLY OVER THE BRIDGE _Title-page_
THE BOY SPRANG ASIDE TOO LATE. HE WAS SEIZED ROUGHLY BY THE THROAT
THE "HARLECH" HAD TAKEN A MARKED LIST TO PORT--NO ONE COULD LIVE UPON
THE DECK
LIKE AN EVIL EYE IN THE NIGHT THERE APPEARED AN ANSWERING LIGHT
"YOU'RE HEADING THE WRONG WAY, MAN! PUT ABOUT AND STAND CLEAR WHILE THE
TROUBLE'S ON"
CROUCH SEIZED RUSSELL BY HIS LONG, FLOWING BEARD, WHICH HE TORE BODILY
FROM THE OLD MAN'S WRINKLED FACE
AS THEY SANK OUT OF THE RED GLARE OF A WINTER'S SUNSET THERE APPEARED
THE THREATENING FORM OF THE U93
SUBMARINE U93
_In the following story fact is blended with fiction. The account of
the Battle of the North Sea, in which the "Bluecher" was sunk, is as
historically accurate as is possible with the details at present
available. On the other hand, it would be well for the reader to know
that the description of the pursuit of the "Dresden" in mid-Atlantic is
wholly fictitious. The incident is introduced "for my story's sake," as
Robert Louis Stevenson used to say, and also because it is illustrative
of the character of the "Sea Affair" in the earlier days of the war._
CHARLES GILSON.
CHAPTER I--The Admiral's Sixpence
The following incident is well known to those who are acquainted with
Naval history, and is mentioned here for the sole benefit of those who
are not.
At the time of the Crimean war, and the bombardment of Sebastopol, an
officer of the name of Burke commanded H.M.S. "Swiftsure," a ship which
at one time approached to within point-blank range of the Russian shore
batteries, which it silenced with a series of terrific broadsides. This
feat, however, was not accomplished without considerable loss. Several
men were struck down on the battery decks in the very act of serving the
guns; and the life of the captain--who bellowed his orders from the
bridge in a voice that was audible throughout the length and breadth of
the ship, despite the roar and thunder of the cannon and the groans of
wounded men--was saved as by a miracle.
A round of grape-shot raked the ship from fore to aft as she swung into
position; and one of the little leaden pellets struck Burke immediately
above the heart. Now, it so happened that he carried, suspended around
his neck by a little silver chain, a "lucky" sixpence which he had got
from his grandfather, Michael Burke, of the Inner Temple, and which bore
the head of His Majesty, King George III.
At the time, Captain Burke was hardly conscious of a wound,
which--according to the Fleet Surgeon--came under the official heading
of a "severe contusion" not serious in nature. He remained upon the
bridge in command of his ship, which he brought safely out of action, to
the great credit of himself and the eternal glory of the British Navy.
But his lucky sixpence, which he found that night before he flung
himself down upon his bunk, was ever after something of a curiosity--a
thing to be talked about and passed from hand to hand in a London club.
It was dented so deeply that it was shaped almost like a spoon, and as
for the features of His Majesty, the third George, they were so
obliterated that he might have been Queen Elizabeth or, for the matter
of that, Julius Caesar or the Cham of Tartary. In short, in plain
words, it was a narrow squeak; and ever afterwards, both in the Navy and
out of it, this officer, who rose to the rank of admiral and lived to
the ripe old age of eighty-six, was known as "Swiftsure Burke." That he
and his kind have lived and moved amongst us since the days of Drake and
Hawkins is, after all, the best security we have against the invasion of
these island shores.
There is a certain irony in the way things happen. No man can say for
sure what destiny awaits those whom he loves and cherishes after he
himself is gone. There was once--as a fact that can be proved--a man
who sang for pennies in the street, whose ancestor, with the rank of
colonel in the Army, headed his regiment as it charged at Blenheim. In
the year 1914--which is not so long ago--Jimmy Burke, grandson of this
same captain of the "Swiftsure," by a series of unmerited misfortunes,
found himself, at the age of seventeen, an orphan and alone, in one of
the greatest cities in the world. How that came about can be told in a
few words. It was certainly through no fault of his own.
"Swiftsure Burke" had a son, whose name was John, who had neither his
father's luck nor iron constitution. John Burke married a fair girl who
had been thought the fairest in Dublin--that is to say, in the world.
They had one son, a boy--the Jimmy Burke with whom these pages are
concerned.
For three short years John Burke was happy--more happy, perhaps, than a
man has a right to be. And then his wife died quite suddenly, and his
frail health broke like a reed.
He was overcome by grief, and for a time his friends even feared for his
state of mind. At last, acting on a famous doctor's advice, he realized
all the property he possessed, packed up his worldly goods, and
accompanied by his little five-year son, betook himself to the great
United States, which was about the last place in the world where he had
any right to be.
New York City, with all its flare and rush and hurry, was no place for
this poor, broken English gentleman. Unsettled and unnerved, he took to
speculation, and fell into the hands of a certain firm of financial
brokers, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to wit, famous even in New York
for their sharp practices and hardness of heart. They had no more mercy
on John Burke than on any other of their clients, and when the poor
fellow was well-nigh destitute, he fell into a rapid consumption. Then,
knowing that his days were numbered, he called his son to his bedside,
and gave Jimmy a dying father's advice.
In the first place, he asked the boy's pardon for the wrong that he had
done him. He told Jimmy to try to live honourably and well, and never
to forget three things: his duty to God, the example of the mother whom
the boy could only just remember, and the fact that he was an English
gentleman--the grandson of "Swiftsure Burke."
And after that, John Burke died. The life flickered out of him like a
candle in the wind, whilst Jimmy was left kneeling at the bedside, his
young frame numbed by a great feeling of weakness that pervaded every
limb, and his face all streamed with tears.
The doctor lifted the boy to his feet, and just then something fell from
the bed to the floor, which the doctor picked up and gave to Jimmy. It
was a little coin--all, indeed, that the boy possessed in the world, all
Jimmy Burke's inheritance. It was the "lucky" sixpence of Admiral
"Swiftsure Burke."
CHAPTER II--In Defiance of Authority
At the time of his father's death, Jimmy Burke was seventeen years of
age. He was a strong lad and tall for his age, fair of complexion, with
a direct look in the eyes and a resolute cast of chin that he had got
from "Swiftsure Burke."
He had had a hard life, even at that age; and a hard life will either
mould a boy or break his heart--more often the latter, unless he be made
of the right stuff. But Jimmy came of a fighting race. He soon learnt
to hold his own, being in more ways than one far better fitted to
succeed in the world than his less robust, unhappy father.
Left alone in a great city like New York, where there are as many rogues
as street-cars, and more "toughs" than police, he looked about him for
some suitable employment, resolved in spite of everything to earn an
honest living. Knowing that good fortune comes only to those that seek
it, he presented himself at the offices of Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern--the very firm, though he never knew it, that had brought
about the ruin of his father--and boldly asked to be taken on as a
clerk.
Rosencrantz questioned the boy as to his capacities, sounding him in
much the same way as a farmer might prod a fat sheep on a market day,
and very soon arrived at the conclusion that Jimmy Burke was the very
lad he wanted. He engaged him on the spot, as a kind of combined clerk
and office boy, and--what suited Rosencrantz most of all--at a
starvation salary, which at the time, however, seemed more than enough
to Jimmy.
And thereupon the boy entered upon a phase of his existence in which
there was little sunshine and much that would have made him miserable
and downcast had he been made of weaker stuff.
Rosencrantz was a bald, clean-shaven man, with a hooked nose, a sallow
face, and a domineering manner. It was his habit to browbeat his
employees; but it was no more possible to crush the spirit, or blot out
the personality of the grandson of "Swiftsure Burke" than it would be to
curb the cub of a tiger. The boy remained the same: straightforward,
frank and honest. He continued to do his work to the best of his
ability, taking his employer's hard words for what they were worth,
accepting them as part and parcel of his life, a sort of grim necessity.
As for Guildenstern, he seldom appeared at the office; and when he did
so, it was quite evident that he had little or no say in the business.
He was a small man, very short-sighted, whose gold-rimmed pince-nez
would never stay on his nose. He was always perfectly ready to agree to
whatever Rosencrantz said, and if he ever made a suggestion of his
own--which was seldom enough--he did so with many apologies, as if he
was well aware that he had no right to open his mouth.
Both these men were "hyphenated-Americans" of German descent. Neither,
however, had ever been to the Fatherland, nor was Rosencrantz able to
speak a single word of what should have been his native language. He
had been born in Chicago, and on that account it was his custom to refer
to himself as a "freeborn citizen of the great United States."
Whatever else he was, he was first a rascal, and secondly a man of
business. The sole object of his life was the making of money, in
regard to which he was handicapped by no qualms of conscience. Such
ambitions are bound to be debasing; and Herr Rosencrantz was quite
incapable of any finer feelings. He took not the least personal
interest in the orphan boy whom fate had thrown upon his hands. He
experienced no feelings of remorse for having brought John Burke to the
brink of ruin and the door of death. Jimmy was just a bright lad who
could be put to a good use, who was certainly worth four times the
salary he received.
In course of time, the boy so disliked and mistrusted his employer that
he had serious thoughts of looking for work elsewhere. One thing, and
one thing only, prevented him from doing so. His sole friend in these
days was a girl, a little older than himself, whose name was Peggy Wade.
Peggy was an orphan, too. Her parents had died when she was quite a
child, since when she had been brought up by an aunt who lived at
Hoboken--a true woman, who could give, without thought of recompense,
and without reluctance, that love and tender care to which the young
should be entitled. She was a mother, in all but name, to Peggy Wade;
and Peggy, in a girl's way, was a mother to Jimmy Burke.
She was employed by Rosencrantz as a shorthand-typist; and thus it was
that she and Jimmy, constituting the whole office staff, were thrown
much in each other's way, and before long they had become inseparable
friends. Often, when they were obliged to work long after business
hours, smuggling into the office various unwholesome edibles, such as
pork-pies, sardines and cakes, they would make cocoa on the stove and
revel in what they termed a "picnic."
They would spend their Saturdays together in Central Park, or else go
even so far afield as Coney Island, provided one or the other had
sufficient money to spend upon the roundabouts and swings. And in the
evenings they would return to Hoboken, where Peggy's aunt, with the
sweet smile of a loving woman, to whom the happiness of others is a
great reward, would listen in patient satisfaction to the whole tale of
their adventures. That was how things were during the winter and the
early spring of the year 1914--which is a date that will stand forth in
scarlet lettering in the History of the World.
It was during the month of April that Rosencrantz began to receive
visits from a certain distinguished-looking gentleman, whom Peggy
recognized at once by his portrait which had appeared more than once in
the New York papers. He was a certain Baron von Essling, a military
attache of the German Embassy in Washington, though never by any chance
did he think fit to give his name. He always asked for Rosencrantz, and
was admitted without delay, when the two men would remain closeted
together sometimes even for hours.
In more ways than one, there was an atmosphere of secrecy about these
interviews, which even Jimmy could not fail to observe. In the first
place, the Baron's visits invariably took place after dark, when most of
the business houses were closed. Rosencrantz, too, never failed to lock
his office door after the Baron had entered. He also became more fussy
than ever, and more impatient and nervous. He had just discovered that
Peggy and Jimmy were in the habit of entering his room after he had left
it, for the purpose of converting his office stove into a kitchen range.
This he strictly forbade. He admitted that it was necessary for both of
them to have access into the inner office, but cooking he would
certainly not permit. There can be small doubt that in his own boyhood
(if he had ever had one) the joys of a "picnic" had been quite unknown.
It was also about this time that he purchased a peculiar leather
box--which he called his "attache-case"--of which he himself possessed
the only key, and in which he kept certain documents which no one but
himself, and apparently the Baron von Essling, was ever permitted to
see.
Now, one of the man's peculiarities was that he liked to see his office
tidy, whereas he himself was one of the most slovenly people in the
world. And as Jimmy was not particularly methodical in such matters,
the result was that Peggy was the only one of the three who ever knew
where anything was. It was this, as it turned out, that brought about
something in the nature of a great calamity, as we shall see.
Von Essling, when he called, was sometimes accompanied by a short,
thick-set fellow, who went by the name of Rudolf Stork. Stork was a
strange-looking man, with an exceedingly wrinkled face, and a sinister
cast of countenance. Peggy, with the unfailing instinct of her sex,
mistrusted him from the start.
Stork was evidently a sailor, for he wore a pea-jacket, walked with a
rolling gait, and was eternally chewing tobacco, and expectorating with
a considerable degree of skill. If Rosencrantz was a scoundrel, Rudolf
Stork was something worse. There was that about him that suggested the
jail-bird, the man who knows what it means to wear a convict's clothes,
to be labelled with a number and pace a prison yard. One evening,
Rosencrantz left the office earlier than usual. There had been a sudden
bout of cold weather, when it had seemed that the spring was at hand. A
bitter wind was blowing through the New York streets, that picked up the
dust and drove it in eddies between the great, square-cut, towering
buildings. It was wholly characteristic of Rosencrantz that he grudged
his clerks a fire, though the stove in his own room had been burning all
that day. Peggy and Jimmy had been left at their desks with orders to
make up certain arrears of work. The boy sat before an opened ledger;
the girl was busy at her typewriter with a sheaf of shorthand notes at
her elbow.
Suddenly, she got to her feet, unrolled the last quarto, and placed the
cover over the machine.
"I've done," she said, looking across at Jimmy.
The boy, who was still poring over the ledger, ran his fingers through
his hair.
"I wish I had," he answered, in a tired voice. "If I can't balance
these accounts, I shall hear all about it to-morrow. Say, Peggy," he
continued, swinging round in his chair, "what do you say to a picnic?"
Peggy straightened, and shaped her lips as if about to whistle.
"Just fine!" she exclaimed. "But, Jimmy, dare we risk it?"
The boy's face altered; for a moment he looked quite serious.
"No," said he. "It's not good enough. I don't mind for myself, but I'm
not going to get you into a row."
Peggy laughed.
"Oh, I don't care," she answered.
"It's not allowed," said Jimmy.
"It wouldn't be half such fun if it was," observed Peggy, with a world
of truth. "Besides, he won't come back again to-night. He told me I
was to leave the most important letters till to-morrow morning."
Jimmy was on his feet in an instant; the ledger was slammed down upon a
shelf.
"Come on," he cried. "We'll have the feast of our lives."
Their cooking utensils consisted of a cheap kettle, a frying-pan, and a
few knives, forks and spoons. These Peggy had hidden in a large
cupboard in Rosencrantz's room, which was used as a receptacle for old
account books and ledgers and all kinds of rubbish, and where their
employer never by any chance happened to look. As they rescued these
priceless possessions from behind a collection of office brooms and
dust-pans, Jimmy noticed that the mysterious leather box--which
Rosencrantz called his "attache-case"--had been placed on the floor of
the cupboard.
The recognized preliminary to an office "picnic" was that they should
club their money. On this occasion Peggy produced two dollars fifty,
whereas Jimmy could contribute no more than seventy cents. When Peggy
had filled the kettle, it was arranged that Jimmy should remain in
charge, whilst the girl went out to purchase supplies which, it was
decided, should include sausages, in regard to the cooking of which
Peggy was an acknowledged expert.
Now, an escapade of this sort loses much of its zest when the bold
adventurer finds himself alone; and no sooner had Peggy set out upon her
errand than Jimmy became conscious of feeling a trifle nervous. Though
he was never willing to admit it to himself, he held Rosencrantz in
considerable dread; and he did not like to think what the result would
be should he and Peggy be caught. In consequence, for the first time in
his life, he was really alarmed when suddenly he heard the clashing
sound of the brass doors of the elevator, followed by footsteps in the
corridor.
Shuffling the knives and forks into his coat pocket, with the kettle in
one hand and the frying-pan in the other, he sprang to his feet and
stood for a moment irresolute, not knowing what to do. He could not go
back to the clerks' office, since there he would meet Rosencrantz, whose
voice was audible through the half-opened sliding door in the wall.
It did not take Jimmy long to come to the conclusion that, on such an
occasion as this, discretion is the better part of valour. Without a
moment's thought, he dashed into the cupboard; tripped over the leather
box, so that some of the half-boiling water was spilled from the spout
of the kettle, and then closed the door.
He did so only in the nick of time; for, a second later, Rosencrantz
himself entered the room, followed by the Baron von Essling and Rudolf
Stork.
CHAPTER III--The World Plot
The office door was closed and Jimmy heard the key turn in the lock.
Rosencrantz offered his guests chairs, and then apparently seated
himself at his writing-desk. Of the conversation that ensued Jimmy
could hear every word, for the cupboard door was thin and von Essling,
who did most of the talking, had a deep, resounding voice.
The plot that was unfolded, word by word, was amazing and colossal. It
was so cold-blooded and terrible, and was intended to be so far-reaching
in its results, that the boy could hardly bring himself to believe the
evidence of his ears. Time and again, he had to pinch himself, to make
sure that the whole thing was not a nightmare from which he would
presently awaken.
It must be remembered that at that time the tragedy of Serajevo had not
taken place. Europe and, indeed, the whole world--was at peace.
Official Germany was even then talking of friendly relations with
England.
And yet, it appeared, from what the Baron had to say, that Germany
intended to plunge the whole of Europe into war. By the first of
August, the German legions would be on the march, crossing the frontiers
of France on the very day that they swept down upon Paris in
1870--forty-four years ago.
France was to be crushed, and would be crushed--according to von
Essling--after six weeks of war. Russia would take time to concentrate
her forces; and after Paris had fallen, the German armies could be
transferred to the east, where the fall of Warsaw would checkmate the
Russian armies till the conclusion of the campaign. When peace had been
declared, and the German Empire extended to the North Sea and the great
port of Antwerp, a fitting moment was to be seized to throttle England
and break up the British Empire, once and for all.
This--as the Baron explained--was the main policy of all true
Pan-Germans. Not until Great Britain had crumbled to the dust, could
Germany realize to the full her dreams of World-Power and
World-Dominion. England stood between Germany and the sun.
"I tell you, my friends," von Essling almost shouted; "I tell you, the
blow will fall with alarming suddenness. The declaration of war will
come like a thunderbolt. We are ready; France and Russia are
unprepared; it is impossible that England will dare to interfere."
"That is good," cried Rudolf Stork. "I have no love for the English,
who encumber the face of the earth like a plague of flies. None the
less, I fail to see why a plain sea-faring man like myself should be
taken into your confidence."
"It so happens," said Rosencrantz, "that you are the very man we want.
In the first place, though you call yourself a Dutchman, you are German
born, as I know very well, and can be trusted. Also, you know the
world; you can speak four languages--German, French, English and Dutch.
Moreover, you were once an actor; you should know how to disguise
yourself, to play several minor parts in this great drama which is about
to astonish the world."
Stork gave a grunt of disapproval.
"It seems to me," he said, "you know too much about me."
"I know more than that," said the other. "I know that you are an
ex-convict, and even now are wanted by the police. However, you have
nothing to fear; I intend to keep my knowledge to myself. The Baron
himself will explain exactly what you will be required to do."
Once again, von Essling took up the thread of this ruthless world-wide
plot. In order to hasten the decomposition of what he called the
already-tottering British Empire, rebellion must be stirred up in the
British colonies. The seeds of sedition must be sown broadcast, in
India, in South Africa and Egypt.
Here, it appeared, both Rosencrantz and Rudolf Stork could be of the
greatest assistance. According to von Essling there was little or no
risk, and they might count upon being well paid. "The German Emperor,"
said the Baron, "does not fail to reward those who serve the
Fatherland."
The offices of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were to be used as a kind of
Secret Service Bureau. Whether or not England joined in the conflict,
the United States would, in any case, remain neutral. From New York,
intelligence could be transmitted direct to Berlin, and _vice versa_.
Von Essling's agents--one of whom was to be Rudolf Stork--acting as
spies in the war area, would transmit, or bring personally, the
information they gathered to Rosencrantz, who would represent the Baron,
who would sift all intelligence, and supervise cyphered telegrams to the
Intelligence Department in the Wilhelmstrasse in Berlin. For the
present absolute secrecy was to be maintained.
Von Essling ended. There was a brief pause, during which Stork spat
upon the floor.
"And may I ask," said he at length, "what guarantee I am to have? I
don't, mind you, say that all this is not true; but, still, business is
business, and no man takes on board a cargo without a manifest, which is
a kind of passport on the sea."
"You are quite right," said the Baron. "I can supply you with
credentials which will instantly dispel such doubts. I have already
entrusted to Mr. Rosencrantz papers of the utmost value, which will
prove to you that we are perfectly sincere, that it will be worth your
while to help us."
It was then that Rosencrantz got to his feet, and shuffled about the
room.
"It so happens," he observed, "that the papers you mention are in a
certain leather box which was given into the charge of my secretary."
Von Essling gave vent to an exclamation of surprise.
"You take grave risks!" said he.
"My dear Baron," replied the other, "the girl can be trusted implicitly.
And besides, she is totally ignorant of what the box contains."
Von Essling had something else to say, but Stork took him up.
"What happens if I'm caught?" he asked.
"If you succeed," said the Baron, "you will be amply rewarded. You will
be paid according to the value of the information you obtain. But if
you fail the misfortune is yours. We wash our hands of you; we know
nothing whatsoever about you. That is the principle upon which the
Secret Service works."
"I see," said the man. "Whatever I do is at my own risk."
"Precisely," said the Baron.
There was another pause; and then Stork got to his feet.
"I'll do it," said he. "I've every confidence in myself. If you want
my candid opinion, I think I'm the very man for the job."
"Good!" said von Essling. "Self-assurance is essential. And now, there
are a few questions I would like you to answer. Have you ever been to
London? Could you find your own way about in that labyrinth of a city?
It will probably be necessary for you to go there."
"I know London well," said Stork, "from Whitechapel to Hammersmith. At
one time, I played Iago in Shakespeare's play, in a little theatre which
is now pulled down, in the Portobello Road."
"Ah," said the other, "some time in the near future you and I may meet
in London. I have never been there. Though I can both speak and write
English with ease, I have never set foot in England."
"You are likely to leave New York?" asked Rosencrantz.
"Perhaps; I can say nothing for certain. My post here is merely a
blind. I was transferred into the Diplomatic Service from the Secret
Service for reasons of convenience. As a military attache, I have many
opportunities for gleaning information."
Jimmy Burke was only a boy, whose experience of the world was
necessarily somewhat limited. None the less, he was well able to
understand the depth of the perfidy with which he found himself
confronted. The whole thing seemed too villainous to be true. He could
not believe that the modern civilized world was such a hotbed of treason
and deceit--a kind of magnified thieves' kitchen wherein mighty nations
played the part of common footpads.
Indignation and excitement left him breathless. In fact, he was so
astounded and dismayed that he had forgotten his own danger, when
suddenly he was brought back to his senses by the loud slamming of a
door. On the instant, as he recognized the truth, it was as if a blow
had been struck him: Peggy had returned!
He was told afterwards what actually happened. At the time, shut up in
the darkness of the cupboard, fearing to move an inch, almost dreading
to breathe, he was able to see nothing of what took place in the room.
Peggy, with cheeks flushed in the wind, and an armful of small paper
parcels, came swinging along the corridor, tried to open the office
door, and found it locked.
Before she had time to guess what was about to happen, the door was
flung wide open, and she found herself confronted by Rosencrantz and his
companions.
She stood stock-still, speechless and afraid. Her first inclination was
to fly; and the next moment, she found herself wondering what had become
of Jimmy.
Rosencrantz, after the manner of a cat who plays with a mouse, with
extreme politeness ushered her into the room.
"And may I ask," said he, in a soft, oily voice, "may I ask what those
parcels contain?"
Peggy allowed him to take them from her hand. He opened them one by
one. The first contained a packet of cocoa; the next (of all
iniquities!) a bundle of sausages. There was also bread, butter, sugar
and lard.
"I see," said Rosencrantz, "I see. It is not sufficient for me to give
orders; it is not sufficient for me to forbid you to turn my office into
a kitchen and a common eating-house; but you must leave your work the
very moment my back is turned."
"Is this the girl," asked von Essling, "who enjoys a position of trust?"
"I have been mistaken in her," said Rosencrantz. "There can be no doubt
as to that. Where is my attache-case?" he demanded. "Where have you
put the leather box?"
At these words, it seemed to Jimmy that his heart ceased to beat. In
the ordinary course of events, he would have stepped forth boldly, to
share with Peggy the consequence of their joint guilt. As it was, with
this colossal secret on his mind, and knowing full well that his right
foot was resting on the very leather box in question, he was petrified
by fear.
At times of extreme nervous tension, the senses are frequently acute.
Though Peggy's frightened voice came in little above a whisper, Jimmy
was able to hear her words with terrible distinctness.
"It is here, in the cupboard," she said. "I will get it--now."
CHAPTER IV--Shadowed
Peggy Wade was an American--which is the same thing as saying that she
was possessed of considerable presence of mind. In the climax that now
took place, she might easily have lost her head, instead of which she
did all that was within her power to avert calamity.
She approached the cupboard door and opened it. Fortunately, the hinges
were towards the centre of the room, where the three men stood together.
Rosencrantz and his companions could neither see into the cupboard nor
observe the look of intense alarm that came into the girl's face, the
moment she found herself confronted by Jimmy Burke.
She mastered herself in an instant. As quick as thought, Jimmy thrust
the leather box into her hand; at which she turned quickly, and closed
the door. For the time being, at least, the situation was saved.
"You have not yet told me," said Rosencrantz, in the assured tones of an
inveterate bully, "why you dared to disobey my orders?"
Peggy's thoughts were still with Jimmy. Though she knew nothing of the
colossal plot which had just come to light, she trembled to think of
what the consequences would be, should the boy be discovered. She
answered timidly, in a voice so low as to be hardly audible.
"I have no excuse," she said.
Rosencrantz gave vent to a grunt.
"I should think not," said he, with a quick shrug of the shoulders. "And
where's that rascal of a boy?"
Peggy could not answer. For a moment, she thought it was best to tell a
deliberate lie, and have done with it; and then, she found she could
not. She just stood quite still and silent, unable to lift her eyes
from the floor--a very figure of guilt.
Rudolf Stork was a man upon whom little or nothing was lost. He had the
eyes of a lynx. He was one whose very liberty, perhaps, depended upon
his powers of observation, his memory and his wits. Without a word, he
turned upon his heel, in three strides crossed the room, and flung wide
open the cupboard door.
And there stood Jimmy Burke, his head half lowered, his face white as a
sheet. He took two slow steps forward towards the centre of the room
where the three men stood regarding him in amazement, and then stopped
dead, apparently afraid to look about him.
Rosencrantz drew in a deep breath, as a man does who is about to take a
plunge into ice-cold water. Von Essling let out an oath in his own
language, as he drummed with his fingers upon the silver knob of a stout
malacca cane. As for Stork, his hand went quickly to his hip-pocket,
and a small nickel-plated revolver glittered in the light.
"Eavesdropping!" cried Rosencrantz. "An eavesdropper--by all that's
wonderful!"
"Do you realize what this means?" exclaimed the Baron, gesticulating
wildly with a hand. "There's danger here! This boy must have overheard
every word we said. The result may be disastrous."
Stork crouched like a tiger. The expression upon the man's face was
terrible. Slowly, he raised his revolver at arm's length, directing the
muzzle straight at Jimmy's heart.
"There's only one way," said he. "It's not pleasant, but I'll do it."
Beyond doubt, he would have fired, had not the Baron seized his wrist.
"Do nothing foolish!" he exclaimed. "You forget the girl. There's a
witness--in the girl!"
Stork lowered his revolver, turned slowly, and stared hard at Peggy, who
quailed before the ferocity of those pale, cat-like eyes.
Rosencrantz, who was a coward at heart, had no desire to see murder done
on his own premises; he had never bargained for that. Since matters had
already gone too far, and seeing some explanation was necessary, he did
his best to laugh it off.
"Enough, my friend!" he cried. "That is enough. You desired to
frighten him, and have done so. See, the boy is trembling. It will
teach him a lesson to the very end of his life."
This was not true; but, still, it was good enough to pass, to act as a
shield for Rudolf Stork. Von Essling had not yet recovered his presence
of mind; indeed, he was still so put out he could not stand still, but,
tucking his malacca cane under his arm, set to pacing backwards and
forwards in the room.
"This is serious," he muttered; "terribly serious." Then he pulled up
suddenly in front of Jimmy, whom he regarded steadfastly, looking the
boy up and down, from head to foot.
"It may be all right," said he at last, with something that was not far
from a sigh of relief. "Fortunately the boy is young. And yet," he
added, "I cannot think why he hid himself. It is all a mystery."
"I think," said Rosencrantz, "I can explain. He was there by chance. He
did not know that I intended to return to the office, and having
deliberately disobeyed my orders, he had a natural desire to avoid me."
The Baron von Essling shrugged his shoulders. Rosencrantz turned
sharply upon Jimmy and the girl, who now stood side by side.
"You will both leave this place at once," said he, "and you will not
return. Understand, I never wish to see your faces again."
At that, he went to the door and threw it open, making a motion of the
hand for them to go.
They were about to leave, when Stork seized Jimmy roughly by a shoulder.
He was a strong man, as the boy could tell from the iron grip that held
him as if he were in a vice.
"Wait a bit," said he. "Easy now. We'd be blind fools to let you go
like that. Listen here, my boy, and let what I've got to say sink into
your memory. Breathe so much as a single word to any living soul of
what you've heard to-night, and I'll find it out. You may set your mind
at rest on that. I'm not a mild man, nor a plaster saint; some folk
might say that sometimes I'm a little quick of temper. At any rate, I
tell you this: I'll stick at nothing, if you neglect the advice I give
you gratis. So, just beware, take warning; mum's the word."
And at that, he sent Jimmy flying headlong through the doorway.
As the boy recovered his balance--and indeed, he only just saved himself
from stretching his length upon the floor--he found Peggy at his side,
with a white face and trembling lips, and her hands clasped together.
"Oh, come," she cried, "we must go away from here. Jimmy, I never knew
that I could be so frightened." Somehow she was breathless.
Very quickly, side by side, they ran down flight after flight of steps,
until, at last, they found themselves upon the sidewalk of the famous
street that traverses New York from end to end. A little after, they
stood together at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Broadway.
It was night, and the great city was alive. The people were thronging
to the theatres; the street-cars were crowded, their bells clanging
incessantly; news-boys raced across the street. Broadway was a blaze of
light; thousands of advertisements, brilliantly illumined with all the
colours of the rainbow, caught the eye in all directions. Peggy drew
near to Jimmy, and took his arm and pressed it.
"Whatever happened, Jimmy?" she asked. "I'm kind of dazed. I don't
really understand."
"I don't know that I do," said the boy. "Even now, I can't believe that
it wasn't all a dream."
For a little time, they walked along in silence. It was Peggy who spoke
again.
"You had better come back with me," she said. "I must tell Aunt Marion
I've been dismissed. Somehow I don't think we ought to leave each other
now."
There was another pause; and then Peggy gave a shudder.
"That man was terrible," she said. "I can see him now. Do you know,
Jimmy, he meant to kill you."
The boy laughed. Now that he was quit of the atmosphere of that room
wherein had been disclosed the terrible, almost overpowering plot that
was to shake to its very foundations the whole civilized world, it was
easy enough to laugh. For all that, his boyish confidence in himself
had not yet wholly returned. Quite apart from the fact that his life
had been threatened, he had received a shock from which he was not
likely to recover for some time to come.
It was quite late when they arrived at Peggy's home in Hoboken, where
they found Peggy's aunt, Miss Daintree, laying the table for supper.
In a few brief words, Peggy told her aunt as much as she knew of what
had happened; whereat Aunt Marion expressed neither surprise nor
disappointment. She listened with a sweet smile, and rewarded Peggy
with a kiss, saying that she was more glad than sorry, since the firm of
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had never been to her liking. Besides, as
she pointed out, Peggy was worth a great deal more than they paid her.
There were thousands of chances for a good stenographer in New York, so
after all Peggy had no cause to despair.
Jimmy stayed to supper; but, despite the fact that both he and Peggy had
been deprived of the illicit joys of a "picnic," he had neither any
appetite nor any wish to talk, but remained pensive and grave as a
judge.
Afterwards, seated before the fire with those two women, one on either
side, he told the whole truth, in defiance of Rudolf Stork. And that
was surely a strange audience to listen to a story of such world-wide
dimensions, fraught with such unheard-of possibilities. The one was a
woman who had already reached middle age, whose hair was touched with
grey, whose life had been spent for the most part in those simple,
sunlit joys which are God's gift to the really good. And the other was
a girl who might still have been at school.
They listened in still amazement, finding it all not easy to believe.
And when Jimmy had come to the end of his narrative, and his face was
flushed and his eyes bright, he looked to Aunt Marion, as the
eldest--and presumedly the wisest--for some practical advice. But that
kind-hearted, loving lady knew, perhaps, even less of the world than he.
She thought at first that it would be best to go at once to the police;
but, when Jimmy suggested that the New York police were notoriously
corrupt, she agreed that, perhaps, the British consul was a more
suitable person. Accordingly, after a long discussion, it was arranged
that Jimmy and Peggy should go together to that gentleman's office the
following day.
That night, the boy slept on a sofa; but Aunt Marion had made him
promise that he would remain with them, as their guest, until he had
obtained some new employment. There was a box-room which she could
easily convert into a bedroom. She knew Jimmy well, and loved the boy;
she even knew the story of "Swiftsure Burke." She knew that Jimmy was
quite penniless, and would have to make his own way in the world; and
she was anxious to do all she could to help him.
Jimmy spent the following morning bringing the few worldly goods he
possessed from his old lodgings in New York itself to the other side of
the harbour. He had enough money at home to pay the week's rent he
owed, and the cab fare and the ferry-boat. And when he had done that,
he found himself with nothing in the world--but "Swiftsure Burke's"
lucky, dented sixpence.
At about three o'clock in the afternoon, the boy and girl sallied forth
together, to interview the British consul. They had an exceedingly
vague notion of what they were going to say to that all-important
personage when they met him; they had not even a very exact idea as to
what the duties of a consul were. None the less, they were quite
convinced that he would explain the whole affair.
As it turned out, the consul was on a holiday--as his Britannic
Majesty's consuls frequently are. However, they were shown into the
presence of a certain Mr. Ridgeway, who introduced himself as the
consul's private secretary.
This Mr. Ridgeway listened to the boy's story with an expression of
mingled astonishment and disgust. At one moment, he was really alarmed;
at the next, he was perfectly convinced that the whole thing was a hoax.
But, towards the end, when Jimmy became very excited, and Peggy wrung
her hands, he could scarcely fail to see that the boy was terribly in
earnest. Moreover, he knew the Baron von Essling by reputation--which
reputation was certainly not of the best. Still, he could hardly bring
himself to believe either that such a cold-blooded, deliberate plot
really did exist, or that a military attache could so abuse a position
of the greatest trust.
He promised, however, to tell the whole story to the consul when he
returned, and pointed out that in due course, no doubt, the Foreign
Office would be informed. In the meantime, Jimmy was to keep his eyes
open and his mouth shut. On no account whatsoever was he to say a word
to any one of what he knew.
The boy was determined to remember this advice, which--strangely
enough--coincided with that of Rudolf Stork. As he came down the front
doorsteps of the consulate, though he was out of work and practically a
pauper, though he was conscious of the fact that he was living on the
charity of others who could not afford to support him and upon whom he
had no claim, he walked with a lighter tread than ever in his life
before. He could not but feel proud of the fact that, for some
mysterious reason, he was, indeed, a person of importance.
A man was leaning against the railings, both hands thrust deep in his
trousers pockets, a battered hat jammed over his eyes--one of the
inevitable loafers who are to be found in the streets of every city in
the world. As Jimmy reached the bottom step, this man looked at him
sharply from over his shoulder, and then slouched away.
The boy stood stock still, staring after the man with the battered hat,
with parted lips and widely opened eyes. He did not speak or move,
until Peggy suddenly touched his arm.
"Did you see that man?" he whispered.
"What is it?" Peggy exclaimed. "What's the matter, Jimmy?"
Jimmy pointed to the receding figure which just then disappeared quite
suddenly round a corner.
"That man," said he, "was Rudolf Stork. And he knows I saw him."
CHAPTER V--Dropping the Pilot
If we put away ghosts and such like--in which nobody nowadays
believes--there is, perhaps, no more unpleasant experience in the world
than to be shadowed. The fact that one's footsteps are dogged
eternally, that at every sudden corner or darkened by-way a hidden foe
may lurk, is the kind of thing that is well calculated to test the
strongest nerves.
Stork, in his own words, was a man who would stick at nothing--a
desperate blade who, no doubt, had already more than one crime upon his
conscience. Peggy was terrified; and though Jimmy did his best to show
a bold front, his heart was filled with misgivings.
Determined to get back to Hoboken as soon as possible, they quickened
their footsteps, crossing the great avenues that traverse the entire
length of this most wonderful of modern cities.
As all Yankees know, the offices of an exceedingly influential newspaper
are situated in Fifth Avenue, which is the main thoroughfare of New
York; and as the boy and girl passed the entrance to this enormous block
of buildings, they were almost swept from the pavement by a crowd of
news-boys who came rushing round a corner, shouting themselves hoarse,
like a party of dancing Dervishes or Bashi-bazouks. In point of fact,
they made so much noise among themselves that it was quite impossible to
understand a single word they said, though it was manifest that some
news had just come to hand of startling importance.
At that moment, a poster was pasted up in one of the windows on the
ground floor, which contained the following announcement--
TERRIBLE TRAGEDY IN EUROPE
AUSTRIAN ARCHDUKE AND DUCHESS
MURDERED BY SERVIANS
Peggy and Jimmy stopped to read the notice, which--it must be
confessed--conveyed little or nothing to either of them. They could not
in any way associate the murder of the heir to the throne of Austria
with the colossal plot that von Essling had disclosed in the presence of
Rosencrantz and Rudolf Stork. They did not realize that this was the
spark that was destined to spread, within the space of a few short
weeks, into an almost universal conflagration; that the curtain had been
rung up upon the greatest drama the world had ever known.
It was during the next few weeks that it gradually became apparent to
the ordinary man in the street that the situation was serious. Nearly
all that time Jimmy was looking about him for some new employment. Peggy
had been almost immediately successful. She had secured quite a
well-paid position with a large firm of shipping agents: Jason, Stileman
and May, a British company whose house-flag is to be found on every
ocean in the world.
Jimmy, on the other hand, had no such luck; and indeed, he had not
Peggy's qualifications. Week after week, he roamed the streets of New
York, looking for work, and every night returned to Hoboken, crestfallen
and disappointed. Though he had come to regard Peggy and Aunt Marion as
his own relations, he was still the grandson of "Swiftsure Burke," and
found his position in one sense insupportable. Though he was treated
with the utmost kindness, he was never quite able to forget that he was
living upon the charity of those who were pressed for money themselves.
Finally, he resolved to work with his hands; and seeing a notice to the
effect that stevedores and dock-labourers were wanted, he applied for
work in the docks, and was engaged on the spot, at a rate of pay
which--to his surprise--greatly exceeded that which he had received from
Rosencrantz.
Neither was his work particularly hard or uncongenial. All he had to do
was to manipulate a large hydraulic crane, by means of which cargo was
hoisted into the ships. For a week or so, he was happier than he had
ever been in his life. He continued to live with Peggy and Aunt Marion,
whom he had persuaded to accept payment for his board and lodging.
Indeed, he soon came to regard them as mother and sister; Peggy and he
were greater inseparables than ever. Also, he was man enough not to be
ashamed of his canvas working suit and oily hands. He was earning an
honest living; his work kept him out in the open air, and the ships
which went forth every day to all the seven seas, that flew the ensigns
of every country in the world, appealed to his imagination and carried
his thoughts back to the land of his birth which he could only just
remember.
And then, the War broke out; Europe burst suddenly into flame. For days
the tension had been extreme. Austria, in spite of the protestations of
every country in Europe, with the sole exception of the German Empire,
was determined to carry out a kind of punitive expedition against
Servia.
It was not only the sacred duty of the Czar to protect Slav interests,
it was of vital importance to Russia that no Germanic power should gain
control of the Dardanelles; and hence, as a purely precautionary measure
Russia was forced to mobilize.
At that the German Empire gathered its armies together, which made it
incumbent upon France to hold to her alliance, to be prepared to stand
side by side with her great Eastern ally. Germany knew quite well what
the result would be, when she urged Austria to take reprisals. It is
unbelievable that Austria would have acted without the assurance of
German support. Germany was resolved that a purely local question,
relating to the independence of the Kingdom of Servia, which might
easily have been settled in a friendly manner, should be made the excuse
for a trial of her own gigantic strength, for an attempt to realize
"World-Power."
She wanted this for three reasons: Firstly, she recognized that she
could not maintain indefinitely the continued cost of her armaments and
fleet without internal troubles sooner or later arising; secondly, she
had supreme confidence in herself, she knew that she was prepared, and
that no other nation was; and thirdly, it was only by conquest that she
could gain the opportunities for national expansion she desired. If any
further proof be needed that the guilt of the Great War lies upon the
rulers of the German Empire, it is to be found in the fact that
when--mainly through the efforts of His Majesty King George, the Czar of
Russia and Sir Edward Grey--both Austria and Russia were ready to do
their best to come to some agreement, Germany bluntly replied that the
matter had gone too far, that the die was cast, and her troops--already
on the march--could not be called back. The great machinery of War had
been set in motion.
And as if this had not been in itself a sufficient outrage upon the
claims of civilization, the German armies, without warning or excuse,
swept down upon poor, unhappy Belgium, and the whole world stood aghast
at atrocities which put to shame even the campaigns of Tamerlane and
Jenghiz Khan. In such circumstances as these, if England had stood
apart, the British Empire would have crumbled to the dust. There would
not have been a right-thinking, honest roan, worthy of the name of
Briton, who would not have disowned his Motherland for very shame. In
defence of Belgium, in defence of the sacred right of treaties, in
defence of our own honour, our homes and the land we love, we took up
the sword--which shall not be laid down until Belgium is avenged, and a
great and growing menace to the peace and prosperity of Europe has been
blotted out, once and for all.
These things were understood by the majority of people in America, as in
every other neutral state in the world--with the possible exception of
Sweden.
As for Jimmy Burke, working a good ten hours a day in the New York
docks, he yearned to board one of the many steamers flying the red
ensign of England, to sail to his native land. As the grandson of
"Swiftsure Burke" he longed to fight for England--a longing that was
almost irresistible during the first weeks of the War, when it seemed
that nothing could save Paris from the fate of '70.
Aunt Marion and Peggy were no less anxious to help; there are noble
parts for women to play in war. It so happened that at one time Miss
Daintree had been a hospital nurse; and she was now resolved to return
to her old profession. Peggy, too, began to attend evening classes at a
hospital, and very soon displayed a natural aptitude for nursing--a
combination of quickness, sympathy and presence of mind.
In all probability, Jimmy would have eventually worked his way to
Canada, and joined the loyal and splendid forces of the Dominion, but
for the incident narrated below, which altered the course of his life in
a very unexpected and violent manner. There is no question as to the
motive that led to the outrage: the boy was in possession of extremely
valuable information; and besides, he had deliberately neglected Stork's
advice.
One night, when a ship, timed to sail at daybreak, had not taken on all
her cargo until past ten o'clock, and Jimmy was on his way home through
a narrow, and somewhat darkened street, he suddenly became conscious of
footsteps close behind him.
There was that in the sound that made him start and look back in haste.
Some one was coming upon him rapidly and with stealth--some one who was
wearing india-rubber shoes.
The boy sprang aside--too late. He was seized roughly by the throat,
and held at arm's length, whilst a gruff voice let out, "I've got you!"
[Illustration: THE BOY SPRANG ASIDE TOO LATE. HE WAS SEIZED ROUGHLY BY
THE THROAT.]]
Looking up, he recognized in the dim light the face of Rudolf Stork, an
expression of extreme ferocity stamped upon every feature.
Afterwards, Jimmy remembered the man's words quite well, just as clearly
as one often remembers on waking one's last thoughts before falling
asleep.
"You defy me!" he muttered. "You'll not live to do it again."
At that, he raised his right hand, in which was something like a bar of
iron, and Jimmy Burke remembered nothing more; the conscious part of him
vanished, as in a flash, and left him in a weird world of darkness,
nothingness and silence.
When he came to his senses, he was in bed; Aunt Marion was bending over
him, and Peggy was near at hand. There were bandages about his head.
Also, something was the matter with his eyes; for, before he could
remember where he was, or who Peggy and Aunt Marion were, his eyes began
to ache, and he was obliged to close them.
According to the doctor, it was a miracle that Jimmy had escaped with
his life. He had been dealt a shattering blow with some blunt
instrument; he had not been found for three hours, when he was picked up
by a labouring man on his way to his work in the small hours of the
morning. Since there was no hospital near at hand this man had carried
the unconscious boy to his own address which he had found in a note-book
in the pocket of Jimmy's coat.
Peggy had immediately hastened for a doctor; and the police were
informed of the identity of Rudolf Stork. For days Jimmy was delirious;
and had it not been for good nursing, he could never have pulled
through.
Those critical days, when the boy's life was in danger and his mind
adrift, were followed by weeks of convalescence. And finally, when he
was quite well again, he was so reduced in strength that it was
altogether out of the question that he should think of returning to
work.
And when he did try to go back to his former employment at the docks, he
found that his place had been filled by another. Since the outbreak of
the war, trade had been on the ebb, and work was harder than ever to
find.
There followed another period of enforced idleness. And it was now
winter; and grey, sunless skies, bitter winds, and constant rain and
sleet, have, at the best of times, a sombre effect upon the spirits.
The boy became utterly depressed. He felt that he had no right to go on
living with Aunt Marion and Peggy, though both repeatedly assured him
that there was no need for him to worry. He felt that he was
approaching manhood, and it was a man's duty to work. This inactivity
was all the harder to bear, because the Great War was still raging with
unabated fury.
At last, one evening, as he was wending his way home through Central
Park, after another unsuccessful day, he decided to take his destiny
into his own hands, to take a plunge into the future, which might be
fortunate or fatal, but which in any case would be decisive.
He knew quite well that what he proposed to do was wrong. He had often
prayed to God for help, but that night he prayed to be forgiven.
That evening he opened a small box of tools which his father had given
him years ago, and taking out a steel file, set to work on "Swiftsure
Burke's" lucky sixpence, which he deliberately filed in half.
That took him the best part of half an hour; and it was almost as great
a business to punch a hole through each separate half. He was not quite
sure where he had heard of the old, time-worn superstition of dividing a
lucky sixpence. Perhaps his father and mother had done something of the
kind, in the days when they were young.
He wrapped up a few of his most necessary belongings in a towel; and
when he had done that he went downstairs and found Peggy in the
sitting-room. Aunt Marion had gone to bed.
"Peggy," said he, "I'm going away."
"Going away!" she repeated. "Where?"
"I'm going right away. I can't stay here idle any longer. I'm going to
try to do my duty."
She came towards him, and a little nervously laid a hand upon his arm.
"Jimmy," she said, "you're not serious, are you?"
It took him quite a long time to convince her that he was really in
earnest; then, without another word, she gave him what he asked for--a
bottle of water and a loaf of bread. This he put into his bundle; and
then it was that he produced the two halves of the dented, lucky
sixpence, which had saved the life of the Admiral.
What he had to say he said altogether clumsily, and even blushed as he
said it. He explained that he wanted to give her something by which she
would always remember him, and he thought half his lucky sixpence might
meet the case; indeed, it was all he had. Before he had finished
speaking there were tears in Peggy's eyes.
She did not endeavour to dissuade him from going. But she told him that
Aunt Marion would never forget it, if he went away without seeing her.
Jimmy, however, felt that he had not sufficient moral courage to resist
further persuasions, and in this case it was kinder to be cruel.
It was very late when he let himself out, and set off walking rapidly in
the direction of the docks. Peggy did not sleep that night; hour after
hour, she lay awake, her pillow wetted with tears, gripping tightly in
her hand her half of the Admiral's sixpence.
Jimmy knew his way about New York harbour. He knew where the ships were
moored, and how to elude the night-watchmen and the dockyard police. He
had tried, time and again, to work his way to England, as a cabin boy or
a steerage hand, and had failed. There was no other way but this.
Stealthily, he made his way along the wharves, creeping in and out among
bales and boxes of cargo. A large tramp steamer, the "Harlech," which
belonged to Jason, Stileman and May, was under steam, bound for
Portsmouth, due to sail some time the following day.
From behind a great crane, similar to that at which he himself had once
been wont to work, Jimmy took stock of the "Harlech." Her after-gangway
was lowered, a lantern suspended at the top. The night-watchman
patrolled the main deck, pausing now and again to relight his pipe.
Presently, the man went forward to the forecastle; and Jimmy seizing his
opportunity, slipped up the gangway, crossed the after-well deck, and
tumbled down the hatch.
It was a sheer drop of ten feet at least. Luckily for the boy, he fell
upon soft bags of oats. Scrambling to his feet, he passed onward,
stumbling repeatedly, for the hold was so dark he could not see a yard
before him.
More by good luck than by good management, he came upon the lower
hatchway, which connected with the hold beneath. Lowering himself with
the utmost care, he found a firm footing upon a great pile of boxes; and
passing over these, he found a place where he could sit down and where
there was little chance that he would be discovered. There, he waited
nearly twenty-four hours, during which time he had nothing to eat but
his loaf of bread, whilst he ran a great risk of his presence being
detected, for the time of sailing was put off until late on the
following night.
There were rats in the hold, but he did not mind them in the least. All
that he cared about was that he should remain undiscovered until the
ship was well out at sea. He had no wish to be put ashore at Cape Race
or Halifax.
Soon after sunrise, he heard the feet of men moving on the deck above,
and this continued throughout the day, whilst the winches rattled and
groaned. Fortunately for him, they were working on the forward holds,
and though the after-hatches were still open, there was apparently no
more cargo for that part of the ship. All this time the engines were
throbbing violently. There was a kind of continuous vibration
throughout the length and breadth of the ship which continued far into
the night. It must have been almost ten o'clock, when suddenly a voice
rang out--the voice of a man whom Jimmy was destined to know, whom he
was to learn to honour and admire. It was the voice of Captain Crouch.
"Mr. Dawes," came the voice, "all hands aboard?"
"All aboard, sir."
"Then man the windlass, and let her go. We're mighty late as it is."
A moment later, Jimmy heard the bell ring in the engine-room and the
"Harlech" was under way.
She steamed slowly out of New York harbour, passing Liberty Island and
the forts. Jimmy--though he could see nothing but the outline of great
packing-cases and boxes, dimly visible in the half-light that crept down
through the open hatchway--pictured in his imagination the great
sky-scrapers around Wall Street, and the towering buildings in Madison
Square, fading gradually out of sight in the bright moonshine that
flooded New York harbour.
From time to time, the bell rang in the engine-room; and then, the
"Harlech" slowed down to drop the pilot. And Jimmy Burke knew that he,
too, had dropped the pilot on the long voyage of life.
His heart was beating rapidly in excitement and vague anticipation. The
Past had not been altogether happy. The Future was in the clouds.
And then, once again, came the voice of Captain Crouch.
"Mr. Dawes, close that after-hatch."
Jimmy heard the men at work under the boatswain on the deck above; and
then, all was utter darkness and silence. The hatch had been battened
down.
A little after, the "Harlech" took on a roll, as she struck the broad
Atlantic, and took up her course for the Fastnet on the south coast of
Ireland, nearly three thousand miles away. The grandson of "Swiftsure
Burke" was bound for the shores of the Motherland which he could only
just remember, and the Great War that thundered in the East.
CHAPTER VI--Captain Crouch
At about ten o'clock in the morning of the day the "Harlech" sailed,
whilst Jimmy Burke lay in hiding in the hold among the packing-cases and
boxes of cargo, Captain Crouch was ushered into the offices of Jason,
Stileman and May.
Now, those who know nothing of Captain Crouch are unacquainted with one
of the most singular personalities it were possible to imagine. He knew
the world as few men know it, from Yokohama to Valparaiso, from Hudson
Bay to Hobart. Indeed, his strange and varied experiences would fill a
book, which could certainly never be published at less than a guinea
net.
As a boy, he had sold newspapers in the crowded streets of London. From
that he had risen to command a merchant ship. He had been shipwrecked
time and again. He had been shot in the right eye with a poisoned
arrow, somewhere at the back-of-beyond on the West Coast of Africa,
which is called "The White Man's Grave." He had had a foot bitten off
by a shark in the Bay of Fernando Po. And yet, in spite of his cork
foot and his glass eye, he was more than a match for most men. Though he
was not much more than five feet four in height, he was as wiry as a
ferret, and as quick in all his movements. He feared no man, and was a
rifle and revolver shot who seldom missed his mark. He had a threefold
reputation: he was one of the most intrepid explorers in the world; he
had shot tigers in the Sunderbunds and rogue-elephants in the forests of
the Congo. As a master mariner, he had sailed the seven seas for the
greater part of his life, was a skilful navigator, and one who could
keep his head in an emergency.
Such a man was Crouch. Those who have read of his doings elsewhere know
that, on a former occasion, he penetrated to the reaches of the Hidden
River, in the unexplored valley of the Kasai, and there unearthed both a
modern slave-trader and a ruby mine. It was also Captain Crouch who
ventured into the trackless region of the Aruwimi, in search of Edward
Harden, the lost explorer, of whom nothing had been heard for four
years; and how he succeeded in his quest, and all the adventures that
befell him, have been written of elsewhere.
In fact, Crouch was a man to whom adventure was as the very breath of
his nostrils; the spirit of adventure flowed in the blood of his veins.
He sought perilous enterprises because his idea of life was danger,
because he understood that in this world the main duty of man was to
accomplish. And Crouch accomplished much. He was one of the pioneers
of civilization, one of those who go before the flag that trade is said
to follow. He was as much out of his element in a comfortable armchair
before a winter's fireside, as a backwoodsman in a boudoir. He belonged
to the life of the open air, of the free and rolling sea. Indeed, it may
even be said that his little, shrunk and wizened figure was a kind of
stormy petrel: his very presence was a certain signal that danger and
adventure were at hand.
And thus, it is hardly likely, on the face of things, that at the
outbreak of the Great War such a man would remain idle for long. Even
had he not sought employment of his own free will, there were those who
knew of him by reputation, who were only too eager to enlist his
services.
He had been found in London, at the Explorers' Club in Bond Street,
which is a great place of a winter's evening, where you may hear tales
which are as wonderful as they are true. He had been asked to leave at
once for New York, on a certain dangerous mission. He had been given
five minutes in which to make up his mind; and that was exactly four
minutes and fifty-nine seconds longer than he required.
He arrived in New York in a sailor's jacket, with brass buttons which
would have been none the worse for a polish. He wore a flaming red tie,
and gum boots such as seamen wear when the decks are running with salt
water and the funnels white with foam. His face was as wrinkled as a
date, the colour of tan, beaten for years by sun and wind and rain. His
nose was large, and hooked like an eagle's. He had a small moustache,
and beneath his underlip a little imperial beard, which he was wont to
tug whenever he was vexed or deep in thought. As he entered the
spacious offices of Jason, Stileman and May, he carried in his right
hand a seaman's kit-bag, and in the other, a small mahogany box about
six inches long.
He was greeted by Peggy Wade.
"Captain Crouch?" she asked.
"Miss," said he, "the same."
"Mr. Jason is expecting you," said Peggy. "Will you be so good as to
wait?"
Crouch regarded Peggy. The girl--whose own custom it was to look people
straight in the face--found the penetrating and unflinching stare of
Captain Crouch a somewhat trying ordeal.
"You're a well-spoken lass," said he, at last, "and well looking, too.
Come, stay there a bit," he added, seeing that Peggy made as if to go;
"stay there a bit, my girl. I'll polish up the glass eye, and have a
better look at you."
And at that, to Peggy's horror and consternation, Crouch slipped out his
glass eye, threw it up in the air and caught it, as though it had been a
marble, and then proceeded to polish it violently on the shiny sleeve of
his coat.
That done, he put it back again in the socket, and looked at Peggy even
harder than before.
"Seems fair," said he. "You're a lass after my own heart; neat, trim
and ship-shape. I've half a mind to adopt you."
Peggy could not restrain a smile.
"I don't know," she said, "that I ever exactly wished to be adopted."
Crouch looked thoroughly amazed.
"Why, my girl," said he, quite slowly, shaking his head in a doleful
manner, "you've no right notion what kind of man I am. I could tell you
stories that would make that curly hair of yours stand right up on end,
like the bristles on the neck of a pig. And maybe, some day, p'raps,
you'd learn to love me--like a father."
To speak the truth, Peggy was by now a little frightened. In all of her
somewhat limited experience, she had never come across such an
extraordinary and eccentric individual. She knew nothing then of
Crouch's iron will and dauntless courage; she knew nothing of his deeds
upon the Congo or Aruwimi. She had more than a suspicion that the
little sea-captain was not quite right in the head.
"I think," she said, "I had better tell Mr. Jason you are here."
"No haste," said Crouch. "My cargo won't be aboard till daybreak
to-morrow morning, and I reckon all he has got to say to me won't take
above ten minutes."
None the less, Peggy thought it advisable to announce the little
sea-captain's arrival to Mr. Jason, Junior, the New York agent, and a
nephew of the senior partner of the firm. Mr. Jason, who just then was
busy at the telephone, replied that he would see Captain Crouch in a
minute, and Peggy returned to the waiting-room.
The following incident--though of little value in itself--goes a long
way to prove that Captain Crouch was both an observant man upon whom
little or nothing was lost, whose single eye was as good as most men's
two, and one who was by no means devoid of sentiment and consideration
for others.
"My lass," said he, the moment Peggy entered, "a halved sixpence is a
lover's token. Who gave it you?"
At first, Peggy was inclined to resent this blunt allusion, which she
regarded as a little too personal. Only the night before, she had bade
farewell to Jimmy, and even then tears were not so far from her eyes.
She had hung her half of the lucky sixpence around her neck on a little
chain; and she saw no reason why she should confide her innermost
feelings to Captain Crouch, who, after all, was a stranger.
Now, this--as we have said--to the everlasting credit of the little,
wizened captain: somewhere beneath his hardened visage, his rough
manners and his almost violent way of talking, there was a heart as soft
as a woman's. He saw, at once, that Peggy's feelings had been hurt,
that he had touched a tender chord, and he did his best to make amends.
When he spoke again, it was in a voice quite different, much softer and
full of sympathy.
"I've no wish, my lass," said he, "to pry into your secrets. I only
asked, because I took a kind of fancy to you, the moment I saw you; and
that, as a general rule, is not my way with women. I'm a single man.
I've never married for two reasons: first, no one wanted to marry me;
second, I never wanted to. I can only remember two women in my life
with whom--as I might say--I was ever on speaking terms. One was my
landlady in Pimlico, who thought she knew more about cooking than I did;
and the other was an old negress, black as a lump of charcoal, who did
my washing at Sierra Leone. She weighed seventeen stone, and was about
as broad as an oil-tank steamer in the Bosphorus. So if I've hurt your
feelings, miss, you must forgive a rough sea-faring man, who has had his
port-light put out by a poisoned arrow, and who doesn't know any
better."
And at that, he held out a hand so eagerly and frankly that Peggy could
not refrain from taking it.
She experienced then, for the first time, what manner of a man was
Captain Crouch--if a shake of the hand counts for anything, as it is
generally thought to do. Indeed, he gripped her hand so tightly that
she was obliged to wince; and noticing that, he forthwith apologized, by
telling her once again that he was an old sea-dog more used to
marling-spikes than lassies.
"I'm sorry," said Peggy, "I was so foolish as to think you too
inquisitive."
"Say no more," said Crouch.
"But, I will," she took him up. "There's no reason why you shouldn't
know, for this sixpence once belonged to a sailor."
"I know the breed," said Crouch, "and just because he was a sailor, I
guarantee he never kept it long."
Peggy laughed aloud, and shook her head.
"He kept it many years," she answered, "for this lucky sixpence once
saved his life. You can see for yourself," she went on, "it is dented
and covered with lead from a bullet. It belonged to an Admiral, whose
name was 'Swiftsure Burke.'"
Captain Crouch drove the fist of one hand into the palm of the other.
"Known throughout the Navy," he exclaimed, "and to every right-thinking
sailor that ever sailed the ocean who takes a pride in the job! Admiral
'Swiftsure Burke' of Sebastopol. Lass, you've got a jewel in that lucky
sixpence that I wouldn't exchange for a diamond as big as a monkey-nut.
Stick to it, and you'll come to no harm. It's what, in a manner of
speaking, you might call a talisman. It'll protect you from fire,
shipwreck, sudden death and the Income Tax. You're in luck's way, my
girl."
Now Captain Crouch was a man who knew that God alone could give good
fortune, or permit evil to fall upon one, but he had all a sailor's
superstition and belief in omens and talismans, and was quite sincere in
what he said to Peggy.
It was then that the door of the inner office was thrown open, and Mr.
Jason, Junior, entered the room. He was a man who could not have been
more than thirty-four years of age, clean-shaven and a little
prematurely bald. He was immaculately dressed, a small orchid in his
buttonhole and a pair of exceedingly shiny patent leather boots making
him look as if he had just come out of a bandbox.
"Captain Crouch," said he, coming forward, and holding out a hand, "I'm
delighted to see you. I have a very important matter to discuss. Miss
Wade," he added, turning to Peggy, "if any one else calls, you will say
I am engaged."
At that, he conducted Captain Crouch into his office, and was careful to
close the door.
Crouch seated himself in a comfortable chair. As for Mr. Jason, he
walked backwards and forwards from the hearthrug to the writing-desk,
with the restless activity of a man who has something on his mind.
"Captain Crouch," he repeated, speaking abruptly, "I can scarcely
exaggerate the extremely perilous nature of the task I have undertaken.
I sent for you, because I know no other man to whom I would care to
entrust so great a responsibility."
Crouch yawned, and thrusting a hand into one of his coat pockets,
produced a tobacco-pouch, made of snake-skin, and about as large as a
letter-case.
"Mr. Jason," said he, "with your permission, I'll light a pipe. Maybe,
you've no objection to Bull's Eye Shag. There's some people that don't
hold with it, but I don't suppose that would apply to you."
Now, Mr. Jason knew Crouch's tobacco of old, and he knew that it was
powerful and pungent enough to fumigate anything from an isolation
hospital to a greenhouse. It was a brand of tobacco--if the truth be
told--for which there was no great demand, since he who smoked it
required the digestive organs of an ostrich. Its aroma would cling to a
bare room for days. The path of Captain Crouch through this populous
and sinful world was strewn with dead flies, wasps and beetles which had
been poisoned by the fumes of his tobacco.
Accordingly, Mr. Jason--though he gave Crouch full permission to light
his pipe--took the double precaution of opening the window and lighting
one of his strongest cigars. Then, still pacing the room, he fired at
the little sea-captain a series of questions in a quick, nervous voice.
"When will the 'Harlech' be loaded?"
"To-night, sir. Soon after nine."
"With what kind of cargo?"
"You should know that as well as I," said Crouch. "There's a few tons
of oats, a certain amount of machinery, and several cases of rifles."
"Ah," said Mr. Jason.
"I said so," said the other, looking hard at the agent, whose conduct
was rather strange. Mr. Jason repeated over and over again, as if to
himself, the one word "rifles," and was then silent for more than a
minute, puffing vigorously at his cigar.
"I suppose you've heard," said he, at last, "that several German
cruisers and commerce destroyers are abroad on the Atlantic?"
"I've heard tell of it," said Crouch, quite unmoved.
"Exactly. There is the 'Kronprinz Wilhelm' and the 'Koenigsberg,' and
moreover, the 'Karlsruhe' and the 'Dresden.' Also--as, perhaps, you
know--the English Channel and the Irish Sea are said to be swarming with
enemy submarines, sent out from Wilhelmshaven and Kiel. You realize all
that, of course?"
"Seems fair," said Crouch. "I'm ready to take my chance."
"You'll take a greater chance than you think," said Mr. Jason.
"How so, sir?"
"The fact is," said the agent, drawing nearer to the captain, and
speaking in a voice that was little above a whisper; "the fact is, that
although the cases are not marked, there is some reason to suppose that
German agents in New York suspect that the 'Harlech' has a cargo of
small-arms for the British Government."
Crouch whistled softly to himself.
"You mean," said he, "there's a chance that the secret has leaked out.
This place teems with spies."
"I can say no more," said Mr. Jason, "than that we suspect; but, these
times, we can be sure of nothing. It is quite possible that the German
commerce destroyers may be warned, and you will be run down in
mid-ocean. There may even be spies on board."
"If I find one," said Crouch, "I'll know how to deal with him."
"That's not the point," said the other. "Are you willing to take the
risk?"
Captain Crouch got to his feet, carefully knocked out his pipe in the
fire-grate, and then thrust his peaked sailor's cap on to the side of
his head.
"Why not?" said he, at last.
Mr. Jason smiled.
"I thought you wouldn't hesitate."
"Why not?" repeated Crouch. "If those are my orders, I'll do my best to
carry them out, and I'll sight the Needles and take on a pilot in the
Solent, if a sound knowledge of navigation and steam coal can do it."
Mr. Jason held out a hand.
"I'm glad I sent for you," said he. "You will start to-night?"
"We'll be under way," said Crouch, "before eleven, at the latest."
"Then, good-bye--and the best of fortune."
A few minutes later, Captain Crouch, who had just taken an almost
affectionate farewell of Peggy Wade, was stumping on his cork foot along
the Fifth Avenue as if he owned New York.
CHAPTER VII--In the Hold
We know already that Crouch went on board that night, shortly before ten
o'clock, and took over the command of the "Harlech" from Mr. Dawes, the
Chief Officer--a blunt, plain-spoken Yorkshireman, who had run away to
sea at the age of fourteen, and who, like Crouch himself, had worked his
way from the forecastle to the bridge.
Now, Captain Crouch encircled by the atrocious perfume of his famous
Bull's Eye Shag, holding forth upon the subject of his experiences in
various parts of the world, and Captain Crouch upon the bridge or in the
chart-room of the ship that he commanded, were two very different men.
Once he set foot upon the main deck--even the very moment he grasped the
gangway hand-rope--Crouch took upon himself the character of a martinet.
In the very tones of his voice, one was led to understand that his word
was law.
In most things--and in the art of seamanship most of all--Crouch relied
upon no one but himself. He knew his job, and expected others to know
theirs. He maintained an iron discipline, exacting the maximum of work
from every ship's officer and member of the crew, from the cook's mate
(who was not sufficiently intelligent to be trusted with anything else
but the peeling of potatoes) to Mr. Dawes himself.
The first signs of daybreak were faintly visible in the east when the
"Harlech" struck the ocean, where the great billows came rolling
westward across three thousand miles of water, to break in clouds of
foam upon the low-lying shore that extends for miles to the south of
Sandy Hook. Immediately, she took on that well-known corkscrew
motion--which is part roll, part pitch--that finds out the land-lubber
soon enough, and often tests the sea legs of even an old, weather-beaten
sailor.
Now, when a ship does this, he who has ever known the true and inward
meaning of _mal de mer_--which is a polite word for sea-sickness--will
be well advised to keep himself amidships and on deck. And Jimmy Burke
was neither one nor the other.
With the hatchway closed and the engine-room adjacent, the hold had
become quite hot and stuffy. When the bows dipped in the waves and the
white spray flew wide above the forecastle-peak, the poop rose like a
hunter at a five-bar gate, to fall again quite suddenly, as if
descending to the nether regions. Moreover, when the stern part of the
ship was clear of the water, even for a moment, the screw raced as if
demented, shaking the old tramp so violently that it seemed as if every
bolt and bar and rivet must sooner or later be jangled out of place.
Three hours of this, and poor Jimmy Burke believed, indeed, that his
last hour had come. He had long since consumed his loaf of bread; and
no doubt the pangs of hunger, added to the constant darkness and the
stifling atmosphere in which he was forced to remain, did much to
augment the symptoms of an illness from which surely the grandson of
"Swiftsure Burke" should never have suffered. However, we record plain
facts, and the whole truth must out: the boy was incontestably sea-sick.
For all that, he would not accept defeat. Though he yearned for a
breath of fresh air, though he felt that he could stand no longer this
intolerable, impenetrable darkness, he would not climb the iron ladder
leading to the hatch and cry out for help. As he knew well enough, the
ship was not yet so far away from the coast; and Crouch might put about
and set the stowaway ashore at some forsaken port where the boy would be
stranded and even further from his goal than on the day he left New
York.
In this life, there is a maxim above all others to remember: that
Providence helps only those that help themselves. Each man works out
his own position. God has given to all of us, to some freely, to others
sparingly, talents and attainments. It is for us to be always true to
ourselves, to make the best use of what abilities we have, and
continually to strive. And then, often, when a fainter heart would have
ceased to hope, we find ourselves on a sudden face to face with the
realization of our dreams.
So was it now with Jimmy Burke, sea-sick and disconsolate. He was
resolute by nature. Right or wrong, he had made up his mind; he had
chosen his own course after due deliberation. He was sorely tried--as,
no doubt, he deserved to be--but he meant to go through with it, cost
him what it might. As we shall see, all that follows hangs upon the
fact that he remained until that night in the silence and darkness of
the after-hold. Had he become faint-hearted, had he made known his
presence on the ship, the fate of a certain German submarine--the
U93--would never have been sealed in such a manner as it was. And thus,
we see how in this world all happenings are strung together in what may
be called a "chain of circumstance," wherein each link, or separate
component part, is quite unlike its fellows.
When night fell, the ship was far out at sea. And this was the third
night that Jimmy had spent on board. He had no way of telling the hour,
except that during the night-time he could hear neither footsteps on the
well-deck above nor the moving of chains and hawsers. The ship's bell
was forward, and could not be heard in the hold so long as the hatch was
closed.
The ship still rolled considerably. The storm showed no sign of
abating. There is nothing more exhausting than sea-sickness; and during
these three interminable days the boy experienced little difficulty
either in falling asleep or remaining asleep for hours.
How long he slept in the earlier part of the night he was never
afterwards able to say. He was conscious of waking with a start, and
sat bolt upright, listening, not knowing what he expected to hear.
Suddenly, with alarming clearness, three strokes of a bell smote upon
the silence of the night.
Jimmy was more than a little surprised. He had heard nothing during the
whole term of his self-imposed imprisonment but the constant creaking of
the ship, the throbbing of the engines, the persistent gnawing sound of
rats, and the periodical groaning of the steam steering-gear. Never
before had the ship's bell been audible in the depths of the after-hold.
The conclusion was obvious: one of the after-hatchways had been opened.
Also, it was three bells of the middle watch, or--in other
words--half-past one in the morning.
The boy got stealthily to his feet, and peered over an enormous
packing-case, behind which he had been sleeping. Immediately, it was as
if he was blinded by the bright light of a lantern, not ten yards from
where he stood.
It took some time for his eyes to become accustomed to the glare; and
then he was able to perceive the figure of a man who, holding the
lantern in his hand, was slowly descending the iron ladder into the
hold.
Jimmy felt his heart thumping against his ribs. He was in danger of
being discovered. He even feared that in some way or other his presence
on the ship had already become known, and this man had been sent to fish
him out, as a salmon is landed in a net. Though he knew that the time
was bound to come when he would find himself face to face with Captain
Crouch, and would have to explain who he was, he dreaded it, none the
less.
At the foot of the ladder the man paused and looked up, remaining for as
long as a minute in an attentive attitude, as if he were listening. Then
he placed the lantern on the top of a pile of boxes, and thrusting a
hand into his coat pocket, produced a large chisel and a hammer.
With these, to Jimmy's infinite alarm, he approached the very
packing-case behind which the boy was hiding, and without waste of time
set to work in a manner that was at once business-like and guilty. With
a series of smart taps of the hammer, he drove in the chisel in several
places under the lid, which he then proceeded to prise open. It took him
five minutes or more to complete his task. He seemed anxious to do the
job as silently as he could; but he appeared in no hurry, for he paused
frequently to listen, and did not continue with his work until he was
assured that no one was on deck.
All this time Jimmy was crouching low behind the packing-case, which the
man was opening from the other side. Though they were hidden from view
of one another, they could not have been more than two yards apart. It
was a situation which might have been comical, had it not been fraught
with danger.
The lid of the box opened with that peculiar squeaking noise which
invariably accompanies the drawing of nails from out of soft, new wood.
Apparently the man removed from the top of the box a certain amount of
brown paper and waterproof sheeting; and then, on seeing its contents,
he gave vent to a loud exclamation, which might have been anything from
an expression of satisfaction to an oath.
A moment after, he turned upon his heel, and went back for his lantern;
and then it was that Jimmy seized the opportunity to gratify the
curiosity which by now had taken the place of alarm in his somewhat
heated brain. There was a wide crack in the lid of the box through
which it was possible to see; and placing his eye to this, he found
himself looking down into a box that was filled with, at least, two
dozen Lee-Metford rifles.
He crouched down again, as the man drew near once more. He had still no
desire to be caught. He had not yet had time to think matters out; it
was all too much of a mystery. He could not associate three facts: his
own presence in the hold, the box full of rifles, and the man who had
come like a thief, who now closed the lid, hammering in the nails as
quietly as he could, and who then, without the slightest warning,
swinging his lantern in his hand, stepped round the box--and came face
to face with Jimmy.
The boy jumped to his feet. He had no thought of escape; and even had
that been so, his case was hopeless, for he was seized immediately by
the lapel of his coat.
"By James!" let out the sailor. "And who are you?"
Jimmy Burke was altogether speechless; for, looking up, in the bright
light of the lantern, he found himself confronted by the seamed and
heavy features of Rudolf Stork.
CHAPTER VIII--A False Witness
It was the face of Rudolf Stork. It was the same face that Jimmy had
seen on that other occasion when he had been discovered hiding in the
cupboard in Rosencrantz's office--with this difference, Stork had now
grown a beard.
It was a black beard--coal black, and short and crisp--that made the man
look more villainous than ever. Though it hid the cruel wrinkles about
his mouth, it made it seem as if his lower jaw protruded like a
gorilla's. Before, Stork had looked both fierce and cunning; he now
gave one the impression of being akin to a savage beast.
"It's you!" cried Stork, and repeated the words several times as if
unable to believe the evidence of his eyes. "It's you! By thunder,
what's the game?"
"A stowaway," said Jimmy.
"A stowaway!" said the man. "I don't need telling that when I find you
skulking here at dead of night, and the ship two days from port."
"Take me to the captain," said the boy. "I am ready to take the penalty
for what I have done."
"You are?" said Stork. Then he must have remembered something, for
thrusting his tongue into his cheek, he rolled his eyes. "Easy now,"
said he. "These cards must be carefully played. A stowaway!" he cried.
"I'll not believe it."
"I have not denied it," answered Jimmy.
"Because you're something worse," let out the other.
"Worse!"
"Yes, worse. We're on the high seas, where a man can speak his mind
without fear of contradiction; and if I choose to lay a charge who's to
gainsay me? Answer me that."
"I don't understand," said Jimmy Burke.
"Ye don't, and small credit to your wits. Here's me, Rudolf Stork, a
ship's carpenter, and an honest man, who goes into the hold on right and
lawful business. And there what do I find prying among the cargo, like
a muzzled ferret in a ditch, but a brat of a German spy, caught
red-handed at his work."
Stork pointed at the packing-case upon which he had laid his chisel and
hammer.
"But these tools are yours!" cried Jimmy, who now felt his cheeks
burning in indignation.
"Just so," said Stork. "I left them here this morning."
Jimmy gasped. It was not easy to believe that such outrageous perfidy
were possible. Indeed, it took him some little time to realize the full
meaning of the man's words. But the more he thought of it the more
apparent it became that he would find it extremely difficult to prove
his innocence. How was he to convince Captain Crouch of the truth--that
it was Stork himself who was a spy? The captain would laugh in his
face. Such a retort is the common experience of fools. The cry of
"You're another!" is the wit of the gutter-snipe that can never carry
conviction. Jimmy recognized, with a growing sense of alarm, that in
all probability he would shortly find himself in the position of an
accused man who had no evidence to call on his own behalf.
"Do you mean to say," he exclaimed, "that you intend to accuse me of the
very crime of which you yourself are guilty?"
"I'm here," said Stork, quite calmly, "to bandy words with no one. If I
say you're guilty, then guilty you are, unless you can prove
contrariwise. Which isn't likely so far as I can see."
Upon the man's face there was an expression of half-amused contempt. He
had the appearance of being wholly confident and quite unperturbed. A
sort of half-smile played about his lips. This augured ill for Jimmy,
who realized that in Rudolf Stork he had an opponent who was both
without a sense of honour and well practised in the art of deceiving
others.
The man picked up his lantern, which, whilst speaking to Jimmy, he had
set down upon the ground, and then turned to go. It was then that the
boy made a quick movement forward in the direction of the iron ladder
that led to the deck above.
"We'll go together," he cried. "Your story and mine are not likely to
agree."
At that, Stork whipped round with a kind of snarl, and without a word of
warning, and clenching his fist, he dealt the boy a swinging blow in the
face that sent him reeling backward.
Jimmy staggered, stumbled and fell. For a moment he was half dazed. He
could still see--but indistinctly, as if through a gauze screen--the
flare of Stork's lantern which swung up and down, as the ship rolled
from side to side.
By the time the boy had recovered his senses sufficiently to scramble to
his feet he was again in utter darkness. The great boxes and bales of
cargo were only just discernible in the dim light that came through the
opened hatchway above. There, he could see a few stars, appearing at
odd moments, to vanish almost immediately behind the narrow, long-drawn
clouds that streaked a wind-blown sky. He could hear the waves, one
after the other, beating violently against the sides of the ship, the
water washing over the decks and along the scuttles, the rigging
creaking, and the long chain of the steam steering-gear jolting, from
time to time, as the great strain of a heavy sea was brought to bear
upon the rudder. And then four bells rang out; it was two o'clock in
the morning.
Jimmy, crossing the hold, reached the iron ladder, and set foot upon the
bottom rung. The very moment he did so the figures of two men appeared
upon the well-deck above, one of whom Jimmy recognized at once as Stork.
"He's in there?" asked a voice.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered Stork. "I found him at work among the cargo
like a half-starved rat."
"Get down," said Captain Crouch, for the other voice was his; "go down
and fish him out."
Stork was not slow to obey the captain's orders; and a moment later the
stowaway found himself upon the deck, standing ankle-deep in running
water, face to face with a man who was not so tall as the boy himself,
and who was clothed in a suit of bright red pyjamas, the trousers of
which were rolled up to his knees, so that the lower part of his legs
was bare.
"Bring him along to my cabin," said Crouch. "I'll not stand talking
here; it's a trifle too cold, I'm thinking, for a man who has spent a
good slice of his life in the equatorial parts."
The captain led the way to the main-deck. As he ran up the
companion-ladder on the starboard side, Jimmy noticed how extremely
agile he was in all his movements. Though at this time of his life
Captain Crouch must have been approaching fifty years of age, he was as
active as a young man; and, indeed, had it not been for his cork foot,
he would have been prepared to back himself in a hundred yards race
against any man of not less than half his years.
On board the "Harlech" the captain's cabin was situated at the forward
end of the main-deck, immediately under the bridge and next to the
chart-room. Here an oil lamp was burning which Crouch turned up so high
that the chimney smoked. He then picked up his pipe, filled it with his
terrible and strange tobacco, and seating himself upon a plush-covered
divan, proceeded to fill the room with smoke.
Stork, holding Jimmy by the sleeve of his coat, in much the same manner
as a policeman takes his charge to the nearest station, led the boy into
the room, and then closed the door.
"Now," said Crouch, "where's your evidence?"
Jimmy interposed. Thrusting forward both hands, in the attitude of one
who begs for mercy, he implored to be allowed to speak. But Crouch, by
describing a series of imaginary circles in the air with the stem of his
pipe, intimated that he desired Jimmy to remain silent.
"One thing at a time," said he, "as my friend, Ned Harden, observed,
when he shot a crocodile with one barrel and a rhino with the other.
That was with an old-fashioned shot-and-ball gun that he got from a
trader at Lokoja, in the days when there weren't above ten white men on
the Upper Niger. I hear the evidence for the prosecution first,
which--to the best of my belief--is in accordance with the law.
Afterwards, my lad, you'll have full opportunity to speak. And now,
then, what's the charge?"
Rudolf Stork told his story with simplicity, and a kind of easy
tolerance, as if he was really a little bored; and though he was
cleverly cross-examined by Captain Crouch, never once did he contradict
his former statements. Had his evidence been given on oath, he would
have perjured himself with no less assurance and without hesitation. His
manner, no less than the directness of his narrative, would have
deceived any jury in the world. And in any case, Captain Crouch--one
who knew more than his fair share of the tricks of rogues and the ways
of evil men--was led to a firm conviction that the boy was really
guilty.
Stork lied his soul away--or what can remain of a soul in a man who has
sunk to such great depths of infamy. He swore that he had been working
in the hold that very morning, and had gone back to fetch his chisel and
hammer. He had found the stowaway in the very act of opening one of the
packing-cases, which he had discovered were filled with new short
service-rifles for the British Army.
Crouch, when he heard this, made a wry face, and looked at Jimmy. He
had not forgotten that Mr. Jason had warned him that he might find
German spies on board; and though there was no direct proof, the
evidence, as given by Rudolf Stork, was very black against the boy. He
had no reason to doubt Stork's word. The man had been engaged at New
York with a good character, and he seemed a capable ship's carpenter,
who understood his work.
"Speak up, my lad," said Crouch--the expression upon whose thin, wizened
face had hardened--"speak up, and say nothing but the truth."
Now, in those who are at all sensitive, indignation is one of the most
deep-seated emotions that exist. Smarting with a sense of injured
innocence, the boy's cheeks were already burning; and now, something
rose in his throat as if to choke him, so that he found it difficult to
speak. When words came, at last, they did so in a flood, and were only
half coherent. Small wonder that Captain Crouch took all this as a sure
sign that the boy was unquestionably guilty!
"I'll speak the truth, sir," poor Jimmy blurted out. "I know for a fact
that it is this man, and not myself, who is a German spy. He is in the
pay of the Prussian Secret Service, and was engaged in New York by a
certain Baron von Essling, as he himself knows quite well. As for me, I
came on board this ship as a stowaway, because I wanted to go to
England. I wished to serve my country."
Crouch sprang suddenly to his feet.
"Enough of this!" he roared. "Do I look like a man who would swallow a
yarn like that? My word, they're not over-squeamish when they take on a
boy like you to do their dirty work. I've heard tell of women spies,
but I never guessed they would employ mere children for the game."
"Sir," cried Jimmy, "I swear, I speak the truth."
"I'll hear no more!" Crouch almost shouted. "You know well enough that
the penalty for a spy in time of war is death. I'm not quite certain
whether I should be acting according to the law, if I strung you up to
the yard-arm like a dead crow in a cornfield. And then, there's the
cat-o'-nine-tails. Maybe, you've heard of that? If you had proved to
be no more than a simple stowaway, I should have had a sort of kindred
feeling; for, I ran away to sea myself, and so did Dawes, and many
another sailor who's worth the salt he eats. When I was a boy, the
'cat' was not unheard of; but, nowadays, I doubt if I'd be within my
rights in using it upon the likes of you."
It was then, at last, that poor Jimmy Burke broke down. He could
suppress neither the sobs that were surging in his breast nor the tears
that he felt rushing to his eyes. Falling into a chair that stood
vacant at his elbow, he buried his face in his hands.
For a full minute his shoulders shook and trembled; and when he looked
up, his face was all streamed and marked with tears. He saw that
Crouch's lips were pressed tight together; there was an expression of
settled and immovable resolution upon the face of the little captain.
But, the bitterest blow of all was that Rudolf Stork was laughing, his
white teeth visible in the blackness of his beard.
"I'm innocent!" let out the boy.
"You can prove that in Court," said Crouch. "The very moment we are
tied up in Portsmouth Harbour, I hand you over to the police. You shall
have a fair trial, with a proper judge in a wig and all the rest of it;
and if you're not a dead man at the end of it, this here foot's not
cork."
By way of illustration of this last remark, Crouch thrust forward his
cork foot which--as was quite apparent--was fastened to his bare leg by
means of several straps.
"And as for the voyage," he added, "you'll work on board this ship like
a galley-slave. For every knot of your journey to the Solent, you shall
pay in honest labour. You can polish brasses, swab decks, wash paint,
and peel potatoes, and do ought else that you can lay a hand to.
Moreover, you'll report yourself every hour, from eight bells in the
morning to the end of the second dog-watch, to the officer on the
bridge. You'll sleep in the forecastle, and under observation. I'll
not trust you out of sight. You say you're an Englishman, perhaps you
may be; if so, the more disgrace to England. But, it's my belief you're
a Yankee, English born, who has sold his immortal soul to the German
Empire. There's many such in the States; in my thinking, they are all
Germans--every mother's son of them; and I tell you frankly, I abominate
them all without discrimination. And so, my lad, you've heard my mind,
and you know what I think of you and those you serve. One last word of
advice: as long as you're on board this ship, steer clear of me. I'm
not a man who jumps rashly to conclusions, but I've sized you up
according to the lights you show; and it's not probable I'll change my
mind. And now," he added, turning to Stork, "take him to the fo'c'sle."
Side by side, without a word, Stork and Jimmy crossed the forward
well-deck. Jimmy walked as in a dream. During the last hour so many
things had happened that he found it difficult to realize that he had,
indeed, been found guilty of being a German spy. In this world are
traps and opportunities for tripping us all, in the most unexpected
places.
For the rest of that night, poor Jimmy lay sleepless, heartbroken and
disconsolate, upon a hard forecastle bunk. Things had not happened as
he had either hoped or feared. He was in the very depths of despair. He
had acted rashly, he knew, in endeavouring to leave America as a
stowaway on board a merchant ship. But he had acted with the best of
motives, from a fitting sense of patriotism. He had dreamed of the
Great War, or as much of it as he had been able to imagine from the
pictures he had seen in the illustrated papers. He had dreamed of
flying Uhlans, captured trenches, charging hussars and cuirassiers--and
now, he had been threatened with the "cat." Assuredly, there are
pitfalls for us all!
CHAPTER IX--The "Dresden"
Captain Crouch was a man who seldom--if ever--made up his mind in a
hurry. It was his custom to consider every aspect of a question before
he came to any definite decision; but, when once his opinions had been
formed, he was not disposed to alter them. He was a hard man in many
ways--one who, having had everything against him from the start, had had
to make his own way in a world that is not so charitable as some may
think. That Captain Crouch had made a great success of life, there can
be no shadow of doubt; and it is equally certain that he was never
indebted to any one throughout the whole course of his career-except
later on (as we shall see) to Jimmy Burke himself.
In this particular case, he had made up his mind that Jimmy was a German
spy. He had heard both sides of the question, and saw no reason to
doubt the word of Rudolf Stork. In consequence, for more reasons than
one, he was determined to have nothing to do with Jimmy. Not only did
he hand over the stowaway for safe custody to Mr. Dawes the chief
officer, but he gave strict injunctions that Jimmy was to keep out of
his way--as far as that could be possible on a ship of not five thousand
tons.
Life in the forecastle of an ocean tramp has little or no joys to one
who has been brought up, if not in luxury, at least in decency and
comfort. For the first week, the weather continued to be rough; it was
bitterly cold, and they saw little of the sun. The boy had no friends
on board; for the members of the crew--who laughed and joked together on
the forward well-deck after working hours--following the example of the
captain and the ship's officers, believed in their hearts that the boy
was, indeed, a German spy, and treated him with undisguised and due
contempt. From dawn to sunset, Jimmy went about his work practically
ignored. No one spoke to him, except to give him orders; and these he
received, not only from the chief officer and Stork, but also from any
one else who happened to require assistance.
In these circumstances--as may easily be imagined--the boy was utterly
miserable and almost broken-hearted. There were nights when he found it
impossible to sleep, but lay awake, hour upon hour, writhing under the
great wrong that had been done him.
He soon learnt to give up all hope of ever explaining matters to Captain
Crouch. He could not fail to see that he must bear his wrongs as
bravely as he might. Nor could he find any sympathizer amongst the
crew; one and all, they were loyal Britishers--with the sole exception
of Rudolf Stork--and as such were heartily against him. Had he been
subjected to physical cruelty, had he been thrashed and kicked and
beaten, his lot would have been easier to bear. He thought it all out,
time and again, in the darkness of the night, while the ship was
ploughing her way eastward across the great Atlantic, and always came to
the same sorrowful conclusion: that there was nothing he could do, but
find courage in the knowledge of his own innocence, and keep an eye upon
Stork.
He knew Stork to be a spy. That no one else was likely to believe it
made it none the less true that, to the boy's certain knowledge, the
man's services had been engaged by Rosencrantz and the Baron von
Essling. Stork, beyond doubt, was on his way to England on some secret
business. It was quite possible that the man had in his possession
incriminating documents and papers. Jimmy realized that, if he could
but find this out for certain, he would be able to convince Crouch not
only of his own innocence, but of Stork's indubitable guilt.
It was this vague hope that buoyed Jimmy's spirits during the first five
or six days of the voyage. By then, they had reached mid-ocean, where
the presence of the Gulf Stream, and a welcome change of weather, had
raised the temperature by, at least, twenty degrees. Jimmy had already
discovered that Stork kept a sea-chest under his bunk in the
forecastle--a strong chest, iron-bound and made of oak, fastened both by
an ordinary lock and a padlock, the keys of which Stork kept on a chain,
along with a jack-knife and a whistle.
There had been times when Jimmy had thought quite seriously of forcing
his way into the captain's cabin, and imploring Crouch to have this
chest examined, on the off chance that thereby Stork might be proved the
scoundrel he was. That the boy never decided to take a step so
irretrievable and final, goes a long way to prove that he was possessed
of little of the gambling instinct of his father. He saw from the first
that there was a good chance that the sea-chest would contain nothing of
an incriminating nature, in which case he would be in a worse plight
than before. Throughout all this strange, mysterious business, so much
was at stake that Jimmy felt he was not entitled to risk more than he
need. And it was well for him that he resolved to be discreet; for, in
a manner that was at once surprising and dramatic, Providence, for the
first time, came to his aid.
One morning, soon after daybreak, they sighted a British
torpedo-boat-destroyer, racing due northward, travelling at a speed of
almost thirty knots an hour. The destroyer, evidently wishing to speak
to the "Harlech," which was not, of course, equipped with wireless
apparatus--drew to within a cable's length of the steamer, when the
commander shouted through a megaphone to Captain Crouch, who was on the
bridge.
"Have you heard the news?" he asked.
"What news?" asked Crouch. "We've seen no papers since we left New
York, more than a week ago."
"Admiral Sturdee has thrashed the German squadron off the Falkland
Islands. The 'Gneisenau,' the 'Scharnhorst,' the 'Leipzig,' and the
'Nuremburg' have been sunk; but the 'Dresden' managed to escape, and is
believed to have come this way."
"I've seen nothing of her," answered Crouch.
"Do you know what she looks like?" asked the commander.
"Sure enough," said Crouch. "Protected cruiser, of about three thousand
five hundred tons. Speed about twenty-four and a half. Two masts and
three funnels--a trifle forward. Sister ship to the 'Emden.' Completed
in 1908."
"That's her," shouted back the officer. "Sorry you haven't seen her.
Good-bye, and good luck. Look out for enemy submarines," he added,
"when you get into the Channel."
A moment later, the destroyer was flying on its way, cutting through the
water at such a velocity that the spray was sent high into the air, to
form a kind of rainbow in the sunshine immediately above her bows.
The news of the defeat of Admiral von Spee's squadron was received with
delight by the ship's officers and crew of the "Harlech." That evening,
for the first time during the voyage, a banjo made its appearance on the
forward well-deck, and there were songs, not unconnected with the fact
that England had been in the past, and would continue to be in the
future, the sole mistress of the seas. Throughout these quite excusable
rejoicings, it was a fact--that passed unnoticed by every one, except by
Jimmy Burke--that Rudolf Stork held himself aloof, standing apart from
the others, with his bare arms folded and never a smile upon his lips.
Jimmy hoped that the man's surly manner would be noticed by the captain,
upon whom as a rule little or nothing was lost. But Crouch paced the
main-deck, with both hands behind his back, lost in thoughts of his own
and a veritable cloud of the black smoke of "Bull's Eye Shag."
It was quite late at night when the forecastle, at last, was still. Six
bells had sounded when the banjo was put back into its case and the crew
turned in. An hour after that, Rudolf Stork was pacing the lower
deck---a silent, shadowy figure in the moonlight, moving in and out
among the derricks and the hatches. Jimmy Burke, lying upon his bunk at
the entrance of the forecastle, watched the man for a long time,
wondering what were the dark thoughts that Rudolf Stork could share with
no one; and when, at last, the boy fell asleep, the ship's carpenter was
still striding to and fro, like some restless, evil spirit.
The boy was awakened suddenly by the shrill note of the boatswain's
whistle. One after the other, close upon each other's heels, the crew
tumbled out upon the well-deck. Simultaneously, the voice of Captain
Crouch rang out, so loud as to be audible from one end of the ship to
the other.
"Every man at his alarm post! Have the boats ready to be lowered; we
may have need of them before we are much older. Mr. Dawes, spare every
man you can to work in the engine-room like a nigger. If we can manage
to squeeze fifteen knots out of the old ship, there'll be just a dog's
chance that we escape."
Jimmy waited to hear no more, but, springing from his bunk, hastened out
upon the deck.
A group of men was standing upon the main-deck immediately beneath the
bridge, many of whom were pointing excitedly towards the east. It was
dawn; and although the sun had not yet risen, the first signs of
daybreak were clearly visible upon the horizon. The sea itself looked
black; in the sky, a few stars still glimmered faintly. Upon the
eastern sky-line extended a long belt of silver, in the immediate centre
of which there could be seen a thin trail of smoke. Captain Crouch was
on the bridge, with a large telescope raised to his only eye.
For the first five hours of that memorable day, the excitement that
prevailed on board the "Harlech" was intense. Every one went about his
work in breathless haste. Mr. Dawes shouted his orders like a madman.
From time to time, the chief engineer appeared on deck to report
progress from the engine-room. Every pound of coal that it was possible
to throw into the furnaces would tend to increase the ship's speed,
if--as Captain Crouch believed--the trail of smoke upon the far horizon
came from the funnels of the "Dresden."
By eight o'clock, there was no doubt whatsoever that it was the German
cruiser herself that they had sighted. A little after, it was evident
that the "Dresden" was giving chase. From the well-decks only her smoke
was visible, but this was rapidly growing more and more distinct. Crouch
remained upon the bridge, his telescope glued to his eye; and from that
altitude no doubt the hull of the German warship was visible.
Presently, from the direction of the enemy, there came a dull booming
sound that died away across the great expanse of water, like the rolling
sound of a monster drum. It had hardly ceased before there became
audible a shrill, piercing hoot, not unlike a human shriek, that became
louder and louder with alarming rapidity.
There was no need for one of the crew who had taken part in the South
African War to cry out that a shell was coming. Every one on board knew
what that sound meant. Following a not unnatural curiosity, every man
rushed to the taffrails, to see what would be the result. There was a
loud, and almost unanimous, shout of "There she goes!" as the shell
plunged into the water about two hundred yards from the starboard side
of the ship, sending a great savage fountain high into the air.
By then, the "Harlech" was steaming almost due south. Her course had
been changed at daybreak, when the "Dresden" had been sighted
immediately ahead. The first shell, which was marvellously accurate as
far as direction was concerned, must have passed immediately over the
mast-head of the merchant ship.
This augured ill for the remainder of the day. There seemed little or
no chance that the "Harlech" would escape, though she burnt every ton of
coal she carried in her bunkers. The British destroyer had gone due
north. Nowhere else, except in the direction of the "Dresden," was
there a ship in sight. The "Harlech"--as we have already pointed
out--was not equipped with wireless, and had no means of calling for
assistance.
For the next two hours, the utmost confusion and consternation prevailed
on board. A shell struck the forecastle-peak, and tore away a great
piece of the ship, as a bull-dog might rend the clothes of a tramp.
Another broke its way through the superstructure under the bridge; and a
third, fourth and fifth, pierced the ship's sides above the water-line.
Throughout all this, Captain Crouch remained perfectly calm and
collected, from time to time taking his pipe from his mouth to knock out
the ash on the heel of his boot, refill it and light it with the utmost
care. The "Dresden" was now well in sight, bearing straight down upon
them, as a tiger might rush upon its prey. It seemed, indeed, that they
were doomed.
It was about mid-day when the German cruiser signalled to them to
surrender; and though there could be no question that a refusal would
lead to the destruction of them all, Crouch flatly refused to
acknowledge that the game was up. His only answer was to hoist the
Union Jack to the mast-head and run up the Red Ensign on the poop.
The appearance of the British flag upon the high seas upon that calm,
sunlit winter's morning was a hint to the captain of the German cruiser
to open fire with shrapnel.
From this time onward, the decks were highly dangerous. The German
gunners got the range to an inch, and managed to keep it, in spite of
the fact that every minute brought them nearer and nearer to their prey.
These shells exploded one after the other, in quick succession, each one
with a white puff, in the very midst of the rigging; whilst the round,
leaden bullets descended in a shower, to bury themselves in the teak
decks or crash through the glass of the skylights.
No one faced this, with the exception of Captain Crouch; and how he
managed to live in the midst of it all must ever remain a mystery. He
never lost his head for a moment, but continued to give orders which,
because of the constant noise of bursting shells, he was obliged to
shout through a megaphone.
A ship's quartermaster, clambering up from one of the forward holds,
dashed up the ladder to the bridge, which was all twisted like a
corkscrew, and reported to the captain that the ship had been struck
below the water-line, and was sinking by the bows. Just then there was
a lull in the firing; and Crouch called the crew together, and addressed
them in the following words--
"If I haul down that flag," he cried, pointing to the Union Jack, "we
may live to regret it, to tell those who come after us how we
surrendered like a pack of curs. I'll save you that at any rate. If we
must die, we'll die like men and Britons. Come, tell me, have I spoken
square and honest?"
A cheer came from the men--a cheer that was cut short by a great
explosion on the poop, that carried away the round-house and a great
iron bollard that had been held to the deck by four cast-iron rivets,
each one as thick as a strong man's wrist. Crouch paid no heed to this,
but continued, waving his pipe in his hand.
"Well spoken, lads," he cried. "Though we've got no guns of our own,
we'll stick to the Flag to the last; and maybe they'll hear of it in
England. And now, pay no heed to the shells, but all hands to the
pumps."
The men obeyed with that business-like promptitude that is
characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon race. They were not disposed to argue
that, after all, life was possibly worth living, and there is no more
terrible death than to be drowned in calm water when the sun is shining
in the midst of an illimitable sea. It was enough for them that their
captain had spoken words that moved them to the depths of their rugged
hearts: they were resolved to die like men.
For half-an-hour they worked in a kind of frenzy at the pumps, striving
to keep the stricken ship afloat. It seemed that their efforts were
successful; for, though the "Harlech" had taken on a marked list to
port, and her stern was lifted a good six feet in the water, she seemed
to be still seaworthy and as yet showed no signs of settling down. The
"Dresden" was now not much more than four miles in the wake of the
fugitive ship, which did little more than crawl.
[Illustration: THE "HARLECH" HAD TAKEN A MARKED LIST TO PORT--NO ONE
COULD LIVE UPON HER DECK.]
At such a range shrapnel is at its worst and deadliest. Shell after
shell burst upon the "Harlech," until the masts were splintered, the
decks riddled, and the rigging cut and torn in a thousand places. The
top of one of the funnels had been blown away; the glass windows of the
chart-house had been driven in.
Presently the shell fire became so severe, and there had been so many
casualties among the crew, that it became impossible to continue to work
the pumps. No one could live upon the deck; and something in the nature
of a stampede was made to the saloon, whither the wounded had been
carried.
Jimmy, who had been working at the pumps, had been one of the last to
leave. His courage had not passed unnoticed by Captain Crouch, who
found himself at a loss to reconcile two facts: firstly, that Jimmy had
displayed a supreme contempt for danger, and secondly, that the boy was
presumed to be a German spy.
As a great shell struck the mainmast, and brought down a spar upon the
deck to which was attached the tattered shreds of what had once been the
flag of England, the boy sought safety in the forecastle. There, one of
the first things that met his eyes was a sea-chest, the lid of which had
been broken open by the force of the concussion by which it had been
hurled across the deck. Upon one of the broken pieces of this box were
inscribed in black lettering the two words: RUDOLF STORK.
This was no time upon which to stand upon ceremony. There is no such
thing as private property in time of war--as, during the long months of
this colossal combat, Europe has learnt to her cost. Jimmy Burke had
suspicions of his own, which he had cause to know were well grounded.
Chance had brought an opportunity to hand which he was not slow to take.
In a second he was down on all fours, turning out the contents of
Stork's sea-chest, which appeared to have been filled with nothing but
documents and papers, the majority of which were in the handwriting of
Rosencrantz, the tool of the Baron von Essling.
What these papers were Jimmy was given no opportunity of finding out;
for, hardly had he picked up the first to examine it more closely, than
he was suddenly seized from behind by the scruff of the neck.
With a quick movement he managed to free himself, escaping to the
windlass, which is in the very peak of the ship. There he found himself
cut off by Rudolf Stork, who stood immediately before him, so that there
was no means of exit from the forecastle.
Stork was like a madman. He wore nothing but a shirt and a pair of
trousers. Upon his left shoulder there was a patch of blood where he
had been struck by a shrapnel bullet. Even in the semi-darkness of that
place, Jimmy could see that the man was in such an insensate fit of fury
that his eyes were gleaming like coals of fire.
With a loud oath, hurled through his teeth in the direction of the boy,
he gathered his papers together in an armful, and hurled them through a
port-hole into the sea.
"And now," he cried, "you infernal young dog, I'll do for you!"
Suddenly, as he picked up a marlinspike that happened to be lying close
at hand upon the deck, with an expression stamped upon every feature of
his face that could mean nothing short of murder, a loud British cheer
came from somewhere amidships that was clearly audible in spite of the
bursting shells and the incessant thunder of the "Dresden's" guns. Stork
paused in the very act of raising his weapon to strike.
"What's that?" he cried.
No sooner had the words left his lips than the cheer was raised a second
time, louder than before. And then the voice of Captain Crouch rang
out, in which there was a clear note of triumph.
"Back to the pumps!" he shouted. "Boys, we'll save her yet."
CHAPTER X--The Mysterious Message
No doubt we should always be prepared for the unexpected, but the fact
remains that we very seldom are. In this case, the voice of Captain
Crouch carried from one end of the ship to the other, bringing a sudden
ray of hope into the heart of every man that heard it, that was like a
flash of light in a darkened room.
Every living soul on board--including the ship's carpenter himself--had
already given himself up for lost. The "Harlech" was apparently in a
sinking condition, and under the continual and merciless fire of the
enemy cruiser. They were miles from anywhere, in the very midst of the
ocean; and it had seemed as if nothing could save them from a watery
grave, or, at least, captivity. And suddenly, the intelligence was
burst upon them that the ship might yet be saved. The crew had been
ordered to return to the pumps. The unexpected had occurred.
Now, curiosity is a very natural sentiment that at times overcomes even
the strongest impulse. For the moment, Stork forgot that he was on the
point of committing murder; Jimmy Burke, that his life was in the
greatest peril. Without a thought for one another, both rushed out upon
the well-deck, to learn what had happened.
The "Harlech" still listed so much that the decks sloped at an angle of
almost twenty degrees. It was then afternoon, though the sun was still
high. The "Dresden" lay to the north-east, her great guns sounding in
quick succession, like peal after peal of thunder immediately overhead.
Though the shells still shrieked through the rigging, or burst their way
through the fragile sides of the ship, all eyes were turned towards the
south, in which quarter Captain Crouch upon the bridge was directing his
enormous telescope. Jimmy, regardless of his danger, dashed up the
steps that led to the forecastle-peak, and shading his eyes against the
glare of the sun, looked in the same direction.
It was some moments before he was able to make out anything at all; and
then, suddenly, he discerned quite clearly the funnels--from each of
which proceeded a thin trail of smoke--of three separate ships that
appeared to be advancing in line, steaming forward with rapidity and
making straight for the "Dresden."
Suddenly, Captain Crouch tucked his telescope under his arm, and shouted
to Stork, who was still upon the well-deck, to take charge of the party
that was again working at the pumps. And hardly had the words left his
lips than from the south there came a heavy thudding sound that was like
a thunder-clap in the distance, and a few seconds later, a great shell
screamed immediately overhead, to send up a fountain of water several
feet into the air, not more than forty yards from the "Dresden's" bows.
A loud cheer was lifted by the crew of the "Harlech"--the men who saw on
a sudden, as if newly awakened from a nightmare, that deliverance was,
indeed, at hand. For yonder, bearing straight in their direction, the
tolling of the great guns echoing across the sea, were three ships of
the British Navy, racing towards the enemy like as many joyful
greyhounds loosed together from the leash.
They were indeed three greyhounds of the sea: the "Glasgow," the 27-knot
cruiser that had escaped from the fatal fight off Coronel, when the
"Monmouth" and the "Good Hope" went down before the weight of the German
guns; the "Kent," which had run down and sunk the "Leipzig"; and the
"Invincible," the splendid armoured cruiser--the first of its
kind--whose twelve-inch guns had sent to the bottom the "Scharnhorst"
and the "Gneisenau," to avenge the death of Cradock. These were ships
that had been tempered in the stern forge of warfare, that had been
tried and not found wanting; even then, they had come from a great
victory in the south. As they swept down upon the foe, there was
something in the outline of their dark and threatening hulls, in the
very smoke that issued from their funnels, that made them appear, in
very truth, invincible and ruthless.
One after the other, in quick succession, their great guns opened fire,
until the sound was deafening, and it was as if the broad waters were
alive. Everywhere were great living fountains in the sea, and around
each one the water was churned white as snow.
The "Dresden," which was completed in the year 1907, had been built with
the idea of speed, and was but lightly armed. She carried only ten
four-inch guns and two torpedo-tubes, and with these she could not hope
to put up a fight against such a powerful adversary as the "Invincible."
In an old, time-worn phrase, she questioned not the order of her going,
but, putting her helm about, fled like a startled roe at very sight of
those who had marked her down.
It is impossible to describe the feelings of the men on board the
"Harlech." They had been rescued, at the eleventh hour, from the very
jaws of death; and the sudden knowledge that they, at last, were safe,
combined with a sense of relief that the living shells were no longer
hooting and shrieking about their ears, had a singular effect not only
on every member of the crew, but even upon Captain Crouch himself.
One and all, they worked at the pumps in a kind of frenzied joy, and as
they worked, they cheered. It soon became manifest that the "Harlech"
would be saved. She had been struck upon the water-line; the forward
holds had filled; and had the sea been rough, there is no doubt she
would have gone down with all hands on board. As it was, she shipped no
water that the pumps were not able to eject. Even as the men worked,
her bows rose, inch by inch, to their normal level above the surface of
the sea.
The "Invincible" rushed past, and signalled to the "Harlech," asking if
she needed help. Crouch, who was a fighting man by nature, knew well
enough that the object of all war is to damage the enemy, and that it
was a sound principle, both in practice and in theory, to let the
wounded lie. The "Harlech" was wounded; she lay upon the water like a
winged duck, for the time being crippled and quite useless. The main
business of the British armoured cruiser was to overhaul and sink the
"Dresden." If she stayed to give help to the merchant ship, if she
slowed down and changed her course, the German would stand the better
chance of escape. Captain Crouch, therefore, did not hesitate to send
back the answer that he was well able to take care of himself; at the
same time, he made so bold as to wish His Majesty's ships the very best
of luck.
By then, the "Dresden" was almost out of sight, steaming due
north-eastward, with the full power of her engines. As the chase
continued, the English men-of-war became strung out, the "Invincible"
and "Glasgow" leading, the "Kent" falling behind. In every hold the
stokers were hard at work, shovelling with frantic energy more coal upon
the furnaces, until the sky-line was black with long clouds of rolling
smoke. Until the sun went down in a flood of red upon the western
sky-line, and darkness spread slowly across the illimitable ocean, this
headlong chase continued.
The "Dresden" held her own, keeping within long range of the great guns
of the armoured cruiser. As they learnt afterwards, under cover of
night, she turned south again, thus escaping from her pursuers. She had
been designed as a commerce-destroyer, and, together with her
sister-ship the "Emden," was well suited to evade more powerful and
heavily armoured ships. On this occasion, she got away in safety; but,
a few weeks afterwards, she met with the inevitable fate that was in
store for her, and hauled down her flag--so that the ensign of the
German Navy vanished from the seas.
With matters of historical importance we are only secondarily concerned.
The business of this narrative is with Jimmy Burke, and also, in a less
degree, with Captain Crouch. Crouch had not spoken rashly when he
signalled that the "Harlech" stood in no need of help. He had already
satisfied himself that the vessel would remain afloat. Thanks to
Providence, the damage she had sustained was nearly all above the
water-line; and this was due very largely to the fact that the "Dresden"
for the most part had fired shrapnel at decisive range.
This had been done with an object. The German captain desired nothing
better than that the merchant ship should haul down her colours and
surrender. She had--as he probably knew--a valuable cargo on board; and
besides, the tons of coal she carried in her bunkers would be of
infinite value to a ship to whom all coaling stations were closed by the
extended pressure of the British Navy. Had the "Dresden" wished to sink
the "Harlech," there is no doubt she could have done so straight away.
As it was, in pursuance of the Prussian policy of frightfulness, it had
been her object to terrorize the crew. Moreover, being in complete
ignorance of the fact that the British cruisers were rapidly drawing
down upon him, the captain of the "Dresden" had imagined that he had
plenty of time upon his hands.
He very nearly paid the penalty of over-confidence. He escaped by the
skin of his teeth, leaving the "Harlech" still floating, but a battered
hulk.
All that night, Crouch and his men worked in desperation. On board the
ship was a perfect hubbub of hammering, hastening to and fro and the
giving of orders. Such holes in the ship's sides as were likely to
prove dangerous, should the sea get up, were repaired in rough, eager
haste; and not until then did Crouch give orders to clear away the
debris of the superstructure from the main-deck and hatchways.
By daybreak the following morning, the ship--though still in a sorry
plight--was pronounced seaworthy and well able to continue on her
voyage. And by that time, also, by sheer chance alone, there had fallen
into the hands of Jimmy Burke something of the most significant
importance, upon which--as will afterwards appear--the whole thread of
this narrative depends.
The boy had been set to work upon the forward well-deck, clearing away,
by the light of a lantern, the pieces of shattered and twisted iron and
broken woodwork that lay everywhere upon the riddled, splintered decks.
On a sudden, he had come across a half sheet of note-paper, caught in
the cogs of one of the winches and smeared with grease and oil.
Now, there is nothing remarkable in a half sheet of note-paper; and
there is small doubt that Jimmy would not have hesitated to throw it
away at once, had he not remembered that he had seen this very paper
before. It was the kind of paper that was used largely in the offices
of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, in New York. It was a blue paper, upon
the top of which had been stamped the initials of the firm: R.&G.
It was a half sheet that had been torn carelessly, and which in
consequence was wider at the top than at the bottom. Jimmy was positive
that he had seen it in the sea-chest of Rudolf Stork. And therefore,
instead of throwing it overboard, he put it furtively into one of the
pockets of his coat, perfectly certain that, when Stork had thrown his
papers away in such alarmed, suspicious haste, this single piece had
been blown back upon the deck. It contained about five lines in a bold
handwriting, rather large and sprawling; and Jimmy had a mind to read it
as soon as a suitable opportunity occurred.
That did not happen till early the following afternoon, when he found
himself alone in the forecastle, with half-an-hour to spare. He pulled
out the sheet of paper from his pocket, and holding it to the porthole
light made out the following mysterious and vague announcement--
_Steamboat entrance verified. Evening navigate. Follow idea.
Vernacular encumbrance. Enter into Guinea half-speed._
He read it over and over again; and the more he read it, the more
ridiculous and senseless did it seem. He could see no meaning in the
words at all, or rather, the sentences appeared quite unconnected one
with the other.
He read it so often that he very soon knew it word for word by heart.
And throughout the remainder of that voyage, until the very evening when
a great calamity befell them, he racked his brains continually to find
some solution of the riddle.
The probability was that these strange words meant something. The
handwriting, though unknown to him, was sufficiently angular in its
characteristics to suggest that it belonged to a German; and that,
together with the fact that Rudolf Stork was undoubtedly a German spy,
was firm ground for suspicion. But, to discover--if such existed--some
unknown and hidden meaning was no such easy matter.
CHAPTER XI--The Middle Watch
Throughout the next few days Jimmy found himself in a veritable
whirlpool of perplexity and doubt. He knew quite well what he ought to
do, but could see no way of doing it. Hitherto, affairs had been going
persistently against him.
In the first place, he knew that Rudolf Stork was a spy, and the man was
probably on his way to England on some secret business not unconnected
with the war. It was Stork who had broken open the cases of cargo in
the after-hold, to find them filled with service rifles for the British
army. Again, the man had given proof of his own guilt when, during the
panic that ensued when the ship was believed to be sinking, he had cast
the contents of his sea-chest overboard. That the papers in question
had been of an incriminating nature could not be doubted; the strange
message, written upon a half sheet of note-paper, was probably in some
code which could be deciphered easily enough at the Headquarters of the
German Secret Service in Berlin. It was even possible that Stork had
managed to convey the intelligence to the "Dresden" that the "Harlech"
was carrying contraband goods in the shape of munitions of war. They
had been saved at the eleventh hour; but there was no certain guarantee
that Stork--if he was really guilty of such treachery--might not attempt
to betray the ship again to enemy submarines, as soon as they had gained
English waters.
On board the whole ship, Jimmy alone was conscious of the danger in
which they stood. Stork, by the depth of his perfidy and his outrageous
cunning, had managed to put Captain Crouch upon a false scent, by
levelling an accusation at the only person who was fully aware of his
own guilt.
Jimmy knew all this, and thought it out, time and again, during the long
watches of the night; and in the end, he determined to interview Captain
Crouch, to see if the little sea-captain could be persuaded to listen to
his story even for a few minutes.
With this object in view, Jimmy waited an opportunity which did not
present itself for some time. In the first place, the captain was
seldom alone, and Jimmy--by Crouch's orders--was never allowed to work
by himself. It was not until they were nearing the south coast of
Ireland, and Crouch was growing anxious in regard to prowling submarines
from Kiel and Wilhelmshaven, that the boy was able to seize his chance.
It was during the middle watch at night, and Jimmy, who had not been to
sleep, saw a light suddenly appear in the captain's cabin. At the same
time, the aquiline and birdlike features of Captain Crouch were
silhouetted against one of the portholes that looked out upon the
forecastle and the forward well-deck.
Jimmy slipped from his bunk, crossed the well-deck, and reached the
main-deck by way of the companion-ladder.
He found the door of the captain's cabin ajar, and looking in, saw
Crouch bending over a chart. The atmosphere of the room was thick with
the smoke of Bull's Eye Shag, and the extraordinary pungent odour of
this strange tobacco was wafted along the deck.
It was as much as Jimmy could do to summon sufficient courage to knock;
and when, at last, he did so, the sound of the captain's gruff voice,
which was not unlike the sharp bark of a dog, caused him visibly to
start.
"Come in," said Crouch. "Come in."
Jimmy, recognizing that he was about to take the bull by the horns,
screwed up all his courage, took in a deep breath, and entered the room.
The moment he set eyes upon the boy, Crouch set his brows in a frown.
"You!" he exclaimed. "I thought I gave definite orders that on no
account were you to attempt to see me."
Jimmy, who had intended to maintain a bold front throughout the
interview, found all his resolution vanish before the single piercing
eye of Captain Crouch. He took another step forward, and brought both
his hands together with the gesture of one who begs for mercy.
"Please, hear me, sir," he pleaded. "I have something of the utmost
importance to tell you. I declare that I will speak nothing but the
truth."
"Do you mean," said Crouch, "that you have come at this hour of the
night to confess that you are a German spy?"
"I mean nothing of the sort, sir. I am innocent."
Crouch turned upon his heel with a gesture of impatience.
"You mean to lie," said he; "you mean to lie to the end. You belong to
a breed of liars."
"I come of English blood, sir," answered Jimmy. "My family has a good
name."
The boy was going on to speak of "Swiftsure Burke," and the Admiral's
gallant deeds, when Crouch took him up in a voice of thunder that must
have been audible to the officer on watch upon the bridge.
"I care nothing for your pedigree," said he; "for ought I know you may
be descended from Peter the Hermit. If you've got the good name you
say, you can clear it in a public court, as soon as ever you are set
ashore in England."
"Sir," said Jimmy, "the clearing of my good name will not help to save
your ship."
Crouch looked up.
"What d'ye mean?" he asked.
"I mean, sir, that I am innocent, as I have said, but there is one on
board this ship who is, in truth, a spy."
"Who?" asked the captain.
"The ship's carpenter," said Jimmy.
"Rudolf Stork?"
"The same, sir; the man who accused me falsely."
Crouch shook his head.
"You ask me to take your word against his? Why should I do so? There's
a plain question as from one man to another--though you're nothing more
than a boy. If I believe him, I take the word of a man who came to me
with a good character, who has done his work well since he has been
aboard. If I believe you, I put my trust in one against whom the
evidence is overwhelming, who slunk on board this ship like a thief in
the night. No, my lad; I'm a plain man, and, I hope, a fair one. I've
a good share of common sense. I want to do the right thing, as any
God-fearing man should do; but, I've formed my opinion of you, and I'm
not disposed to alter it. One thing, and one thing only, is in your
favour. The other day, when the ship was in danger, when we were under
fire from that pirate's guns, I noticed that you behaved yourself like a
man. When the shrapnel shells were bursting in the rigging, you were
the last hand to leave the pumps. I saw that myself, and I'm grateful.
But it's not proof, mind you. You're a plucky lad, sure enough, else
you'd never have taken on the job you're doing now. I give credit where
credit's due; but, the fact that you have a certain amount of courage
goes rather to prove, than to disprove, that you are a German spy."
The captain paused, knocked out his pipe upon the toe of his cork foot
into a large spittoon that stood upon the floor, and then gave vent to a
grunt which might have signified either satisfaction or disapproval.
Jimmy saw that there was nothing left to him but to produce such
evidence as was afforded by the strange message upon the half sheet of
note-paper. With trembling hands, he drew this from his pocket, and
held it towards Captain Crouch.
"I found that," said he.
He had meant to say much more, but a sense of injured innocence and
indignation, and a full realization of his own helplessness, made it
difficult for him to control his voice.
Crouch looked at the paper, turning it over several times in his hand,
and then read it aloud.
"What's all this?" he asked.
"It belonged to Stork, sir," muttered Jimmy.
"And what of that, my boy? What does it mean?"
"I can't say, sir," stammered Jimmy. "I thought that, perhaps, you
might be able to explain. It has some hidden meaning. I know that
Stork is a German spy."
Crouch crumpled the paper in his hand and hurled it across the cabin in
a fit of impatience. "Hidden meaning to Jericho!" he roared. "Go to a
younger man than me, and one who knows less of the world, with an old
wives' tale like that. This is so much gibberish, written by an idle
sailor who thought to ape the scholar, when he had been better employed
sail-making or splicing ropes. Go back to bed, my lad, and worry me no
longer. I hold fast to my resolve; you shall be tried for your life in
Portsmouth by a proper legal court, and if you can't give a satisfactory
account of yourself, as sure as a typhoon in August in the China Seas,
you'll swing for a German spy."
Without a word, poor Jimmy Burke left the captain's cabin, more
heartbroken and despondent than he had ever been before. Captain
Crouch, for all his virtues--and these, as we are soon to learn, were
many--was a hard man by nature, and, moreover, one who was as obstinate
and pertinacious as any rough and weather-beaten mariner can be.
CHAPTER XII--The U93
During the latter part of her voyage, the "Harlech" was not able to
travel faster than eight knots an hour, whereas normally she was capable
of doing as much as thirteen under favourable conditions. The truth was
her engines had been badly damaged by shell fire; and had she not been
commanded by a man of inflexible resolution, there is no doubt she would
have put into one of the Irish ports for safety and repairs. Crouch,
however, had his orders, and these were to take the ship to Portsmouth,
with as little delay as possible and in face of every risk; and thither
he was determined to go.
It was not until the evening upon which they sighted the Fastnet light
that Crouch himself, for the first time, had some cause for suspicion in
regard to Rudolf Stork. The man's conduct on that particular occasion
was by no means easy to explain.
During the incident with the "Dresden" two of the ship's quartermasters
had been severely wounded and rendered incapable of carrying on their
work. On ocean liners and merchant vessels the quartermasters are
entrusted with a very important office: it is they who take their turn,
watch by watch, at the wheel, who are responsible that the ship
maintains her course. There were now but two quartermasters capable of
doing duty; and Captain Crouch had to look about him to find other men
capable of taking the places of those who had been disabled.
It so happened that Rudolf Stork was one of the first to volunteer, and
was able to prove that he had sufficient knowledge of a ship's compass
to take charge of the wheel. He was told off for the middle watch,
which was that commanded by the chief officer, Mr. Dawes.
Having picked up the famous Fastnet light, and verified his course,
which was almost due south-east to the Scillies, Captain Crouch turned
in at midnight, at the end of his own watch, and handed over to Dawes,
who ascended the bridge steps followed by Stork. The night was bitterly
cold; a fine rain was driving south-westward, down the St. George's
Channel. There was also a sea fog which completely obliterated the moon
and stars. Both Dawes and the acting quartermaster wore waterproof
coats and sou'westers.
Now, it so happened that on this occasion the chief officer was very far
from well. A few days before, he had contracted a violent cough which
that night showed signs of becoming serious. He had reported to the
captain that he felt indisposed, but protested that he was quite able to
do his duty. For all that, he had not been upon the bridge
three-quarters of an hour when he was seized with an immoderate fit of
coughing. This coughing was not only a serious impediment to the proper
carrying out of his duty, but it was also exceedingly painful. His pulse
was exceptionally fast, and a certain hot dryness of the skin was a sure
symptom of fever. Indeed, had there been a doctor on board, he would
have diagnosed the case at once, and pronounced the chief officer to be
on the verge of double pneumonia, aggravated by bronchial trouble. In
face of this, it speaks volumes for the pluck and perseverance of Mr.
Dawes that he had undertaken to go on watch at all.
Very soon, however, the coughing became so violent and persistent that
he was, at last, obliged to leave the bridge, to go below to his cabin.
He was not absent much longer than ten minutes; but, it so happened
that, whilst he was away, Crouch, who had not yet been to sleep,
returned to the bridge.
The captain did not ascend the steps that led from the main-deck, but
came upon the wheel from the after side, by way of the boat-deck, which
had been much shattered by the shell fire of the "Dresden." Crouch--as
is well known--had the eye of a lynx; and he saw at once that Stork was
holding the ship on a course at least twenty-five degrees south of that
marked upon the captain's chart.
"Hullo there!" he shouted, so suddenly that Stork started and let out an
exclamation of surprise.
The man was obviously alarmed, and for a moment lost his
self-possession, but recovered himself in an instant, and put the ship
about upon her proper course.
"Look here," said Crouch, "I'll have no monkey tricks on board this
packet. What d'ye mean? Answer me that! What d'ye mean?"
Stork made some feeble excuse, to which Crouch listened in stony
silence. When Mr. Dawes returned to the bridge, he found his captain in
none of the best of tempers. Neither was Crouch much inclined to be
sympathetic in regard to the chief officer's hacking cough.
"You're ill, man," said he; "of course, you're ill. I know that as well
as you; and as I told you before, you were in no fit state to come on
duty. Still, if you undertake a job of work, I expect you to do it; and
it is not for me to tell you a ship's officer's duty. As long as you
hold the bridge, you remain there. Understand this, Mr. Dawes: there's
a mighty difference between a ship crossing the Atlantic in time of war,
with such a cargo as we shipped in New York harbour, and an oil-tank
steamer in the south Pacific, when the captain and the mate can play
halfpenny nap all day and sleep like infants half the night. If you're
not fit for duty, go below, sir, and leave the bridge to me. It won't be
the first time in my life I've done eight hours on end."
Mr. Dawes took the hint, which, indeed, he was hardly in a condition to
reject. He went below, still coughing and more than a little ashamed.
As for Crouch, he remained on duty until eight bells had sounded,
which--as the conclusion of the middle watch--is four o'clock in the
morning. Throughout that time, he kept the eye of a hawk upon the man
at the wheel, who, in his turn, never once looked up from the compass.
All this while, Crouch's brain was active. He may have been inclined to
be pig-headed, but he was by no means a fool. For the first time, he
found himself wondering whether there was any truth in what Jimmy had
told him. He was perfectly convinced that Stork had changed the course
of the ship on purpose. The man was not only quite thorough in his work
as a rule, but understood his duty, and was hardly likely to have made
so serious a mistake through negligence alone.
When the last watch came to deck, the captain's eyes followed Stork as
he made his way to the forecastle; and then he, too, went below to his
cabin, to snatch a few hours' sleep. He was now quite ready to admit
the possibility that he had made a serious mistake, and made up his mind
to keep a sharp eye upon Stork throughout the remainder of the voyage.
The next day--when the "Harlech" was steadily ploughing her way, heading
for the entrance of the Channel--was an anxious time for Crouch. He
knew the full value of the cargo he carried, and its utmost importance
to those to whom it was consigned; and he knew also that, at any moment,
a torpedo from some lurking, hidden foe might send the ship and all on
board to the bottom. A heavy sea fog lay upon the surface of the water.
Dawes was in bed, unable to rise; and since the third officer was
somewhat young and inexperienced, nearly all the responsible work of the
ship devolved upon the captain.
That afternoon, towards sunset, the fog lifted a trifle. Crouch
remained upon the bridge, straining his single eye through his long
telescope for minutes at a time. Presently, he closed the instrument
with a snap, tucked it under his arm, and dived both hands into his
trousers pockets.
"Just as I thought!" he exclaimed. "We're a good six points to the
south, and on the wrong side of the Scillies. That man's a rogue."
There was no one to hear this remark but the quartermaster at the wheel,
and Jimmy Burke, who had just then ascended the bridge steps with a cup
of bovril for the captain, who had sent below for something to warm him
up.
"My boy," said Crouch, "I may have done you a wrong. Mind, I don't say
I have; but, I'm quite ready to confess that there's a chance of it.
Come and see me in my cabin, at ten o'clock to-night."
During that evening and the early hours of the night, the "Harlech"
rounded the Scilly Islands, and sighted the Cornish coast, where the
great, powerful light at the Lizard flashes its message of warning
across eighty miles of sea.
Jimmy Burke, filled with anticipation concerning his coming interview
with the captain, did not turn into the forecastle, but betook himself
to the poop, where he lay down upon a great coil of rope.
Now, those who know anything of the hardships of a sea-faring life are
well aware that a coil of rope makes a couch that is far from being
uncomfortable--as things go with those whose fate it is to serve before
the mast. There is always a great depression in the middle, in which it
is possible for the body to sink; and this is exactly what happened to
Jimmy Burke. He sank so deeply in the midst of the coils of rope that,
in spite of the fact that it was an exceedingly bright moonlit night,
his form was completely hidden from any one who might happen to be
passing.
He did not fall asleep, because he was particularly anxious to count
each sounding of the ship's bells, knowing that at four bells precisely
he would have to report himself to Captain Crouch. He was therefore in
full possession of his senses and wide awake when a shadowy form
ascended the poop steps, and passed to the taffrails at the very stern
of the vessel, from which was suspended the rope of the ship's log.
This man Jimmy recognized at once as Rudolf Stork. Even in that light,
there was no mistaking his broad, sloping shoulders and his slovenly
gait. Stork carried something in his hand; and at first the boy was not
able to make out what this was. He was not left long in doubt, however;
for, when Stork raised it to the level of the taffrails and began to
move up and down a small lever which made a persistent, irregular
tapping sound, it became manifest that the man was in possession of a
signalling lamp, with which he was sending messages to some unknown
point in the darkness that was spread upon the sea.
Jimmy Burke was like one transfixed. He remained motionless and
breathless, amazed at the man's audacity. And before he had time to put
two and two together, to realize the full import of what was happening,
four bells sounded from the forward part of the ship. It was ten
o'clock; Jimmy was expected in the captain's cabin.
Swiftly and silently, the boy got to his feet. As he did so, fearing
that his presence might be discovered, he kept an eye upon Stork, whose
back was turned to him, whose attention was fully occupied with the work
he had in hand. On the surface of the water, in the white wake of the
ship, Jimmy could see the reflection of the signalling lamp that flashed
and flickered with the dots and dashes of the Morse code, as if, in its
own poor way, it strove to imitate the magnificent lighthouse that lay
but a few miles to the north.
And then, on a sudden, from out of the darkness, like an evil eye in the
night, there appeared an answering light--small, far away, and yet
marvellously distinct.
[Illustration: LIKE AN EVIL EYE IN THE NIGHT THERE APPEARED AN ANSWERING
LIGHT.]
Jimmy drew back in horror. For all that, he remained sufficiently
master of himself to keep absolutely silent. Without a sound, he glided
down the companion-ladder to the well-deck, reached the main-deck, and
burst into the captain's cabin.
He had not troubled to knock; and his abrupt entrance caused Crouch to
look up from a volume of sailing instructions he had been in the act of
reading.
"My lad," said he, "we're not over particular here in regard to manners;
but, it's customary to ask permission to enter the captain's cabin."
Then he saw that the boy's face was ashen white, and shaped his lips as
if about to whistle.
"What's up?" said he. "What's up?"
"For mercy's sake," cried Jimmy, "come with me! That villain is
signalling from the poop to a German submarine."
Crouch straightened like a man struck. For fully a minute, he stared at
Jimmy in amazement. There was that in the expression of the boy's face
that left no room for doubt. No one--and Captain Crouch less than any
one--could fail to see that he had spoken what he honestly believed to
be the truth.
"A German submarine!" repeated Crouch.
"What else could it be?" cried Jimmy. "No cruiser, gunboat or destroyer
would dare to show up so far from home. It's a submarine, sir, sure
enough. And the rascal's signalling with a shuttered lantern in the
Morse code, and they have answered back."
Crouch moved quickly to the doorway, and then, coming back into the
room, flung open a drawer in his writing-desk, and took out a small,
nickel-plated revolver that glittered in the lamplight.
"We'll put a stop to this," he cried. "It may not be too late to save
the ship." Followed by the boy, he dashed out upon the deck.
There are scenes in the lives of us all which impress us so vividly at
the time that we carry them with us always in our memory, as clearly and
as permanently as an impression can be made upon a photographic plate.
Jimmy Burke will never forget the moonlit scene that was presented to
his view from the doorway of Captain Crouch's cabin, that was at once
beautiful and terrible. On the starboard side of the ship the rocks of
Cornwall arose from out of the sea in a long, dark, rugged line, in the
centre of which the Lizard light flashed like a brilliant star. A full
moon hung low in the heavens, tracing a broad, silvery pathway across
the broken surface of the sea. The "Harlech" was moving cumbrously
through the water, on a course almost due east, when, on a sudden, in
the full light of the moon, there rose out of the water, like some
hideous monster of the under-sea, the periscope and conning-tower of an
enormous submarine, upon the side of which was just discernible the
ominous and dreaded letters--U93.
CHAPTER XIII--To the Boats!
Even in broad daylight there is something about a submarine that is
uncanny. The capacity to float half-submerged, the peculiar shape and
the dull slatey colour of this latest triumph of naval science, remind
one of some weird antediluvian animal--one of those strange, gigantic
monsters that are known to have inhabited the world long before man made
his appearance. On this fateful night the bright moonshine,
scintillating on the broken surface of the water, made the German
submarine seem ghost-like and supernatural. Its sudden and unexpected
appearance had the effect upon Jimmy Burke of a douche of ice-cold
water. For several seconds he remained standing quite motionless and
breathless, staring in stupefied amazement at the dark outline of the
enemy.
Crouch, on the other hand, wasted not as much as the fraction of a
second. A man who has spent a great part of his life in shooting wild
and savage beasts is not easily taken by surprise. He was used to
shocks. He saw at once that the peril in which the "Harlech" stood was
both extreme and immediate. At such a moment it was not his business to
ask himself why this calamity had come to pass. He was concerned only
with the ship that he commanded, which it was his duty to save at every
cost.
As quick as thought he turned, and dashing up the bridge steps, thrust
the quartermaster aside and seized the spokes of the wheel.
The "Harlech" was travelling at full speed ahead--that is to say, she
was making a poor seven knots an hour. The U93 lay on the starboard
quarter; and Crouch, without a moment's hesitation, put the helm hard
aport, with the result that the bows of the ship swung round on an angle
of forty-five degrees, until she was heading straight for the submarine.
The moment was one of such intense excitement that Jimmy could think of
nothing else but the extreme danger in which he found himself; he had
forgotten completely all about Rudolf Stork. Crouch had sent below the
quartermaster on duty, with orders for the boatswain to summon the crew;
and in less than a minute every one--with the exception of those who
were at work in the engine-room and stokeholds--was on deck.
The members of the crew crowded along the taffrails on the starboard
side of the ship, where they shouted to one another and pointed
excitedly in the direction of the submarine. Jimmy found himself in the
midst of a crowd of half-clad, panic-stricken men, who jostled one
another, and whose voices were inarticulate and hoarse. It is a
significant fact that these men, who had sustained unflinchingly the
fire of the "Dresden's" guns, who had behaved like heroes throughout,
were now as senseless and as frightened as a flock of sheep in a field
with a savage dog. The reason of this is not so far to seek: the
submarine is not only as deadly a weapon as has ever been contrived,
but, so far, no adequate means have been invented to counteract its
subtle powers of aggression. Submarine is useless against submarine;
destroyers are not able to account for under-water craft without having
luck on their side--an auxiliary to warfare that is seldom absent, and
yet which can hardly be relied upon. Neither are wire nets wholly
adequate, since these can be utilized with effect only in certain
localities where the seas are narrow and not deep.
None the less, though the crew of the "Harlech" were excited and
apprehensive, they could not fail to see that it was Crouch's object to
run the submarine down. One and all, they had supreme confidence in
Crouch, and knew--now that the captain himself was at the wheel---that
their lives could not be entrusted to safer hands.
They heard the tinkling of the engine-room bell when Crouch rang down to
tell the chief engineer to let her go. The captain's teeth were set; he
held the wheel at arm's length in an attitude of tension, his one eye
staring straight before him, over the peak of the vessel, to the point
where the U93 lay upon the surface of the water, her conning-tower and
superstructure showing like the back of a whale.
It seemed at first that they would succeed, that the submarine would be
rammed, cut in half and sent to the bottom like a stone. There could
not have been fifty feet between the bows of the "Harlech" and her
little venomous enemy when the U93 began to move, gaining almost at once
sufficient velocity to cause the water to part about her forward
ventilators in a long feathery wave, arrow-shaped and snow-white in the
moonshine.
For ten minutes the chase continued; and those were moments of
breathless and intense excitement. Once, at least, a torpedo was fired,
which missed the ship by a matter of yards, passing on the port side,
leaving a trail in the moonlight that was like the sheen on the scales
of a fish. It caused each man on board who saw it firstly to shudder,
and secondly to lift a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the great God
above.
Had Crouch not turned the ship head-on to the submarine, had the
"Harlech" presented a broadside target, there is small doubt the torpedo
would have found its mark, and all on board would have perished.
Afterwards, no one was able to testify that more than a single torpedo
had been fired.
It now became clear that the submarine commander had decided to gain his
ends by swift manoeuvring. Crouch himself was the first to recognize
that the "Harlech" stood no chance of overhauling its enemy. The U93
could apparently travel on the surface at the rate of not less than
fifteen knots; and even had the "Harlech" not been so sadly disabled,
she could hardly have overtaken her quarry.
The submarine drew away some distance ahead, and then made a half circle
to the left, returning on a parallel course, until she was level with
the steamer. The "Harlech" was then not more than a mile away from the
Cornish coast, where the dark, rugged outline of the hills was clearly
visible in the moonlight.
Suddenly the hatch in the conning-tower of the U93 was seen to open, and
two men made their appearance, one of whom shouted through a megaphone.
He spoke good English. In the stillness of the night every word he said
was audible.
"Ahoy, there!" he cried. "Slow down at once, and stop; or we send you
to the bottom."
"Who are you?" asked Crouch, more with the idea of wasting time than of
gleaning any definite information.
"His Imperial Majesty's submarine U93," came the answer. "Heave to, at
once!"
Crouch saw that he had no alternative but to surrender. The "Harlech"
was now broadside on to the submarine, which was not a hundred and fifty
yards away. A torpedo, if discharged, could no more fail to strike its
target than send the merchant ship to the bottom in the space of a few
moments. It was a bitter pill to swallow; and as he paced to and fro
upon the bridge, the little wizened master-mariner thought of Jason,
Junior, sitting in his spacious offices in the midst of the hurry and
commotion of New York.
He looked again at the submarine, which had now turned round and was
following its victim as a cat plays with a mouse--except that, in this
case, the mouse was huge and cumbrous, the cat quite small and fragile.
In something that was very like a fit of rage Crouch grasped the handle
of the telegraph, and rang down to the engine-room to "Stop."
The submarine drew even closer, until at last the German commander was
able to make himself heard without the use of his megaphone.
"Are you the 'Harlech'?" he demanded.
"How do you know that?" said Crouch.
This seemed to anger the German, for he shouted even louder than before.
"I am not here to answer questions, but to ask them. Please understand
that I am master of the situation: I have but to give the order, and a
torpedo puts an end to you all."
"Do what you like," said Crouch. "We've no means of self-defence, as
you can see."
"You have contraband goods on board," said the other.
"That may, or may not, be."
The German laughed.
"I know it," said he. "And now, I give you fair warning: you and your
men have precisely five minutes in which to leave the ship. If you are
not gone by the end of that time, you will pay the penalty of death, for
the ship goes to the bottom."
Captain Crouch knit his brows in a frown. This was the first time in
the life of the little man that he had met with anything in the shape of
failure. As we have already pointed out, he was one who had made a
success of most things. He had risen from extreme poverty and small
beginnings to be a man of note--one whose name was well known in the
four quarters of the globe. Just now, he felt as if he would never be
able to hold up his head again, to look in the face the old friends who
had followed him through thick and thin, who had always thought so
highly of their leader.
Still, if he felt all this, he showed it neither in the expression of
his face nor in the tones of his voice. In much the same manner as he
would have given an everyday and simple order, he raised a hand to his
mouth, and shouted at the full power of his lungs--
"All hands to the boats!"
CHAPTER XIV--The Doomed Ship
"All hands to the boats!"
There was no need for the order to be repeated a second time. The men,
who knew quite well what was coming, were only waiting for the word.
Indeed, in one part of the ship, the captain's orders had been
anticipated by no less a person than Rudolf Stork.
There is little doubt that--had the submarine not appeared when it
did--the days of Rudolf Stork had been numbered, then and there. Had
Captain Crouch found Stork upon the poop, signalling to the enemy, he
would have shot him like a dog, without a moment's hesitation. But,
during the brief space of time whilst Jimmy was in the captain's cabin,
the submarine had drawn quite close to the "Harlech"; and in the
immediate presence of this new and more certain peril Crouch--and Jimmy
also--forgot all about the ship's carpenter who had betrayed all on
board.
There is every reason to suppose that Stork knew well enough the plans
of the German commander. Possibly, he had known all along that the
"Harlech" was doomed. He understood that the so-called submarine
blockade was to be carried out with ruthless energy and perseverance,
and that the lives of neutrals, even of women and children, were not
likely to be held of much account.
He was therefore in the greater haste to get quit of the ship; and for
this his position on the poop--the stern part of the vessel--offered him
an opportunity which he was not likely to refuse.
Hoisted alongside the demolished round-house, where most of the ship's
stores were kept, was a small gig, not much larger than a dinghy, used
as a rule for harbour work. It so happened that when all hands were
called on deck by the shrill note of the boatswain's whistle, the cook
and the cook's mate had hastened from the galley to the poop; and it was
these two men that Stork summoned to his assistance.
Without much difficulty, they lowered the dinghy, and had even launched
it in the water, before Crouch had given the order for the boats to be
manned. To lower a rope was the work of a minute; and before any one
was aware that the ship's carpenter had left the ship, Stork and the two
cooks were rowing frantically for the shore. There was no question but
that they would reach the coast in safety. The dinghy was quite
seaworthy; the damage done to the ship's boats during the bombardment
from the "Dresden" had been repaired upon the voyage. The night was
clear, the sea perfectly calm, and the shore--as we have said--not far
away.
In the meantime, the German commander continued to issue his orders.
Crouch still remained upon the bridge.
"Lower a gangway!" cried the German.
"A gangway!" echoed Crouch in open derision. "Do you think that we're a
pack of school-girls that can't swarm down a rope? For why should we
want a gangway?"
For some reason or other this seemed to infuriate the German.
"Do as you are told," he roared; "and don't argue the point with me.
Lower a gangway at once. Do you imagine I intend to waste one of our
finest Krupp torpedoes on a cargo ship of not five thousand tons! No,
sir, we are not such fools in Germany. As soon as you and your crew are
off, it will be short work, with such a cargo as you carry, to send her
sky high with a bomb."
Crouch said nothing more, but came down from the bridge like a beaten
man. It was when he gained the main-deck that he remembered Rudolf
Stork, and went aft, with a set look upon his face and a loaded revolver
in his hand.
When he reached the poop, he was furious when he saw what had happened.
Not only was the dinghy gone, but the rope--by means of which Stork and
the two cooks had managed to escape--was dangling at the ship's side.
"The rascal!" Crouch hissed between his teeth. Then, thrusting his
revolver into a coat pocket, he clenched his fist, and shook it at the
stars.
"If ever I get the chance," he muttered, "I'll be even with that rogue.
I've been a blind fool, all along."
He returned to the main-deck, and supervised the lowering of the boats,
in which there was ample accommodation for the crew. This work was
carried out in the utmost haste; all on board knew well enough that the
submarine commander would hold to his word, that they had five
minutes--and not a second longer--in which to make good their escape.
Still, there was not much time to spare when the four boats were rowed
round to the foot of the gangway steps, down which filed the crew, the
ship's officers and engineers, each one with a bundle under his arm, in
which he carried his most prized possessions.
Grim resolution, smothered anger, and deep sullen dejection--these were
the sentiments that were imprinted on the face of every man. They were
helpless, and they knew it. The German had spoken truly; the submarine,
fragile, slender and evil-looking, was the absolute master of the
situation. The will of the submarine commander was the law, immutable
and rigid. They had no option but to obey, without question and in
haste.
Crouch remained on deck until--as he thought--every man had descended to
the boats. Then he himself took his place on the stern seat of the last
boat to leave the ship. One after the other, they rowed away in the
darkness, the rhythmic plashing of the oars growing fainter and fainter
in the distance, and seeming to strike upon the silence of the night a
note of sadness that was not out of keeping with the scene: the gentle
moonshine on the water, the distant, rugged hills, and the
ship--forsaken, listless, doomed. Some such thought may have entered
into the mind of the German officer himself, standing on the
conning-tower of the boat that he commanded, miles away from the
Fatherland he loved and the lighted cafes of Berlin.
However that may be, he had evidently no intention of failing in what he
conceived to be his duty. The submarine drew slowly alongside the
gangway steps. The commander ascended to the main-deck, followed by a
seaman who carried in his hand a great egg-shaped thing, from the top of
which protruded the head of a fuse. It was a bomb, timed to explode
precisely two minutes after the lighting of the fuse. Of a certainty,
the "Harlech," of the house of Jason, Stileman and May, was doomed,
sentenced to be destroyed.
None the less, the German officer was in no haste. Leaving the sailor
at the head of the companion-ladder, he entered the captain's cabin,
overhauled the ship's papers, and even helped himself to a box of cigars
which had been given to Crouch by Mr. Jason, Junior, on the day he left
New York.
At the very moment this was happening, Captain Crouch himself, holding
the tiller ropes in his hands, sat in the stern seat of the last boat
like a man who is in a dream. Stern and hard as he was, accustomed to
rule both circumstance and men by sheer force of will, he found this
great calamity by no means easy to bear. It was no simple matter to
realize the full extent of what had happened. He had been specially
chosen to carry out a difficult and dangerous mission; and he had
failed. It was not in his nature to think of what excuse he should
make; he was prepared to take the blame. He knew now that he had made
an irreparable mistake, that he had been deceived. And that brought
back his mind to Rudolf Stork.
From Stork his thoughts turned naturally to Jimmy Burke; and then it was
that he remembered, with the suddenness of an electric shock, that he
had not seen the boy go on board any one of the boats. He thought it
over quickly. Jimmy could not be in the dinghy, for he had caught sight
of the boy on the main-deck after the dinghy had been launched. He was
also equally certain that Jimmy had not descended the gangway when the
crew manned the boats.
For once in his life--probably the only time on record--Captain Crouch
was alarmed. He knew now that he had wronged the stowaway, and in the
deep dejection of the moment was inclined to be unjust to himself,
forgetting that, from the first, the circumstantial evidence had been
all against the boy.
As he sat silent, motionless and downcast, he turned, and looked back at
the dark outline of the forsaken, stricken ship. And little did he
dream of the deed of unexampled heroism, of the scene of such vital and
dramatic interest that even then was being enacted on board.
As the German officer tested Crouch's best cigars, lifting one after the
other to his ear to see that they were dry, a face appeared at the
porthole on the port side of the ship. It was the face of Jimmy
Burke--a white, scared face, upon which, however, was the cast of
resolution.
The German went out on to the main-deck on the starboard side, where he
took the bomb from the sailor's hands. Thence he passed down the
companion-ladder, along the alley-way to the engine-room, where he
descended the trellised stairway, step by step.
On the floor of the engine-room, in the very base of the ship, he
deposited his bomb, and then, stooping, struck a match and lit the end
of the fuse.
At that, he ran up the steps, dashed out upon the forward well-deck, and
hastened down the gangway. And at the very moment he set foot on board
his submarine, Jimmy Burke appeared suddenly in the alley-way, from the
direction of the engineers' mess-room, where he had been hiding.
Thence, he ran to the engine-room, and at the top of the steps paused a
moment to look down.
In the midst of the vast machinery, now idle and seemingly inert, but
still droning from the effect of compressed, wasted steam, upon the
black, oily floor, lay the egg-shaped German bomb. A little spurt of
blue smoke was issuing in coils from the burning fuse, of which not more
than two inches now remained.
With a loud cry that he was not able to suppress, the boy dashed down
the stairs.
CHAPTER XV--The Penitence of Captain Crouch
It can scarcely be denied that danger, and even death itself, are more
terrible from a distance than when they actually stare us in the face.
The truth is that, in moments of intense nervous strain, there is little
time for the imagination to run riot; and--as the greatest of all poets
has told us--it is imagination, more than anything else, that causes
fear and panic. A time of emergency is a time for action, when it is
better to do than to think. And always is it wiser and more manful to
strive for success than to pause to consider, even for a single instant,
the possibilities of failure.
Jimmy Burke, as he hastened down the engine-room steps, was concerned
with one thing only: to reach the bomb before it was timed to explode.
Had he waited to consider what would happen should he be too late, it is
more than probable that he would have failed; he would never have lived
to tell the tale. As it was, breathless and expectant, with a cold
perspiration broken out upon his forehead, and his heart thumping
violently against his ribs, he reached the infernal machine in the very
nick of time. Seizing the burning end of the fuse between a thumb and
finger, he crushed it out: and thus was the "Harlech" saved.
None the less, to make doubly sure of success, he carried the bomb up
the staircase to the alley-way, where he threw it down an ash-shoot into
the sea.
In the meantime Captain Crouch, seated on the stern seat of the last
boat to leave the ship, found himself--as the saying goes--between the
hammer and the anvil, between Scylla and Charybdis. He was anxious to
make amends for the fatal mistake that he had made; to save, if
possible, the life of the boy who was still upon the ship. And on that
account, he found himself in something of a dilemma.
If he put back to the "Harlech," he imperilled the lives of every man in
the boat; and he felt some doubt as to whether he was justified in doing
that. He thought over the matter quickly, and then resolved to speak
the truth.
"My lads," said he to his men, "all the voyage through I've done a great
injustice to that boy of ours. He was a stowaway, right enough, but as
loyal as I am. Even to-night, he did his utmost to warn me of danger
ahead--he played the part of a man. Now, I ask you a fair question, and
I want a straight answer, such as a sailor has a right to expect. For
some reason or other, the boy has been left behind; and the ship--as you
know--is doomed. She may have another minute to live; but the chances
are that in a few seconds she'll be sent sky-high, blown to smithereens.
Now, here's the point: are we to go back, and try to save the lad, or
shall we row ahead for the shore? Yes, or no? There's no betwixt and
between in a matter such as this."
The men in the boat did not take long to make up their minds. They were
all British born--men whose forbears for generation after generation had
earned their bread upon the sea. And nowhere else is the spirit of
self-sacrifice and honest heroism more dearly fostered, nowhere else is
a finer school for courage, than upon the broad waters of the ocean
where young and old, from the forecastle to the galley, from the North
Sea trawler to the Atlantic liner, take their fortunes in their hands
and run the danger of their lives amid the wild typhoons of the southern
seas, the blizzards of the Horn, and the icebergs of the Arctic. As one
man, they offered to return to the stricken ship, to endeavour to save
the stowaway.
Turning the boat round, they rowed in desperation, for their own lives
also were at stake. The moonlight now seemed brighter than before; the
few clouds had shifted; a light wind had sprung up from the west which
formed endless ripples upon the surface of the sea, that glistened
everywhere like myriads of spangles.
They could see the dark hull of the doomed ship, looming large against
the sky-line. She lay there in the midst of the night, helpless and
silent, like the great carcase of some stranded mammoth beast. And
though these men rowed in a kind of frenzy, straining every nerve and
muscle to the utmost, there was little hope in their hearts.
By now, the submarine had drawn away from the "Harlech." Lying upon the
surface of the water, she was like a spider that watches its prey from
the centre of its web. The hatch of her conning-tower was closed. The
"Harlech," the U93 and the boat in which was Captain Crouch, stood to
one another in the relation of the corners of an equilateral triangle.
Waves were breaking against the superstructure of the submarine--waves
that were white as silver in the bright light of the moon.
Suddenly, Crouch let out a cry, and pointed excitedly towards the east.
"Look there!" he shouted. "A destroyer!"
Every man turned his eyes in the direction indicated; and there, sure
enough, standing out upon the sky-line, clearly silhouetted and looking
like the teeth of a broken comb, were the four funnels of a
torpedo-boat-destroyer, from which proceeded a long, black trail of
smoke that lay low and almost parallel to the surface of the sea.
The destroyer rushed through the water as an arrow comes singing through
the air. Even as they looked, she grew larger and more distinct; until,
presently, they could hear the throbbing of her engines and see the
churned water lashed by the revolutions of her screws.
The U93 dived like a startled duck. In a few seconds she was gone.
The destroyer, which was originally heading straight for the "Harlech,"
now changed her course, and began to move round in circles, steaming at
topmost speed, in her movements for all the world like a joyful dog on a
lawn.
When the ship's boat was not more than a hundred yards from the
"Harlech," the destroyer drew to within speaking distance, and the
lieutenant-commander upon the bridge shouted to Captain Crouch.
"Have you seen the U93?" he asked.
"Seen her!" cried Crouch. "Why, she's not a cable's length from where
you are. We have been turned out of our berths, and given five minutes
in which to leave the ship; and there's a bomb on board which should
have exploded before now."
At that, the British commander appeared vastly excited, raising his
voice even louder.
"Then, man alive, keep your distance!" he bellowed. "If the explosion
takes place, that boat of yours is as likely as not to be scuttled by a
falling spar. You're heading the wrong way, man! Put about, get your
distance, and stand clear while the trouble's on."
[Illustration: "YOU'RE HEADING THE WRONG WAY, MAN! PUT ABOUT AND STAND
CLEAR WHILE THE TROUBLE'S ON."]
"I'm going back," calmly answered Crouch, whose men had never ceased to
row. "I'm going back to the ship, to save a boy who has been left on
board."
At that, the officer gave vent to an exclamation of surprise, and then,
raising his night glasses, vowed that he could see some one on the
forecastle-peak, waving his arms about him wildly, like one who calls
for assistance.
"Row ahead!" Crouch shouted to his men. "Row for all you're worth! That
bomb has misfired, or I'm a Prussian. We'll save the stowaway yet."
A few more strong strokes of the oars, and the boat drew alongside the
foot of the gangway steps. Crouch, agile as a panther, sprang on to the
footboard, and racing to the main-deck, came on a sudden face to face
with Jimmy.
"Come off!" he cried. "There's no time to spare."
Jimmy Burke could not refrain from smiling.
"It's all right," said he in a quiet voice. "It's all right; the ship's
saved. There is no danger any longer."
Crouch, catching his breath, stared at the boy in amazement.
"Saved!" he repeated.
"Yes. The bomb has been thrown overboard. I stayed on board to do it."
For at least a minute, Captain Crouch uttered never a word. Then,
quietly, without any show of haste, he took his pipe from his pocket,
filled it, struck a match and lit it, and puffed a cloud of smoke into
the air.
"I've known many men," said he at last, "and I've seen most parts of the
world. I was first introduced to danger--if I might call it so--when I
was little more than a lad, and we've kept up a nodding acquaintance
ever since. I've known different kinds of danger, too--all the family
relations, so to speak: jungle fever, malaria, cholera and Black Jack;
lions, tigers, rogue-elephants and buffalo, and the last's an ugly
customer when he's wounded--you may take my word for that; I've seen
war, shipwreck, cannibals, pygmies and sudden death; and I've known men
who could hold their own in the midst of the whole boiling lot. But
I've never seen, or heard, or read of, a finer thing, my boy, than you
have done to-night. I say that because I mean it; and there's a hand to
shake."
And Captain Crouch held out a hand which Jimmy took, to find himself
held fast as in a grip of iron.
"I ask your pardon, lad," said Captain Crouch. "I did you a monstrous
wrong. The evidence was against you, that's true enough. None the
less, I might have found out the truth before now. But I didn't. So
it's up to you to forgive."
Jimmy Burke knew not what to say. Indeed, he felt a little awkward. He
was undemonstrative by nature, and Crouch still held his hand.
"I ask your pardon, lad," said the captain again. "I shan't feel happy
till you've told me I'm forgiven."
"Of course, sir," said Jimmy, "I forgive. And after all, it was only
natural you should think as you did; the evidence was very black against
me."
Crouch let go the boy's hand, and walked quickly to the head of the
gangway. There he told the men in the boat below that the ship had been
saved, and ordered them to ascend at once to the main-deck. After
which, the captain himself hastened to the bridge, and there let loose
the siren.
The loud shriek of the ship's hooter broke upon the silence of the
night, to be echoed back from the Cornish hills, and to die away in the
distance upon the moonlit sea. It was the signal for the other boats to
return.
Time and again, Crouch sent out his message; and in between the hootings
of the siren, the little, wizened sea-captain paced to and fro upon the
bridge of the "Harlech" with quick and eager steps, his hands folded
behind his back and his head enveloped in the cloud of smoke that issued
from the bowl of his pipe. And in the meantime, His Majesty's ship
"Cockroach"--a destroyer with a displacement of over nine hundred tons
and a designed speed of thirty knots an hour, burning oil fuel only and
armed with three four-inch guns and four torpedo-tubes--was flying
hither and thither in the darkness like a mad dog in a storm.
CHAPTER XVI--At the "Goat and Compasses"
Presently, the regular plashing sound of oars, accompanied by human
voices, rapidly becoming louder and more distinct, warned Crouch that
the other boats were returning to the ship.
One after the other, they showed up in the darkness like white hovering
ghosts, keeping at a safe distance from the "Harlech" until assured that
all danger was past.
A few minutes later, Crouch himself mustered all hands upon the
main-deck, when it was discovered that the dinghy had not returned, and
that the sole absentees were Stork, the ship's cook and his mate.
There was nothing to be gained by further delay. Stork, who had by now
probably gained the shore at some desolate spot on the wild Cornish
coast, was not likely to pay much attention to the repeated hootings of
the siren. He knew well enough that his secret was out; that for some
reason or other the plot to destroy the ship had misfired, and that he
was likely to receive scant mercy at the hands of Captain Crouch, who,
for once in his life, had been fooled to the top of his bent. The
so-called ship's carpenter knew when he was safe.
As was afterwards discovered, he experienced no difficulty in playing
upon the simple mind of the cook, a chicken-hearted fellow at the best,
who had already had more than enough of the merchant service in time of
war. As chance had it, both this man and his mate lived at Truro, and
ten minutes after the dinghy had been beached, Rudolf Stork was left to
his own resources, with a free hand to go whithersoever he wished.
It is as well therefore that Crouch ordered the engine-room watch below,
and got the ship under way on a straight course for the Needles, before
the steel-blue streak of morning was far spread upon the eastern
sky-line.
The U93 was nowhere to be seen. She may have descended to the sea-bed,
to lie in hiding like a dog-fox in deep earth, or else made off straight
for Wilhelmshaven at her top speed under water--probably the best part
of ten knots, in all seas and weathers. As for the "Cockroach," she was
more mad than ever, flying here and there with all the superfluous
energy of her powerful turbine engines, looking for her stealthy and
elusive quarry like a terrier hot on the scent of a rabbit. As the
daylight grew, and a blood-red sun arose upon a calm, grey winter's sea,
the Lizard light went out; and the coastguards at the trim white-washed
signal station (which is what may be called the "booking-office" of the
English Channel) watched through their telescopes a large trans-atlantic
tramp, steaming eastward--spoken as the "Harlech," bound for
Portsmouth--and little dreamed of the tragedy that had been so narrowly
averted.
When the same ship reached the Solent, and the chalk cliffs of the Isle
of Wight stood out like a bank of cloud, those on board had passed
unscathed through a terrible ordeal, they had run the gauntlet of the
seas in time of war, and played their several parts like men. And there
was not one among them who did not realize that he had but Divine
Providence to thank that he was still alive.
It so happened that it was Sunday; and with all hands assembled on the
forward well-deck, Crouch read the service, and there was a meaning in
the words of the psalm that went deep into the hearts of those rough,
sea-faring men: "_If I take the wings of the morning and remain in the
uttermost parts of the sea; even there also shall thy hand lead me._"
War brings men back to fundamental truths that were known of old in a
warlike age when the majestic poetry of the psalms was first conceived:
that the heart of man is a heart of sin and savagery, but over all is a
God, just, yet full of mercy.
There is in Gosport--as, indeed, in every other port that lies between
San Francisco and Yokohama by way of the Manchester Ship Canal--a branch
office of the firm of Jason, Stileman and May; and here, to no less a
person than the senior partner of the firm (Mr. Jason, Senior, the uncle
of the New York agent), Captain Crouch told his story from start to end,
and did not hesitate to blame himself. He explained in full how he had
been deceived by Rudolf Stork, who had escaped from the ship off the
coast of Cornwall. He dwelt at length upon the part that had been
played throughout by Jimmy Burke, who--on Crouch's showing--had saved
the "Harlech" from complete and inevitable destruction.
Mr. Jason replied that the firm was not likely to forget the valuable
services the boy had rendered. Crouch had had a long talk with Jimmy,
and knew a certain amount of the boy's past history. Mr. Jason was
personally willing to guarantee the boy's future; but, on hearing that
Jimmy had no other ambition than to serve his country in her hour of
need, he said that he would do what he could to assist the lad to enter
the Army or Navy.
In the meantime, Jimmy was handed over to the care of Captain Crouch,
who was instructed to look after him as if he were his own son. Crouch,
who never had a son of his own, had rather vague ideas on the subject of
paternal duties. He betook himself, together with his charge, to a
certain small, old-fashioned hotel in a by-street, where he was in the
habit of staying whenever his ship was lying in Portsmouth Harbour.
The name of this establishment was the "Goat and Compasses." In former
times, under the sign of "God Encompass Thee"--a gentle salutation to
the traveller--the place had been a well-known coaching inn, at the
extremity of the famous Portsmouth road. In later times, as the English
mercantile fleet swelled to the present proportions, it became a famous
resort for ships' officers and master-mariners, such as Captain Crouch
himself; and in the smoking-room of a winter's evening, when a wood fire
of the pine logs of Hampshire blazed and sizzled in the grate, more
tales were told of the five continents, the seven seas, and the islands
of the South, than could very well be contained in a whole library of
books of travel.
To the "Goat and Compasses," therefore, Crouch and Jimmy Burke departed,
arm in arm. And the captain ashore--as we have said already--was a very
different man from the captain afloat, on the quarter-deck or bridge.
He was hail-fellow-well-met with almost every other person he
encountered in the street. He informed an old lady, who sat knitting at
an open window, that she was the possessor of an extraordinary fine
canary. He gave a crossing-sweeper fourpence, and a tobacconist--from
whom he purchased two pounds of his celebrated Bull's Eye Shag--the
benefit of his views on German methods of warfare. At last, at the
"Goat and Compasses," he ordered a meal that would have overtaxed the
digestive powers of a hyaena, emphasizing the fact that what he called a
healthy appetite was the one and only outward (or inward) token of a
Britisher.
It was during supper that something happened in the nature of a
coincidence. It will be remembered that Jimmy Burke had taken nothing
on board the "Harlech" except a few personal belongings, done up in a
handkerchief, and a dry loaf of bread. He wore, however, a watch-chain
which had once belonged to his father, and from this was suspended his
half of the Admiral's lucky sixpence. On a sudden, Crouch's eyes became
glued to this small shining souvenir.
It is as well to remember that Captain Crouch had an excellent memory.
He was an ex
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