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Captain Calamity

by Rolf Bennett · English · Gutenberg #40563 · 371,916 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Captain Calamity

Author: Rolf Bennett


        
Release date: August 22, 2012 [eBook #40563]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTAIN CALAMITY ***

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CAPTAIN CALAMITY

by

ROLF BENNETT

Author of "The Adventures of Lieut. Lawless, R.N."

Second Edition







Hodder And Stoughton
London New York Toronto
MCMXVI

Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld.,
London and Aylesbury.




      To
    MY WIFE




CONTENTS


        CHAPTER I. THE PARTNERS                                13

       CHAPTER II. THE DEPARTURE OF THE "HAWK"                 21

      CHAPTER III. MUTINY                                      29

       CHAPTER IV. THE CASTAWAYS                               36

        CHAPTER V. DORA FLETCHER                               44

       CHAPTER VI. MR. DYKES RECEIVES HIS LESSON               53

      CHAPTER VII. THE AGITATOR                                61

     CHAPTER VIII. THE PRIZE                                   69

       CHAPTER IX. TRAGEDY                                     78

        CHAPTER X. THE CAPTAIN'S "APPEAL"                      86

       CHAPTER XI. THE FIGHT                                   95

      CHAPTER XII. A DESPERATE VENTURE                        103

     CHAPTER XIII. THE EBB TIDE                               114

      CHAPTER XIV. THE ATTACK                                 120

       CHAPTER XV. MCPHULACH EXPLAINS                         129

      CHAPTER XVI. CALAMITY KEEPS HIS WORD                    135

     CHAPTER XVII. THE CONFESSION                             147

    CHAPTER XVIII. DORA FLETCHER'S CHANCE                     155

      CHAPTER XIX. AT THE WHEEL                               163

       CHAPTER XX. IN COMMAND                                 171

      CHAPTER XXI. THE SIGNAL GUN                             179

     CHAPTER XXII. MR. SMITH SEEKS A PARTNER                  185

    CHAPTER XXIII. DORA FLETCHER ANSWERS "NO"                 194

     CHAPTER XXIV. THE MACHINATIONS OF MR. SOLOMON            201

      CHAPTER XXV. THE ARREST                                 209

     CHAPTER XXVI. THE TRIAL                                  217

    CHAPTER XXVII. THE LETTER                                 228

   CHAPTER XXVIII. HOME                                       239

     CHAPTER XXIX. NOBLESSE OBLIGE                            248




CHAPTER I

THE PARTNERS


     "_Know all men that we do by these presents issue forth and grant
     Letters of Marque and reprisals to, and do license and authorise
     John Brighouse to set forth in a warlike manner the ship called the
     'Hawk,' under his own command and therewith by force of arms to
     apprehend, seize and take the ships, vessels and goods belonging to
     the German Empire, wherefore it may and shall be lawful for the
     said John Brighouse to sell and dispose of such ships, vessels and
     goods adjudged and condemned in such sort and manner as by the
     course of Admiralty hath been adjudged._"

The man who had been reading aloud from the closely written parchment
laid it down on the table and glanced inquiringly at his companion. He
was a man of between forty and fifty, a little over five feet in height,
but so squarely built that, without exaggeration, he was well-nigh as
broad as he was long. His head was small and bullet-shaped with a thatch
of wiry black hair, and his face, bronzed to a copper-hue, was
clean-shaven. A pair of thick, shaggy eyebrows brooded over eyes that
usually produced a shock when first seen; for while one was steely-grey
and possessed extraordinary mobility, the other was pale green and gazed
upon the beholder with the fixed and stony stare of a dead fish. But
this alarming optical phenomenon admitted of a simple explanation. At
some period in his eventful career, Captain Calamity--for thus he was
known throughout the length and breadth of the Pacific--had had the
misfortune to lose an eye. After experiencing some difficulty in
obtaining a glass substitute, he had at last managed to secure one
second-hand from the relative of a gentleman who no longer required it.

The other man, Isaac Solomon by name, might have been any age from forty
to sixty. He was lean and angular, with features of a pronounced Hebraic
cast and a pair of beady black eyes that conveyed the impression of
mingled cunning and humour. His upper lip was shaven, but he wore a
beard which, like the few remaining hairs upon his head, was of a dingy
grey colour.

This oddly assorted pair were seated in a small room, half parlour, half
office, at the rear of the premises wherein Mr. Solomon carried on the
business of ship-chandler. The one window, partly shuttered to keep out
the fierce glare of the sun, looked out upon Singapore Harbour, with its
forest of masts and busy fleet of small craft darting to and fro across
the sparkling, unruffled surface of the water.

"That good enough for you, Solomon?" inquired Captain Calamity, tapping
the parchment.

"Vell----" the other paused and meditatively rubbed the palms of his
long, skinny hands together. "I suppose," he went on hesitatingly, "it
is all O.K.; genuine--eh?"

"What; this letter of authority?"

Mr. Solomon nodded in a deprecating, half-apologetic sort of way.

"I thought that the British Government did not issue any Letters of----"

"Listen!" interrupted his companion, snatching up the document. "'In the
name and on the behalf of His Britannic Majesty, King George the
Fifth----'"

He stopped abruptly and, pushing the parchment across the table with an
impatient gesture, pointed to a signature just above the large red seal.

"Look at that," he said.

Mr. Solomon scrutinised the signature as a bank clerk might scrutinise a
doubtful cheque.

"Yes," he murmured at last, "it is not a forg--I mean," he corrected
himself hastily, happening to catch the Captain's eye, "it seems quite
genuine. Oh yes, quite. Still, I would like to know----"

"How I came by this authority--eh?" broke in the other with a
contemptuous laugh. "And you'd like to know why I'm referred to there as
John Brighouse and not as Captain Calamity. You're itching to know,
aren't you, Solly?"

"Merely as a matter of pissness."

"Exactly. Well, as a matter of business, I'm not going to enlighten you.
How I obtained the Letters of Marque is my concern; the reason why I am
referred to therein as John Brighouse is not your concern. For the rest,
to you and to every one else in these parts, my name remains what it
always has been--Captain Calamity. Savvy?"

"A tree is known by its fruit--eh, Captain?" And Mr. Solomon
laughed--that is to say, his throat emitted a strange, creaking noise
which suggested that his vocal organs needed oiling, while his lips
twitched convulsively.

"And your ship," he went on when this mirthful mood had passed, "vere is
she?"

"That is a question which you can answer better than I."

Mr. Solomon's face was eloquently interrogative.

"I mean that, if you intend to join in this little venture with me, you
must solve the problem."

"But I don't understand," said the other anxiously. "You tell me you
have a ship called the _Hawk_, and now----" he shrugged his shoulders
with a helpless gesture.

"I'm afraid your enthusiasm's carried you away, friend Solomon. I never
said anything of the sort. The _Hawk_ referred to in that document is a
legal fiction--an illegal fiction some might call it. If you want to go
in for pigeon-plucking, you must provide the bird of prey," and Captain
Calamity chuckled grimly at his own facetiousness.

"Me! Provide a ship! Out of the question!" cried Mr. Solomon, backing
nervously from the table as though the mere suggestion alarmed him.

Calamity reached across the table and took from a box a big, fat,
Burmese cigar. This he proceeded to light, which done, he leaned back in
his chair and emitted huge clouds of smoke with obvious satisfaction.

"You must think of something else, Captain," went on his companion,
drawing still farther away from the table to escape being suffocated by
the Captain's smoke.

"Now see here," said Calamity, taking the cigar from his mouth and
speaking with great deliberation. "You're a clever business man; a
damned clever business man, or you wouldn't have kept out of jail all
these years. Well, here's a business proposition after your own heart.
You provide the ship and fit her out, and I'll provide the crew. Then,
within three months, I'll undertake to earn a bigger dividend for each
of us than you, with all your rascality, could make in a year. Doesn't
that tickle your palate, my friend?"

He paused and watched with a smile the obvious signs of perturbation on
his companion's face. It was clear to him that in the mind of Mr.
Solomon a terrific battle was in progress between exceeding avarice and
excessive caution.

"Vat security could you give?" asked the Jew at last. The struggle must
have been fierce, for he drew from his pocket a large, yellow silk
handkerchief and mopped the beads of perspiration from his face.

"Security!" echoed Calamity fiercely. "Why, the security of my name.
Have you ever known me break my word, Solomon? Is there, in the whole of
the Pacific to-day, a man living whom I've sworn to kill?"

Mr. Solomon started uneasily and edged towards the window as though to
be in readiness to call for help if necessary.

"But there aren't many enemy ships to capture now," he protested in a
feeble voice. "They have all been driven off the seas."

"I'll wager there are enough ships left to pay a healthy dividend on
your capital, Solomon. Besides, if the supply does run short we're not
dainty and----" He concluded his sentence with a grimly significant
laugh.

For some moments there was silence, broken only by the Captain's puffing
as he exhaled cloud after cloud of fierce tobacco-smoke. Mr. Solomon's
expressive countenance was again exhibiting signs of deep mental
agitation, and his brow was wrinkled by a perplexed frown. Suddenly this
cleared away and into his shifty eyes there came the triumphant look of
one who has unexpectedly found the solution to a seemingly impossible
problem. The change was so marked that Calamity regarded him with
undisguised suspicion, for when Solomon looked like that it generally
meant that somebody was going to be made wise by experience.

"I vill dink it over," he said at last.

A bland smile came over Calamity's face. He had not had intimate
business relations with his companion during the past ten years for
nothing, and knew that this was mere bluff, a sort of playful
coquettishness on Mr. Solomon's part. But he, also, was an old hand at
this game as his next remark proved.

"Please yourself," he answered indifferently, rising as if to go. "You
think it over as you say, and in the meantime I'll trip over to Johore
and see your pal Rossenbaum. He may be glad of the chance to----"

"Vait a minute! Vait a minute!" interrupted Mr. Solomon, starting to his
feet. "Vat you in such a 'urry for?"

In moments of excitement he was apt to drop the _h's_ which at other
times he assiduously cultivated.

"Well, you don't suppose I'm going to hang about Singapore and get drunk
on the local aperients while you make up your mind, do you?" inquired
Calamity.

"Now just you sit down, Captain, and ve'll talk the matter over," said
Mr. Solomon in a mollifying tone. "Make yourself at home now."

With an appearance of great reluctance, Captain Calamity reseated
himself and took another big, rank cigar from the box on the table.

"Go ahead," he said laconically as he lit the poisonous weed.

"Vat I propose," began Mr. Solomon, "is that you give me a bond...."

He continued for over half an hour to state his conditions, Calamity
never once interrupting him. When he had got through the Captain threw
the stump of his third cigar out of the window and drew his chair closer
to the table.

"Now you've used up your steam, and, I hope, feel better, we'll talk
business," he said in a cool, determined voice.

Two hours elapsed before Captain Calamity rose to his feet and prepared
for departure. It had been a tremendous battle, for Mr. Solomon's
demands had continued to be outrageous and he had resisted every
reduction tooth and nail. But they had at last come to an agreement,
though, even so, each felt that he was conceding far too much to the
other. The main points were, that Isaac Solomon was to procure a ship
and fit her out; that the profits of each privateering expedition were
to be divided into four equal shares, of which the partners each took
one. The remaining two shares were to be used for refitting,
victualling, bonuses for the crew, wages, and so forth. Mr. Solomon's
connection with the venture was to be kept secret from every one but his
partner, for, with a modesty that had its root in wisdom, the
ship-chandler avoided publicity as much as possible.

"I suppose you're going to wet the contract?" remarked Calamity as he
picked up his hat.

Mr. Solomon affected not to understand.

"Vet it?" he inquired innocently.

"Yes, drink to the prosperity of the venture, partner."

With no great show of alacrity, Mr. Solomon crossed to a cupboard and
was about to bring out a bottle of red wine, when Calamity stopped him.

"Damn you!" he cried. "I'm not going to drink that purple purgative;
save it for your fellow Sheenies. Come, out with that bottle of rum, you
old skinflint!"

Mr. Solomon made a chuckling noise in his throat, and, replacing the red
fluid, brought forth a square bottle and two glasses. He was about to
dole out a modest measure, when Calamity took the bottle from him and
more than half filled one of the glasses.

"Now help yourself, partner," he said, handing back the bottle.

The other carefully poured out about a teaspoonful of the spirit,
deluged it with water, and then held up his glass.

"Long life and success to Calamity and Co!" cried the Captain, and
tossed off the raw spirit with no more ado than if it had been milk.

"Calamity and Co!" echoed Mr. Solomon in a thin, shrill voice.




CHAPTER II

THE DEPARTURE OF THE "HAWK"


Captain Calamity appeared to be one of those men who, for various
reasons and often through force of circumstances, have drifted into the
backwaters of civilisation to a life of semi-barbarism. Men of this sort
are to be found all over the New World, but more particularly in the
luxuriant islands of the South Pacific, where life can be maintained
with a minimum of effort. Some are mere beachcombers, derelicts for whom
the striving, battling world has no further use. Some are just
"remittance men," social outcasts, bribed to remain at a safe distance
from their more respectable relatives.

A few, a very few, are men obsessed by a spirit of adventure; men who
can find no scope for their superabundant energy and vitality in the
overcrowded, over-civilised cities of the world. Of such as these was
Captain Calamity. Yet his past was as much a mystery to those who knew
him as was the origin of the suggestive name by which he was known
throughout the Pacific. No one--until to-day, not even Isaac
Solomon--had the slightest inkling of his real name. And, as might be
expected under such circumstances, various stories, each more incredible
than the last, were current among the islands concerning him. Still, the
one most generally believed, no doubt because it sounded romantic,
described him as an ostracised member of an aristocratic English family
upon whom he had in earlier years brought disgrace.

But, whatever the truth might be, Calamity never by any chance referred
to his past, and, as to the stories concerning himself, he did not take
the trouble to deny or confirm them.

For some days after his interview with Mr. Solomon Calamity was busily
engaged in collecting a crew--a crew which, as the _Hawk_ was to be a
fighting ship, would have to consist of about thrice the number which
she would have carried as a merchantman. So far as deck-hands and
firemen were concerned this was fairly easy, but when it came to finding
officers and engineers the task proved much more difficult. Men of this
class, who, for some reason or other, found themselves adrift in
Singapore without a ship, fought shy of the notorious skipper. They
believed--and probably with very good reason--that to sail under him
would ruin all prospects of getting a job with a reputable firm again.
So, while willing enough to absorb "pegs" at the Captain's expense, they
politely declined his offers of a berth on the _Hawk_.

Eventually, he ran across an engineer who had made several voyages with
him on trading and pearling expeditions; one Phineas McPhulach, a
little, red-haired Scotsman with no professional prospects, but an
unlimited capacity for death-dealing drinks. McPhulach, being in his
customary state of "down and out," and having no future that
necessitated consideration, eagerly accepted the berth of chief-engineer
which Calamity offered him. Moreover, he was able to introduce a
companion in misfortune named Ephraim Dykes. Mr. Dykes was a lean,
lanky individual, with a cast in one eye, and an accent that proclaimed
him a native of New England. He had once held a master's certificate,
but this, it appeared, had been suspended indefinitely owing to his ship
having piled herself up on a reef off New Guinea. Therefore, when
Calamity proposed that he should ship as first mate, he was quite
willing, as he put it, to "freeze right on."

Partly through the instrumentality of this latter acquisition, Calamity
was able to secure a second mate in the person of Mr. Sam Smith, a
little Cockney of unsober habits. A second engineer named Sims, a
taciturn man of middle age, was also picked up, and thus Calamity
succeeded in collecting a ship's company suitable in quantity if not in
quality.

In the meantime, Mr. Solomon had also been busy. On the day following
his entry into partnership with Calamity, he went to Johore and paid an
afternoon call on Mr. Rossenbaum, a gentleman of similar persuasions to
his own. For some weeks past they had been haggling over a business
deal, which, up to that day, had not been settled. Mr. Rossenbaum
possessed a steamer which he wanted repaired, and Mr. Solomon had the
docking facilities necessary for the job, and the only thing which had
so far stood between them was a difference of opinion as to price.

The meeting between these two gentlemen afforded a magnificent piece of
acting. Both appeared to have forgotten all about the subject over which
they had been negotiating, and conversed amicably on neutral topics. The
war, of course, came up for discussion, and this led Mr. Solomon to
remark that money was scarce. Mr. Rossenbaum agreed, not only because it
was the truth, but because he had always maintained this view, even
when money was plentiful.

Mr. Solomon went on to say that, in consequence of the said scarcity of
coin, he was now obliged to undertake contracts on unremunerative terms,
simply for the sake of the cash. Mr. Rossenbaum expressed his sympathy
and added, as though the matter had never before been mentioned between
them, that he had a steamer laying up, solely because he was unable to
pay the extortionate prices demanded by ship-repairers for overhauling
her.

This was tantamount to a challenge, and Mr. Solomon accepted it. For a
time they fenced and dodged, but at last, casting aside all pretence,
came to grips over the bargain. It was a combat of wits between two men
as well matched as any in the world, and it lasted well into the
afternoon. Eventually Mr. Solomon made a great business of giving way
and agreed to accept the contract on the amended terms if half the money
were paid in advance. Mr. Rossenbaum reluctantly consented on condition
that he was allowed 5 per cent discount on the advance. Mr. Solomon
nearly fainted, and, with tears in his eyes, declared that if he agreed
ruination would stare him in the face. Finally, he consented to a 2-1/2
per cent discount, and the business was concluded at last. Each, on
parting, assured the other that he had spent one of the most enjoyable
days of his life, and this was probably the only truthful statement
either had made throughout the interview.

Over a week elapsed before Calamity and his partner met again, and,
contrary to the Captain's expectations, Mr. Solomon evinced no desire to
back out of the venture. On the contrary, he exhibited an almost painful
desire to see the expedition set out with as little loss of time as
possible--a fact which his partner regarded with not unreasonable
suspicion.

"It depends on the ship," he said in reply to Mr. Solomon's eager
inquiries. "How long am I to wait for her?"

"No need to vait at all; the ship is vaiting for you," said the other,
pointing towards a newly painted steamer in the harbour.

Calamity gazed at the vessel and then at his companion with an air of
mistrust. Such promptitude on Mr. Solomon's part was, to say the least,
unusual.

"What about provisions, coal, guns, and so forth?" he demanded curtly.

"Everything's ready, and as to guns----" Mr. Solomon put his hand on the
Captain's shoulder and whispered the rest in his ear.

"H'm," grunted Calamity, "I hope she's not some cursed old derelict
you've picked up for a song."

"Picked up for a song!" echoed Mr. Solomon indignantly. "Vat you mean?
She cost me----"

"Well?" inquired Calamity with interest as the other paused abruptly.

"Nodding--I mean," Mr. Solomon corrected himself hastily, "it has
noddings to do with the matter. She is a peautiful ship."

"We shall see," said the Captain, rising to leave. "I'll go and have a
look at your hooker now and see what she's like. Meet you this evening."

Mr. Solomon nodded, and stood watching the short, squat figure of his
partner disappear in the direction of the harbour. Then, rubbing his
hands together and chuckling wheezily, he turned away from the window.

On reaching the harbour, Calamity engaged a sampan and was taken to the
steamer. There being no one on board, he was able to make an
uninterrupted and very thorough examination, and, to his surprise, found
that she was all that Solomon had claimed her to be. She was
comparatively new--not more than five years old at most--of about 3,000
odd tons and with every indication of being seaworthy and sound. The
food, too, was not as bad as it might have been; some of it, indeed,
seemed quite eatable. Moreover, Mr. Solomon, in an extraordinary fit of
liberality, had not only re-painted the ship, but had also caused the
name _Hawk_ to be emblazoned on her stern in letters of gold--which, by
the way, Calamity had painted out the very next day. Nor had Solomon
forgotten the primary object of the expedition, for in the after-hold
were six machine-guns--rather antiquated as such weapons go, perhaps,
but most decidedly serviceable. Ammunition and small-arms were there in
plenty, the latter a somewhat miscellaneous collection of varying
degrees of deadliness.

The Captain, as he noted all this, felt a growing sense of perplexity.
It was so utterly unlike Mr. Solomon to do anything thoroughly--always
excepting his clients, of course--that he felt almost apprehensive. He
was like an animal, sniffing an appetising morsel, while fearing that it
was merely the bait of some concealed trap. For some time he stood
leaning on the bulwarks thinking hard, but at last the worried
expression left his face and was succeeded by a smile; a smile that
would not have made Mr. Solomon any the happier had he seen it.

Having made himself acquainted with the ship, Calamity decided to waste
no further time. Going ashore again, he collected his crew and sent
them aboard under Mr. Dykes, the mate. Those who were not sober enough
to walk were carried by those who were and flung unceremoniously into
the boats--a joyful, polyglot crowd with complexions as varied as their
sins. On reaching the _Hawk_, the firemen were kicked below to get up
steam and the deck-hands set to holy-stoning and polishing.

When Calamity came on board a little later, he sent for Mr. Dykes, and
the two had a brief conference appertaining to the work of the ship.

"What's the crew like, Mr. Dykes?" asked the Captain presently.

"Like!" echoed the mate. "I reckon the devil's opened hell's gates
somewheres around here and we've picked up a few of them what's got out.
There'll be red, ruddy, blazin' mutiny before a week's out, and, with
the number we've got on board, we shan't stand a yaller dog's chance."

Calamity smiled.

"Don't worry yourself, Mr. Dykes, I don't think we shall have very much
trouble with them. One or two, I know, have sailed with me before and
they, probably, will give the others the benefit of their experience."

Mr. Dykes having been dismissed, chief-engineer McPhulach was summoned
to the cabin. Asked his opinion of the men under him, his reply varied
in terms but agreed in spirit with that already given by the mate.

"The scum of the bottomless pit," was how he put it.

"They may not be a liner's crew exactly," said Calamity in an almost
gentle voice, "but I think we shall understand one another before long."

Whereat McPhulach departed with an almost happy smile and knocked down
an insolent fireman for the good of his soul.

That evening, according to his promise, Captain Calamity arrived at Mr.
Solomon's store, accompanied by Mr. Dykes, whom he duly introduced. This
done, he informed his partner that he was sailing that night.

"Vat, so soon!" ejaculated Mr. Solomon.

"You don't want your capital lying idle longer than necessary, do you?"

"No, no, but----"

"Then sign these bills of lading and don't waste my time."

Mr. Solomon turned up the smoky little oil-lamp which inadequately
illuminated the room, put on his spectacles, and proceeded to examine
the papers Calamity had thrust before him. He scrutinised each one so
long and so carefully that at last the Captain lost patience and swore
he would not sail at all unless the remainder were signed without delay.
So, much against his better judgment, Mr. Solomon put his name to the
rest without doing more than glance over the contents.

That night the _Hawk_ weighed anchor and steamed unostentatiously out of
Singapore Harbour without troubling the customs authorities or any other
officials whatever.




CHAPTER III

MUTINY


By dawn the _Hawk_ was churning her way at full speed towards the Java
Sea and a destination unknown to any one but the Captain. It was too
early to judge of the qualities of the ship, but those of the crew were
already becoming manifest. Indeed, it looked as if the prophecies of the
mate and the engineer were likely to be fulfilled sooner than even they
expected. The men did not work with a will; worse still, they didn't
even grumble. They maintained a solid, stolid, sullen silence that had
the same effect on the nerves as a black and threatening cloud on a
still day. They quarrelled amongst themselves, but for the officers they
only had lowering glances and threats muttered below the breath. One
would imagine that they had all been shanghaied or shipped under false
pretences. Besides the boatswain, his mate and a couple of
quartermasters, there were very few white men amongst them, and between
these and the rest of the crew a state of hostility already existed.

When the boatswain's mate put his head inside the forecastle door to
call the morning watch no one swore at him, and that was a very bad sign
indeed.

"Now then, my sons, and you know the sons I mean! Show a leg, show a
leg, show a leg!" he called.

Nobody threw a boot at him, nobody consigned him to the nether regions,
nobody told him what his mother had been. The men tumbled out of their
bunks with surly, glowering faces and with scarcely a word spoken.

"Rouse out! Rouse out! You hang-dog, half-caste, loafing swine!" roared
the boatswain's mate, hoping that he might thus goad them into
cheerfulness and induce a homely feeling.

He failed, however, and though one man made a tentative movement with
his hand in the direction of a sheath-knife at his hip, nothing came of
it.

The matter was reported to Mr. Dykes, who shook his head gloomily.

"You ought, by rights, to be half-dead by now," he said, looking
resentfully at the boatswain's mate.

The latter evidently felt his position and tried to look apologetic.

"Can't even get an honest curse out of 'em," he said. "They've had three
feeds already, and the cook says not one's threatened to kill 'im. He
don't like it because, of course, he feels something's wrong. 'Tain't
natural that men should just fetch their grub and go away without
telling the cook just what they think of 'im. I've never see'd anything
like it before."

"Something's going to bust, and pretty soon," remarked the mate. "An'
it'll be a gaudy shindy when it does."

Later on he reported the state of affairs to Calamity, who merely
smiled.

"The men are doing their work, aren't they?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well?"

"The fact is, sir, things ain't settlin' down as they ought to. The ship
feels like a theatre when the boys are loosenin' their guns before the
curtain goes down. I've been in the foc'sle and there ain't so much as a
photo nor a picture-postcard nailed up. There's nothing homely about it,
sir, like you'd expect to see; no cussin' nor rowin' nor anything
cheerful."

"Probably the men will be more cheerful later on, Mr. Dykes," answered
the Captain. "They are new to the ship, remember."

The mate went away in deep dudgeon. So this was the notorious Captain
Calamity; the man whose name, he had been told, was sufficient to cow
the most disorderly ruffians that ever trod a ship's decks. Here he was,
with a crew who were on the very verge of mutiny, making excuses for
them and talking like some mission-boat skipper with the parson at his
elbow. It was disgusting.

That evening he confided his opinions to McPhulach, in the latter's
cabin.

"I reckon we've got this old man tabbed wrong," he said. "He ain't no
bucko skipper as they talks about; a crowd of Sunday School sailors is
about his mark. When I told him the men were only waitin' a good
opportunity to slit all our throats, he jest coo'd like a suckin' dove.
'Remember they're new to the ship,' says he, as soft as some old
school-marm."

"Aye, but he's a quare mon till ye ken him," remarked the engineer
thoughtfully.

"Queer! He'll let us all be dumped into the ditch before he raises a
finger."

"I wouldna go sa far as tae say that. Yon's a michty strange mon, I'm
telling ye, and the lead-line hasna been made that can fathom him."

Mr. Dykes gave a contemptuous grunt, and, as he walked away, opined that
the skipper and the chief engineer were a pair, and about as fit to
control men as their grandmothers would have been.

As he had anticipated, matters were not long in coming to a head. At the
machine-gun drill and rifle exercise, which occupied several hours each
day, the men grew increasingly slack. On the fourth day out it was as
much as he could do to get the men to obey orders, and if ever a crew
showed signs of mutiny it was the crew of the _Hawk_. But, early in the
morning of the following day, an incident occurred which, if it served
to distract everybody's attention for a little while, had the ultimate
effect of bringing about the long-threatened crisis.

The grey mist of dawn still lay upon the waters, when the sound of
firing was heard, apparently coming from the eastward. The _Hawk's_
course was changed slightly and an hour later those on the bridge were
able to make out, with the aid of glasses, a small German gunboat
"holding up" a French liner.

"Guess we could sink that little steam can as easy as swallowin' a
cocktail," remarked the mate. "Say, Cap'n, do we butt in here?"

Instead of answering, Calamity stepped up to the engine-room telegraph
and rang down "Stop!" By this time the Germans could be seen conveying
things from the liner to their own vessel, and, somehow or other, the
rumour spread among the _Hawk's_ crew that they were bullion cases.
Presently the liner was allowed to proceed on her way, and the German
steamed off in a north-easterly direction. Then Calamity rang down,
"Full speed!" to the engine-room and turned to the mate.

"Follow that packet," he said, indicating the German, "but don't
overhaul her."

"Then we're goin' to let that square-head breeze away?" asked Mr. Dykes
in a tone of acute disappointment. "Durned if this lay-out don't get me
stuck," he went on. "We could have froze on to them bars ourselves."

His opinion of Captain Calamity had touched zero by now, and he hardly
troubled to conceal his contempt. He, like the remainder of the _Hawk's_
company, knew that she was engaged on a privateering expedition, and was
eager to "taste blood." And it must be admitted that Calamity had
induced many of the men to ship with him by holding out promises of fat
bonuses, with, perhaps, the opportunity of a little plundering thrown
in. Now, when chance had thrown what appeared to be a rich prize under
their very noses, the skipper was calmly letting it slip through his
fingers.

It was pretty obvious that the mate's resentment was shared by the crew.
For the last half-hour they had lined the bulwarks, watching the Germans
transfer their plunder from the liner. Every man-Jack of them felt
certain that, in the course of a very short time, that same plunder
would find its way on board the _Hawk_ with material benefit to
themselves. When, however, it was seen that the Captain had no intention
of carrying out their notion, scowling faces were turned towards the
bridge, and there were angry mutterings. Soon the muttering grew louder,
and at last one of the men, a huge serang, stepped out of the crowd, and
shook his fist at Calamity, who was watching from the bridge.

Then, urged on by the others, he demanded that the ship should be put
back to Singapore and the men discharged with a month's wages. They did
not like, he said, being on a ship without knowing what port she was
bound for. They did not like the officers, and, more than anything
else, they did not like the Captain. The spokesman wound up his
peroration in broken English by hinting that, unless the _Hawk_ was put
about at once, the crew would take charge of her.

All this while Calamity had stood leaning on the bridge-rail, listening
to the serang with an expression of quiet, almost anxious, attention.
The mate, watching him out of the corner of his eyes, saw no sign of
that terrible berserker rage with which he had so often heard the
Captain credited. In fact, a member of Parliament could not have
listened to a deputation of constituents with more polite attention.

"I reckon if we don't do what they want they'll hand out some trouble,"
said the mate. "Them that ain't got one knife ready at their hips has
got two."

Calamity made no answer, but a peculiar pallor had overspread his face.
He turned away from the bridge-rail, and, without any sign of haste,
descended the companion-ladder and stepped calmly into the midst of the
snarling rabble.

"What are you doing on deck?" he asked the serang quietly. "Your place
is in the stokehold."

The man started to make an impudent reply, but before he had uttered two
words the Captain had snatched him off his feet as easily as if he had
been a child and flung him bodily into the crowd of astonished men,
knocking several of them over. Then, as the serang landed against a
steam-winch with a terrible crash, Calamity snatched up a capstan bar
and dashed into the crowd.

Then the mate, standing on the bridge, witnessed such a spectacle as he
had never seen before and devoutly hoped he would never see again.
Swinging the heavy iron bar above his head as though it were a flail,
the Captain smashed left and right among the men, hitting them how and
where he could--on the head, body, limbs--no matter where so long as he
hit them. Two or three drew their knives and made a desperate rush at
him, but there was no getting through the swinging circle of iron. In
two minutes the forward deck bore a horrible resemblance to a shambles,
for it was littered with injured men and blood was trickling down the
white planks into the scuppers. Groans, shrieks, and curses resounded on
all sides; the men scurried for shelter in every direction like rats,
and two or three, reaching the forecastle, locked themselves in. But a
couple of blows from the iron bar smashed the door to splinters and then
cries rang out again and with them the sound of the terrible weapon as
it crashed against a bulkhead or smashed a bunk to splinters. One man
managed to escape out of the forecastle and was running for his life
towards the poop when Calamity, his face distorted with demoniac fury,
flung the bar at him. It caught the man on the back of the head and he
pitched forward on the deck, where he lay weltering in his own blood.

Then, without so much as a glance at the fearful havoc he had wrought,
the Captain returned to the bridge.

"What were you saying before I left, Mr. Dykes?" he inquired calmly.

"Er--I was saying that it looked as if the wind would change round to
the nor' west before long, sir," answered the mate in a subdued and
extremely respectful tone.




CHAPTER IV

THE CASTAWAYS


The following morning, at eight bells, those of the crew not on duty or
on the sick-list were assembled upon the forward hatch. Many of them had
heads or limbs in bandages, and they were as meek as little lambs. As
the ship's bells were struck, Calamity mounted the bridge, accompanied
by the mate, and walked up to the rail.

"I'm not going to waste my breath by telling such a crowd of doss-house
and prison scum as you are what I think about you," he said in a harsh,
grating voice, that seemed to emphasise the insults. "What I want to say
is this: the first man who raises a murmur about anything or hesitates
in carrying out an order, that man I'll string up at the end of a
derrick with a hawser for a collar. And remember this: I like a cheerful
crew, and if I see a man who doesn't look as cheerful as he ought, by
God, I'll clap him in the bilboes. Now get out of my sight."

The Captain stepped back from the rail and turned to the mate.

"I always believe in exercising patience and in using persuasion, Mr.
Dykes," he said. "If, however, we should have any more trouble--and I
don't somehow think we shall--it will become necessary to deal
drastically with the offenders."

Without waiting for a reply, he walked into the chart-room, leaving Mr.
Dykes and the second-mate gasping.

"What in thunder would he call 'drastic,' I'd like to know?" inquired
the former. "He's already maimed half the crew and calls that
persuasion. The Lord stand between me and his persuading, that's all I
say."

"He's a bloomin' knock-aht, swelp me Bob," replied the second-mate in a
tone of subdued admiration. "I thought the yarns I'd heard about him was
all kid, but now--help!"

Later on, when Mr. Dykes conveyed his impressions to the chief engineer,
the latter merely nodded without evincing the slightest surprise.

"I told ye he was a michty quare mon," he remarked calmly. "I wouldna
advise ye to run athwart him even if ye've got liquor as an excuse."

"You bet I won't, not after this. I guess I'll have to load up pretty
considerable on liquor before I try to hand him a song and dance."

"Talkin' about liquor, ye'll find a bottle o' rum under the pillow o' my
bunk, Meester Dykes. We'll jest have a wee drappie an' I'll tell ye hoo
I marrit me fairst wife."

"Your first wife?" repeated the mate. "Say, how many have you had?"

"I couldna tell ye off-hand, mon. Ye see, the saircumstances in mony
cases were compleecated, if ye ken me," answered McPhulach thoughtfully.
"Me fairst, now ..."

Mr. Dykes listened for some time to the engineer's account of his
matrimonial complications and then turned in. For the first time since
leaving Singapore, he closed his eyes without an uneasy suspicion that
he and the rest of the officers might have their throats cut before the
morning. Indeed, the crew might henceforward have served as a model for
the most exacting skipper that ever sailed the seas. The men could not
have turned out for their respective watches with more promptitude had
they been aboard a battleship, and their language on such occasions was
such that even the boatswain's mate had no cause for complaint. And they
were cheerful, laboriously cheerful. Whenever Calamity happened to
approach a man, that man would start to hum a tune as if his life
depended on it; he'd smile if he had a ten-thousand-horsepower
toothache; everybody was happy, and only the ship's cat led a dog's
life.

"It's a bloomin' wonder," said the second-mate to Mr. Dykes, "that the
old man don't put up a blighted maypole and make all us perishers dance
round it."

For two days the _Hawk_ kept the smoke-trail of the German gunboat in
view, but made no attempt to overhaul her. Every one agreed that the
_Hawk_, with her four-inch guns, could sink the German. They were
puzzled, therefore, as to the Captain's seeming reluctance to engage
her. But never a word of wonder reached Calamity, never a hint or a
question from his officers; every one was certain that he knew his
business, or, if they weren't, carefully kept it to themselves. And the
Captain himself vouchsafed no explanation.

On the third morning the look-out reported that the gunboat was chasing
a large steamer. Immediately afterwards the men, even those who were not
on watch, came tumbling up on deck, in the hope that at last they were
going to sniff the promised booty. But not a word was spoken, not a man
so much as glanced at the bridge where the skipper stood with his
glasses focussed on the chase. They were patiently cheerful.

Presently there came the faint echo of a shot and the steamer lay-to,
apparently waiting for the pirates to board her. At her stern fluttered
the red ensign of the British Mercantile Marine.

The _Hawk_ had slowed down to quarter speed, and Calamity, through his
glasses, continued to watch events. In a remarkably short space of time
the Germans transferred a portion of the cargo, whatever it might be, to
their own vessel, after which the steamer was allowed to pursue her way.
One thing seemed clear, which was that the Germans cared less for
sinking enemy ships than for laying hands on the more valuable and
portable articles of cargo they happened to carry. The gunboat, having
captured and dismissed her prey, continued on her course, and so also
did the _Hawk_.

Calamity, no doubt, had fully developed his plans, but he appeared,
also, to have developed a very bad memory. For the instructions
accompanying his commission contained, among numerous other clauses, one
which laid it down that "if any ship or vessel belonging to us or our
subjects, shall be found in distress by being in fight, set upon, or
taken by the enemy ... the commanders, officers, and company of such
merchant ships as shall have Letters of Marque shall use their best
endeavours to give aid and succour to all such ship and ships...."

Which, of course, for reasons known only to himself, the Captain of the
_Hawk_ had not done, nor attempted to do.

The morning had been unusually hot, even for such latitudes, and, as the
day advanced, the heat became almost unbearable. The pitch boiled and
bubbled up between the deck-seams and the exposed paintwork became
disfigured with huge blisters. An awning had been rigged up over the
bridge, but, despite this and the fact that it was high above the decks,
the atmosphere was like that of a super-heated bakehouse, dry and
shimmering, nor was there a breath of wind to stir it. Occasionally a
whiff of hot, oily vapour came up through the engine-room gratings and
helped to make the air still more heavy and oppressive. Even the sea,
calm as a pond, looked oily and hot under the glare of a burning noonday
sun set in a sky of metallic blue.

Then, towards eight bells in the afternoon watch, a faint breeze sprang
up; the sky changed imperceptibly from blue to grey, and the sun became
a red, glowing disc with a slight haze round it. The sea had taken on a
yellowish-green tint and angry little wavelets began to chase each other
and to dash themselves viciously against the _Hawk's_ sides. Presently
the breeze died away as suddenly as it had arisen, but the sky became
more and more overcast and the wavelets grew into boulders,
white-crested and threatening. The sun disappeared behind a bank of
black, evil-looking clouds, while the atmosphere became still more
oppressive and the decks and awnings steamed. A strange, uncanny silence
had settled over everything, so that the least noise sounded curiously
distinct. The throb of the engines, usually mellow and subdued, came now
in sharp, staccato beats; the clang of the furnace-doors and the rattle
of rakes and shovels in the stokehold could be plainly heard on the
bridge.

"Strike me pink, if we ain't in for a bloomin' typhoon, a reg'lar
rip-snorter," muttered the second-mate as he mopped his perspiring
forehead.

The quartermaster set his teeth and gripped the wheel more
tightly--something was going to happen. A moment later, Calamity stepped
on to the bridge and gave a quick, comprehensive glance around him.

"Everything lashed up and made secure, Mr. Smith?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," answered the second, and added: "We're runnin' into a proper
blazer; none of your bloomin' twopenny-ha'penny breezes this time."

Already the awnings had been taken in, spars and loose gear made fast,
derricks secured, and ports screwed down. Every moment it grew darker
and the _Hawk_ was beginning to roll in an uncomfortable fashion.

Suddenly the sky was split by a blinding flash of lightning followed by
a crashing peal of thunder that seemed to shake the vessel from stem to
stern. There was a moment's interval, during which rain-spots the size
of pennies appeared on the deck and a grey haze settled over the sea.
Then came another flash of lightning, a terrific roar of thunder, and
the storm burst in all its fury. The rain came down now in solid sheets
of water, pouring off the bridge and deck-houses in cascades and
flooding out the scuppers which could not drain it fast enough. The sea
had gained in fury with the hurricane and now broke over the bulwarks,
mounted the forecastle, and swept along the decks from bow to stern. One
great wave even leapt up to the bridge, tearing away the awning spars,
smashing the woodwork to splinters, and very nearly wrenching the wheel
from the quartermaster's hands.

Another great roller struck the _Hawk_ amidships and she reeled till her
port bulwarks were under water. Gradually she righted, her funnel-guys
twisted into a mass of tangled wire, her boats carried away or stove in,
her decks, fore and aft, littered with wreckage and gear which had been
swept loose. Between the deafening peals of thunder, the shouts and
curses of the poor wretches in the stokehold could be heard as they were
thrown against the glowing furnace doors, or the firebars slipped out,
shooting great masses of red-hot coal and clinker among their half-naked
bodies.

Sometimes a wave would catch the vessel under the stern, lifting her so
that her bows plunged forward into the boiling sea ahead, her propeller
racing high in the air until the plates quivered with the vibrations. Or
she would lift her nose to an oncoming billow, and, rising with it, bury
her stern in the seething vortex till the wheel-house disappeared from
view beneath the turbid, foaming water. It seemed impossible that any
ship could live through such a storm.

But at last the lightning began to grow less vivid, the thunder
gradually died away in the distance and the sea, little by little,
subsided. Firemen, black from head to foot, staggered along the deck to
the forecastle and threw themselves just as they were upon their bunks;
the second engineer came off duty, a bloody sweat-rag twisted round his
head, and reeled, rather than walked, to his cabin. Then McPhulach
appeared at the fiddley, mopping his face with a lump of oily waste.

"Are you all right below?" shouted Calamity from the bridge.

"Aye, but some of the puir deils will carry the mairks o' this day upon
their bodies as long as they live," answered the engineer. "Hell must
be a garden party to what it was down yon a wee while aback."

As he spoke, two injured firemen, the upper parts of their bodies
wrapped round with oil-soaked waste, were brought on deck and carried to
the forecastle. Their faces, which had evidently been wiped with
sweat-rags, were of a corpse-like whiteness that was accentuated by the
circles of black coal-dust round their eyes.

"Half roasted," said McPhulach, indicating with a jerk of his head the
two injured men. "If they hadna rinds like rhinoceros hide, they'd be
dead the noo. Mon, the stokehold smelt like a kitchen wi' the stink o'
scorching meat."

The engineer disappeared and Calamity turned to Mr. Dykes, who had
relieved Smith on the bridge.

"Serve out a tot of rum to all hands," he said. "It's been a trying
experience."

"Trying experience!" echoed the mate. "It was as near hell as ever I
touched, sir."

The Captain was about to make some remark when he suddenly snatched a
pair of binoculars out of the box fastened to the bridge-rail. He
focussed them upon the seemingly deserted waste of tossing grey waters
and then handed them to the mate.

"What do you make of that, Mr. Dykes?" he asked, indicating a point on
the port quarter.

The mate stared through the glasses for some minutes, then handed them
back to the Captain.

"It's a boat with a man and a woman in it, or I'm a nigger," he said.

"So I thought," answered the Captain.




CHAPTER V

DORA FLETCHER


A signal was immediately hoisted to let the castaways know that they
were observed and the steamer's course was changed to bring her as near
as possible to the drifting boat. But there was still such a heavy sea
running that a near approach would have involved the risk of the boat
being dashed against the _Hawk's_ side before the occupants could be
rescued. So the bos'n, standing on the foc'sle head, cast a line which,
after three vain attempts, was caught by the young woman in the stern
sheets, who made it fast to one of the thwarts. Then one of the
steamer's derricks was slung outboard with a rope sling suspended and
half a dozen men laid on to the line attached to the boat.

"Catch hold of that sling as you pass under it!" roared Calamity from
the bridge.

After some difficult manoeuvring, boat and steamer were brought into
such a position that the former passed immediately under the sling.

"Quick now, my girl, or you'll lose it!" shouted the Captain.

But, to the amazement and indignation of everyone, it was the man and
not the girl who caught the sling and was hoisted safely out of the
boat.

"Oh, the gory swine," growled the second-mate. "Get the derrick inboard,
men," he added aloud.

The derrick swung round and the sling was let go with a run that
deposited the man on the deck with a terrific bump.

"Outboard again!" cried Calamity. "Stand by, bos'n."

"Get up, you swab!" ejaculated the second-mate, administering the
rescued man a heavy kick. "If the skipper wasn't lookin' I'd pitch your
ugly carcass back into the ditch."

The fellow staggered to his feet and cast an ugly look at the Cockney.
He was a great, hulking brute over six feet tall and broad in
proportion, with a sullen, hang-dog countenance that was far from
prepossessing.

"What d'you want to kick me for?" he asked truculently.

The second-mate was so astounded at what he regarded as super-colossal
impudence and ingratitude, that he just gasped. Then, before he could
recover his speech, the boatswain's mate came up, and, gripping the man
by the collar of his jersey, ran him into the foc'sle.

Meanwhile two unsuccessful attempts had been made to repeat the first
manoeuvre, but at the third the sling passed over the boat and the
girl caught hold of it. Next moment she was swung on board and lowered
gently to the deck.

"We ain't no stewardesses aboard this packet, Miss," said Mr. Dykes, who
had arrived just in time to frustrate the second-mate in assisting the
young woman to her feet. "Still, if you'll come to my cabin I'll send
you somethin' hot and you can make free with my duds."

"Or you can go to my cabin," put in the second eagerly. "Sorry I 'aven't
any 'airpins," he added with an admiring glance at the tawny mane of
hair which had become unfastened during her passage from the boat to
the ship's deck. "But I've a----"

"The young lady'll find better accommodation in my cabin, Smith,"
interrupted the mate. "This way, please," he added in the tone and
manner of a shop-walker, and departed with his prize.

"Talk about nerve," muttered the disgruntled Smith. "That Yank's got
more bloomin' nerve than a peddlin' auctioneer."

Calamity had sent word that, as soon as the survivors had been given
food and dry clothes, they were to be brought into his cabin. Half an
hour later, the man was ushered in by the mate and stood in front of the
Captain with the same hang-dog air that he had exhibited when first
rescued.

"Your name and all the rest of it, my man," said the skipper curtly.

"I'm Jasper Skelt, bos'n of the barque _Esmeralda_, London to
Singapore," answered the fellow in a surly voice. "We were hit by that
there typhoon and so far's I know she's at the bottom of the sea by
now."

"What about the Captain and the rest of the crew?"

"The skipper was knocked overboard by a boom. Then the crew took to the
boats and only me and Miss Fletcher, the Cap'n's daughter, was left. We
tried to keep the ship head-on to the seas, but she sprang a leak and we
had to abandon her."

"You don't know whether any of the other boats survived?"

"No, sir."

"And the ship's papers?"

"Miss Fletcher's got 'em."

"And now I want to know why you caught on to that sling before the woman
had a chance?"

"She told me to, and anyhow my life's as good as hers," answered the man
defiantly.

"I see. Well, by your own confession you're a coward, and by your looks
you're a scoundrel," answered Calamity. "Mr. Dykes," he added, turning
to the mate, "take this blackguard to Mr. McPhulach with my compliments
and tell him to give the rascal the worst job he's got in the
stokehold."

"I'm not going into no blasted stokehold!" cried the man fiercely.
"You've no right to make me work, damn you!"

"Very good," answered Calamity in that quiet voice which those who knew
him dreaded more than the most curseful outpourings. "You shall be a
passenger as long as you wish. Take him back to the foc'sle, Mr. Dykes,
and send the carpenter to me."

"Very good, sir," replied the mate, greatly wondering.

By the time the carpenter had received his instructions and departed to
carry them out, the mate reported that the girl, whose clothes had been
dried in front of the galley fire, was ready to be interviewed.

"Fetch her along then, Mr. Dykes," said the Captain.

A few moments later Miss Fletcher entered the cabin accompanied by the
mate. She was, without doubt, the most remarkable young woman that
either Calamity or his mate had ever set eyes on. Tall, and almost as
powerfully built as a man, her face was nearly the colour of mahogany
through constant exposure to the weather. Her eyes, a clear, cold grey,
had an almost challenging steadiness and directness of gaze, and she
held her head high as one who is accustomed to look the whole world
squarely in the face. Her whole manner was a curious blending of
authority and aloofness, suggesting a very difficult personality to deal
with. But, if lacking much of conventional feminine charm, there was a
freshness and vigour about her that was eminently pleasing. One womanly
attraction she certainly did possess in abundance, and that was a
wonderful mass of chestnut hair which she now wore tightly plaited round
her head. For the rest, this extraordinary young woman was attired in a
short, blue serge skirt, a man's blue woollen jersey, and a pair of
rubber sea-boots.

"Sit down," said the Captain.

The girl obeyed, looking at Calamity with an expression of mingled
perplexity and resentment. This may have been due to a little feminine
pique at his seeming indifference to her sex--for he had not risen to
his feet, nor had his face relaxed from its usual stern grimness. Or it
may have been due to the fact that his glass eye was cocked fully upon
her with its unswerving, disconcerting stare. The other eye--the
practical one--was not looking at her at all, but was meditatively
gazing down at the table.

"The man who was with you in the boat tells me that you are the daughter
of the Captain of a barque," he said. "His story was not altogether
satisfactory, so I should like to hear your version--as briefly as
possible," he added with a snap.

A slight flush of annoyance tinged the girl's face. Evidently she was
not used to being treated in this curt, unceremonious manner, and
resented it. Mr. Dykes, who was very impressionable where the opposite
sex was concerned, mentally compared the Captain's attitude with what
his own would have been under similar circumstances.

"My name is Dora Fletcher, and my father, who was killed during the
recent storm by being knocked overboard, was John Fletcher, master and
owner of the barque _Esmeralda_ of Newcastle," said the girl in a voice
as curt as Calamity's own. "We were bound from London to Singapore with
general cargo. During the height of the storm, the vessel sprang a leak
and the crew took to the boats, but I doubt if any of them survived."

"So you and the bos'n, Jasper Skelt, were left on board?" said the
Captain as the girl paused.

"Yes; Skelt would have gone with the men, only they threatened to throw
him overboard if he did. He's a damned rascal."

Mr. Dykes started and even looked shocked. It was not so much the
expletive itself which had disturbed his sense of propriety, but the
cool, forceful manner in which it was uttered; obviously it was not the
first time that Miss Fletcher had availed herself of this, as well as of
other masculine prerogatives.

"You have the ship's papers?" asked Calamity.

For answer the young woman drew from beneath her jersey a packet of
papers which she handed to the Captain. He glanced through them and then
handed them back to her.

"I should prefer to leave them in your charge till I am put ashore,"
said the girl. "What port do you touch first?"

"I can't say. This is not an ordinary merchant ship, but a licensed
privateer."

"A privateer! Then you expect to fight?"

"You will arrange what accommodation you can for Miss Fletcher, Mr.
Dykes," said the Captain, ignoring her question.

"Yes, sir; I suppose she will have her food in the cabin, sir?"

"Not in this one, Mr. Dykes."

Again the hot, angry blood rushed to the girl's face and she turned a
pair of blazing eyes on the Captain.

"Thank you for that privilege, at any rate!" she said with furious
sarcasm.

"Not at all," murmured Calamity imperturbably, and made a gesture to
signify that he wished to be alone.

As the mate escorted Miss Fletcher from the cabin, he was very nearly as
hot and indignant as herself at the Captain's behaviour. Here was a
handsome, strapping girl who had unexpectedly come into their midst and
Calamity treated her as if she were a derelict deck-hand. He had not
even expressed a word of sympathy for the death of her father.

"I'm real sorry you should have been treated like this," he said
awkwardly. "The skipper ain't no dude, but I did think----"

"I assure you it makes no difference to me," interrupted the girl. "I am
only too glad to think that I shan't have to see more of him than is
necessary."

"An' you ain't the only one who thinks that way, Miss," answered the
mate thoughtfully. "I wouldn't envy the man who took the inside track
with him; it'd be as pleasant as takin' your grub in a den with a hungry
lion."

Passing out of the alleyway, their ears were suddenly assailed by the
sound of oaths, curses, and blasphemies, intermingled with threats,
groans, and appeals for mercy. They emanated from Jasper Skelt, whose
demands to be treated as a passenger were now receiving attention
according to the Captain's instructions. Resting on two trestles placed
one on each side of the after-hatch was a thick wooden beam, inclined so
that one of its sharp edges was uppermost. Astride this unpleasant
perch, his feet about six inches from the deck, was the ex-bos'n of the
_Esmeralda_. His ankles were tied together beneath the beam, his wrists
securely fastened behind his back, and to a cord round his neck was
suspended a spit-kid--this last for the benefit of any man who felt a
desire to expectorate. To judge from Skelt's condition, there were many
indifferent marksmen aboard the _Hawk_.

"That guy was fool enough to sass the old man and now he's learnin'
better," explained Mr. Dykes to his companion. "He ain't a pretty sight,
is he?"

Seeing Miss Fletcher, the misguided Jasper had suddenly checked his
output of assorted profanity and now wildly appealed to her for help.

"Surely you ain't going to stand by, Miss, and see me tortured like
this!" he cried.

"You're a coward and it serves you right," answered the girl.

"Oh, you----" began the man, but someone interrupted him by shoving a
wet deck-swab into his face.

"He'll be there four hours," said the mate as they walked aft. "By that
time he won't have spirit enough to utter a cuss, not if you offered him
a dollar for the pleasure of hearin' it. When the skipper does hand out
trouble, he does it with both fists."

Mr. Dykes's prognostication was only partly correct, for the ex-bos'n,
though a strong man, lost consciousness after the third hour and had to
be carried into the foc'sle.

"Repeat the treatment to-morrow and every day until he volunteers to
work," said Calamity when this was reported to him.

The "treatment" was not repeated, however, for, on recovering his
senses, Mr. Skelt eagerly and anxiously begged to be allowed to share in
the work of the crew.

On the following morning they picked up the smoke-trail of the German
gunboat and the chase--if chase it could be called--was resumed.




CHAPTER VI

MR. DYKES RECEIVES HIS LESSON


For three days the _Hawk_ continued to follow in the gunboat's trail,
and everybody was asking everybody else in hushed whispers what the
Captain's plans were. The consensus of opinion now was that he intended
the German to play the part of the cat in the fable and pull the
chestnuts out of the fire: in other words, to wait till the enemy had
got all the plunder he could carry and then swoop down upon him. The
question was, when would the swooping start?

During all this time, Calamity had not spoken a single word to Miss
Fletcher, or, indeed, betrayed any sign that he was aware of her
existence. He had never even mentioned her or asked how she was
accommodated, and, for all he knew to the contrary, she might have been
sleeping on deck under a steam-winch. Mr. Dykes had not told him that he
had given up his own cabin to the girl and was sharing the
second-mate's. He feared, not without reason, that, had he done so,
Calamity would have ordered him back to his own quarters. As to the
ex-bos'n Skelt, he had become a very unobtrusive member of the crew, and
nothing further had been heard from him concerning his right to be
treated as a passenger. It is true that he once let out a dark hint to
the effect that he was "biding his time," but no one paid the slightest
attention to him.

Meanwhile, a change had come over the lives and habits of the two mates
and the chief engineer. The refining influence of feminine society--as
McPhulach poetically termed it--was already beginning to tell on them.
The mate, for instance, now used up two clean shirts a week and quite a
number of white pocket-handkerchiefs; the second followed the good
example by having his shoes cleaned every day, and substituting,
whenever he happened to think of it, "blooming," for the sanguinary
adjective he had hitherto favoured, and the engineer not only washed his
face every night when coming off watch, but, on his own confession,
changed his socks rather more frequently than he had done in the past.

Whether the lady on whose behalf these sacrifices were made was aware of
them, and duly appreciative, the three dandies had no means of
determining. McPhulach, who was a practical man and saw no merit in
hiding his light under a bushel, did once suggest that Miss Fletcher
should be tactfully made aware of the astonishing changes she had
wrought. The suggestion, however, was promptly sat upon by the mates,
who wanted to convey the impression that their present exemplary mode of
life was in nowise abnormal despite the strain it entailed.

"I've had twa pairs o' socks washed sin' we started, and that's no' a
month ago," grumbled the engineer, when his publicity proposition was
opposed.

"You've got to remember you're a--bloomin' gentleman nah," answered
Smith.

"It's awfu' expenseeve," murmured McPhulach plaintively.

Although Miss Fletcher was the last person to encourage familiarity, she
was capable of a certain _camaraderie_ through having lived so much
among men. She had, it seemed, lost her mother at an early age, and
since then had accompanied her father on nearly all his voyages.
Therefore she exhibited neither the coy timidity nor coquettish lure
which might have been expected from a girl of her age under
circumstances like the present. Her manner towards the three men who
had, as it were, appointed themselves her hosts was disarmingly frank;
as a woman she kept them at arm's length, as a companion she was as free
and easy as a man. Smith, when discussing her one day with the mate,
remarked that she only remembered she was a woman when something was
said which any decent man would resent. Mr. Dykes alone occasionally
assumed a patronisingly masculine attitude, towards which, so far, the
girl had shown no resentment. This, he sometimes tried to believe, was a
tacit admission that she regarded him with special favour, if not with
some degree of awe, though at other times common sense prevailed and he
realised that it was due to sheer indifference.

But Mr. Dykes was becoming very dissatisfied with things as they were.
For no particular reason, unless it was that he had given up his cabin
to her, the mate somehow felt that he had a prior claim to Miss
Fletcher's respect and esteem. He was, therefore, secretly aggrieved to
think that Smith and McPhulach, whose sacrifices on her behalf had not
exceeded a little extra personal cleanliness, were as much in favour as
himself. In short, Mr. Dykes was in danger of falling a victim to the
tender passion--if, indeed he had not already done so--hence the jealous
feelings that were beginning to ferment in his bosom. He suffered most,
however, when it happened that he was taking the second dog-watch, and,
from his post on the bridge, could see Miss Fletcher, Smith, and
McPhulach, laughing and chatting on the after-hatch as though he,
Ephraim Dykes, had never existed.

It was during one of these "free and easys," as Smith called them, that
the girl suddenly began to discuss the Captain of the _Hawk_. Hitherto
she had ignored him as completely as he had ignored her, though a keen
observer might have noticed that she frequently cast a curious glance
towards the bridge when he happened to be on it.

"Bless you, he's a bloomin' bag of mystery, he is; a reg'lar
perambulatin' paradox," replied the second-mate in answer to a question
which the girl had put regarding the skipper. "There ain't no gettin'
the latitude nor longitude of him."

"He's a michty quare mon," corroborated the engineer.

"But is his name really Calamity?" asked the girl.

"Meybe it is and meybe it isna," answered McPhulach cautiously. "Some
say he's a mon o' guid family, and others declare the revairse is the
truth; but which is right I dinna ken."

"Well, I've never sailed with him before," put in Smith, "but from the
little I've see'd of his gentle habits I should say he'd die of throat
trouble all of a sudden."

"Throat trouble?" queried the girl.

"Yes; the throat trouble that comes of wearin' a rope collar too tight.
Why, we'd only been out a few days when he starts to half murder the
whole bloomin' crew. A roarin', ravin', rampin' lunatic he was," and
Smith proceeded to relate, in pungent, picturesque language, the manner
in which Calamity had quelled the mutiny single-handed.

"I wish I'd been here to see it," murmured the girl almost fervently,
while a light leapt to her grey eyes which made Smith think of firelight
seen through a closed window in winter time.

"Blimey! I don't admire your taste, Miss," he ejaculated. "The decks
were like a blood--yes, they were--like a bloody slaughter-house.
There's no other way of puttin' it."

"At any rate, he's a man," retorted Miss Fletcher with a queer note of
defiance in her voice, "and I admire him for it."

Smith gazed at her for a moment in utter perplexity. He had confidently
expected that, after the way in which the Captain had treated her, the
girl would be only too ready to accept anything that could be said to
his disadvantage. Yet she was actually expressing admiration for him and
his bloodthirsty methods! Her attitude not only amazed him, but struck
him as being shockingly unfeminine. As a woman she ought to have
expressed the strongest disgust at the skipper's brutality, and not
gloried in it.

"Lummy! You're a queer'n and no error," he murmured.

He rose to his feet, and, going to the taffrail, expectorated over the
side with unnecessary violence. Like most men whose lives have been
spent in rough places and whose knowledge of women is limited, he
cherished a pathetic belief in their legendary gentleness and timidity.
It was true that this particular young woman had not displayed these
qualities in any marked degree, but he had never doubted their existence
even so. He felt now that, in being a woman, she was living under false
pretences, so to speak. It was a very real grievance in his eyes, more
especially when he reflected on the noble restraint he had exercised
over his speech and manners out of regard for her sex.

He returned moodily to the hatch and sat down. The girl was still
discussing Calamity with McPhulach, her voice defiantly enthusiastic.

"If I were a man I'd ask for no better Captain to sail under," she was
saying.

"It's a pity you ain't, then," growled Smith, who had returned just in
time to overhear this remark.

"I've often thought so myself," she retorted. "Men are getting too soft
nowadays."

"Meybe so," put in the engineer soothingly. "But ye'll hae no cause to
complain o' the saftness aboord this packet, I'm thinkin'. And gin it's
devilry ye're so muckle fond of, ye've no need to fash yersel' aboot
missin' any here."

"Not half you needn't," added Smith with a grim chuckle. "When the old
man----" he broke off abruptly as the ship's bell struck. "Holy Moses!
eight bells already!" he ejaculated, and, rising to his feet, went off
to relieve Mr. Dykes.

As the latter descended the companion-ladder after handing over the
watch to the second-mate, he paused suddenly before reaching the deck.
He was not an imaginative man and had never made a study of beauty
except as represented by the female crimps and spongers who infested the
various ports he had visited. But for a moment the sight of the girl
sitting on the hatch, her beautiful hair softly radiant in the
moonlight, and her figure in its close-fitting jersey so strangely
alluring in the half-concealment of the shadows, held him spellbound.
The splendour of the night, with its star-powdered sky of deepest,
limpid blue; the brilliant moon whose beams made an ever-widening track
of molten silver with shimmering tints of bronze, across the blue-black
waters; the wake of foaming, sparkling iridescence in the steamer's
track,--all these things moved him not one jot for he had witnessed them
times without number. He saw nothing, in fact, but the girl, sitting
with her face resting on her hands, gazing pensively out to sea. Never
before had he realised that she was beautiful and intensely feminine
despite all her affected masculinity.

"Durned if she don't look like a picture postcard," he murmured
ecstatically.

He walked up to the hatch and sat down near her, but she did not turn
her head nor show any sign of being aware of his presence. He coughed to
attract her attention, but without result; she continued gazing with
sad, thoughtful eyes into the distant mingling of crystal blue and
glistening silver-grey which marked the junction of sea and sky.

"Say, ain't it a dandy night?" he observed, unable to keep silence any
longer.

The girl made no answer, but the remark aroused McPhulach from the
reverie into which he, also, had fallen. Rising to his feet, he knocked
the ashes out of his pipe and yawned.

"Gin I bide here any langer, I'll be consooming anither pipe o' bacca;
so I'll wish ye a verra guid nicht, Miss Fletcher," he said.

"Good-night, McPhulach," answered the girl, who rarely used the prefix
"Mr." when addressing her companions.

The engineer strolled off towards his cabin and the mate, to his great
satisfaction, was left alone with her. For some time he sat fidgeting,
anxious to speak, yet unable to think of anything to say. He watched
her furtively out of the corner of his eye, secretly gloating over the
outlines of her shapely figure, the delicate poise of her head, and the
fascinating profusion of her wonderful hair.

Suddenly the girl rose to her feet, and, seeing the mate, started.

"I didn't know you were there," she said.

The mate made as if to speak, but uttered no sound. He rose unsteadily,
and as the girl was about to move away, strode to her side.

"I want you," he said in a hoarse, quivering voice.

He made a movement as if to encircle her waist with his arm, but, before
he could do so, her left fist shot out and, catching him unexpectedly
squarely between the eyes, sent him reeling into the scuppers.

When he recovered himself and sat up he was a different man. All the
passionate ardour, all the irresistible desire had left him, and he was
conscious only of a singing in the head.

"No," he remarked thoughtfully, addressing himself to an iron stanchion,
"she ain't no dime novel heroine, she ain't."




CHAPTER VII

THE AGITATOR


It was Sunday morning and those of the crew who were not on watch lay
upon the foc'sle head, sat on the for'ad hatch, or still lay snoring in
their bunks. A favoured few were lounging round the galley, some peeling
potatoes--for which they would receive their reward in due course--and
others helping them with good advice. From within the galley came the
voice of "Slushy," the cook, bellowing out snatches of hymns
intermingled with pungent profanities, each equally sincere.

    "There is a fountain filled with blood,
      Drawn from Emmanuel's veins,"

he roared. "Get to hell out o' this, you perishin' son of a swab!" he
added to a fireman who was making a surreptitious effort to get at the
hot water.

"Damn your 'ot water, you pasty-faced dough-walloper!" retorted the
fireman.

Then followed a scuffle, more profanities, and the fireman performed an
acrobatic feat which landed him in the scuppers.

"Put your lousy 'ead in 'ere again and I'll murder you," said the cook.
"I won't 'ave no bloomin' bad language in 'ere," he added warningly to
the others. "There's a damned sight too much of it on this bug-trap."

He again lifted up his voice in song.

    "And sinners plunged beneath the flood,
      Lose all their guilty sta--a--ains."

He paused to administer a cutting admonition to one of his assistants.

"Lose all their guilty stains," he trilled forth, pouring the hot water
in which potatoes had been boiled, into the iron kettle that held the
crew's tea.

In another part of the ship, under the lee of the forecastle a second
and somewhat different meeting was in progress. Jasper Skelt,
ex-boatswain of the _Esmeralda_, was addressing half a dozen men in
fierce whispers, emphasising his remarks with violent gestures of the
head and hands. The men listened, placidly smoking their pipes and
occasionally turning a nervous glance towards the bridge to make sure
that they were not being observed by the Captain.

"What proof have we that this boat is a licensed privateer?" Skelt was
saying--or rather, whispering--"only the Captain's word. We ain't seen
his Letters of Marque and ain't likely to. Why?"

The orator paused as if for a reply. It came.

"'Cause the first man 'as asked to see 'em 'ud get murdered," said one
of the audience.

For a moment Skelt was disconcerted by the subdued laughter which
followed this answer. But he pulled himself together and went on:

"No; and I'll tell you why we ain't likely to see his Letters of Marque:
because he ain't got any."

This statement, delivered with all the confidence of one who knew,
produced an effect. The men stared at each other with puzzled faces.

"'Ow the blazes do you know?" asked one of the men angrily.

"Because the British Government haven't granted any for this war,"
answered the agitator. "They're chartering merchant steamers and arming
'em themselves. Commerce-destroyers they call them, but they're really
Government-owned privateers."

"Who told you so?" queried a sceptic.

"Don't ask me, read the papers and see for yourself," answered Skelt.

"Ho yus, I forgot all about me Sunday paper!" ejaculated another member
of the audience sarcastically. "Boy, give me a _Lloyds_ and the
_Observer_."

A roar of unrestrained laughter went up at this witticism, and the
orator had some ado to master his wrath.

"It's all very well to laugh about it now," he said heatedly. "But wait
till later on; wait till this lunatic who calls himself a Captain sinks
one or two vessels; wait till he's called upon to show his papers--then
you'll change your tune, my merry clinker-knockers!"

"What the 'ell does it matter to us, anyway?" asked someone.

"I'll tell you, my innocent babe. If we start in to sink ships, commit
murder and rob the cargoes without having the proper authority--that is
Letters of Marque--we're not privateers at all; we're blooming, God-damn
pirates, that's what we are," answered Skelt. "What's more, if any
brainless swab here doesn't know what the punishment is for piracy, I'll
have much pleasure in telling him."

"'Anging, ain't it?"

"Right first time; hanging it is."

"It ain't nothin' to do with us, any'ow," said one of the objectors. "We
ain't responsible for what the skipper does."

"P'raps not, but if he orders you to shoot a man and you do it, you're a
murderer and will be treated as such. You won't save your neck by
telling the beak that you thought you were a privateer. No, my son,
it'll be a hanging job, you can take your Davy on that. Maybe they'll
put a photo of your handsome dial in the newspapers, but your gal will
soon be looking for another jolly sailor-boy to sponge on, and mother'll
lose her curly-headed darling."

There was a constrained silence for some moments, during which Skelt
grinned at his audience sardonically. Despite the affected incredulity
of his listeners, they were evidently beginning to feel nervous. To even
the most ignorant among them, piracy was an ugly word, much akin to
murder.

"S'posing what you say's right, what are we to do?" asked one of the
hecklers at last.

"Ask the skipper to let us get out and walk," suggested someone amidst
laughter.

"If any of you had brains a fraction of the size of your guts you
wouldn't ask me a fool question like that," answered Skelt. "If a bloke
came up and said 'I'm going to hang you in five minutes,' what would you
do?"

"Knock 'is bloomin' light out," said a fireman.

"Shove a knife between 'is ribs," suggested another.

"Of course you would," said the ex-boatswain. "But here's a man who gets
you on board his ship and then tells you to do something that'll get you
hanged as sure as infants eat pap. And you'd sooner risk your necks than
tell him that, if he wants any murdering done, he'd better do it
himself. You're a perishing set of heroes, strike me blind!"

"Why don't you tell that to the old man yourself?" asked one of the
audience. "Your neck's as much in danger as ours."

"Aye, aye, tell 'im yourself," echoed the others.

"So I would if I thought you'd stand by me. But you're such a set of
white-livered skunks that, at the first word from this one-eyed skipper,
you'd turn on me. Why, if you were men instead of a damned pack of
slaves, you'd take charge of this packet yourselves and clap that
lunatic aft in irons. Then you'd take the ship into the nearest port and
claim salvage, and a nice little fortune you'd make out of it. It'd be
every man his own pub then and don't you forget it."

"What about the orf'cers, old son?" inquired someone.

"Treat 'em the same if they refused to come in with us. One of them
would have to do the navigating, and if he had any objections we'd soon
get rid of them. A bit of whipcord tightened round a man's head is a
wonderful persuader."

"So's the wooden 'orse," cried a fireman, referring to the manner in
which the fiery orator had been induced to waive his claim to be
regarded as a passenger.

There was another burst of laughter at this sally, but the would-be
righter of wrongs, though annoyed, was not to be put down.

"Whose fault was that?" he demanded. "One man couldn't fight the whole
crowd of you, and if that swivel-eyed swine had given the word you'd
have been on me like a pack of dogs. But I haven't forgotten, and I'll
lay my life against a mouldy biscuit that I get even before I leave this
stinking slave-dhow."

"You oughter be in 'Ide Park, you ought," said the sceptical fireman.
"You'd look fine on a Sunday afternoon standin' on the top of a tub."

"If it pleases you to be funny, it doesn't hurt me," retorted Skelt.
"But wait till you're up before the beak on a charge of piracy on the
high seas; maybe you'll sing a different tune."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and, with an expression of utter
contempt on his face, turned away. But, despite the scornful incredulity
with which his remarks had been received, they had not fallen on
entirely barren soil. As a general rule, the sailor-man is hopelessly
ignorant of the law, and, in consequence, has a vague but very real
dread of it. For him, it possesses all the terrors of the unknown; its
very jargon cows him, and the wording of a summons sounds more terrible
in his ears than the worst abuse of the worst skipper that ever sailed
the seas. Skelt, it was true, had not served out any fear-inspiring
legal phrases, but he had mentioned piracy, which is an ugly word to use
on a ship whose character and mission savour somewhat of that offence.

So, while they pretended to laugh at the ex-boatswain's words, those who
had heard them began to feel a new and unpleasant sense of dread. This
quickly communicated itself to the rest of the crew, and before the
first dog-watch was called that day there was hardly a man who was not
obsessed by it. Many of them would have cut a person's throat for the
price of a drink; not a few had seen the inside of a prison for some
offence or other, but piracy, the greatest crime of which a sailor can
be guilty, made them shudder. It belonged to the highest order of crime,
and, though the punishment could not be greater than that meted out for
stabbing a man in the back, the fact that it was vaster and infinitely
more daring than anything their coarse minds had ever conceived, made it
seem appallingly stupendous.

During the afternoon those who were off watch discussed the subject in
whispers. Some were for sending a deputation to the skipper, but no one
could be found whose courage was equal to the task. Skelt, who was
approached on the subject, flatly declined to act as the crew's
representative. He had done his part, he asserted, by warning them of
their danger; let somebody else have the privilege of bearding Calamity.

"You didn't help me when I was strung across that damned spar and I'm
not going to help you," he said. "Still," he added, "I'll give you a bit
of advice. When the time comes for you to man the guns and start blazing
away at some ship or other, stand fast. Let the swivel-eyed blighter do
his own murdering."

"That's all right," growled a voice, "but 'e'll start doin' it on us."

"Yes, and you'll ask his kind permission to take off your jumpers so's
he can cut your throats easier," sneered Skelt.

"No, by God, we won't!" exclaimed someone truculently.

The new note of defiance was taken up. It was one thing to face the
terrible skipper in his cabin, but quite another to swear to disobey his
orders, when there was no immediate prospect of those orders being
given. Their courage went up by leaps and bounds, and they discussed
plans for defying the Captain's commands--in whispers.

"That's the right spirit," said Skelt encouragingly. "This skipper may
be a holy terror, but he can't murder us all if we stick together. Just
show him that you don't mean to put your necks in the hangman's rope for
his sake, and he'll soon calm down, I'll swear. I know them bucko
skippers: all froth and fury so long as they think you're afraid of 'em;
but once they see you don't care a Dago's damn for all their bullying,
they become as meek as lambs. Oh, I know 'em! Sailed with one----"

The ex-boatswain's reminiscence was cut short by the sound of a whistle
on deck. Next moment the foc'sle door was flung open and the second-mate
put his head in.

"To your stations, every man!" he shouted. "Uncover the guns and stand
by for orders!"

There was a rush from the foc'sle, and the first man to take his station
and start peeling the tarpaulins off the machine-gun, was the fiery and
defiant Jasper Skelt.




CHAPTER VIII

THE PRIZE


A slight haze hung over the water, so that sea and sky were merged in a
film of brooding grey. Through this, looking strangely flimsy and unreal
by reason of the mist, could be seen a large cargo-steamer of about five
thousand tons. She was steaming in the opposite direction to the _Hawk_
at something like ten knots, and from her triatic stay fluttered a hoist
of signal-flags indicating the question: "What ship are you?"

"What shall I answer, sir?" inquired Mr. Dykes of Calamity.

"'British steamer _Hawk_. Singapore for London.'"

The signal was hoisted and the reply came: "British steamer _Ann_, Rio
for Hongkong." At the same time the red ensign was hoisted at the stern.

"You say that when you first saw her she was flying the German flag?"
Calamity inquired of Mr. Dykes.

"Yes, sir. I think she must have just passed another German ship, for
the ensign was being hauled down when I sighted her."

"H'm, she was German a few minutes ago; now she's British. Signal her to
stop, Mr. Dykes."

The signal was duly hoisted, but the steamer paid no attention and
proceeded on her course, while from her funnel arose a thick cloud of
black smoke, showing that the stokers were firing up. Although the
skipper of the _Ann_ might resent being called upon to stop by what
looked like another merchant vessel, this sudden attempt to accelerate
speed, coupled with an unusual freedom in the use of national flags, was
suspicious to say the least of it.

"Put a shot through her funnel, Mr. Dykes," said Calamity.

With his own hands, the mate sighted the quick-firer on the bridge and
then nodded to the boatswain, who was also chief gunner. Next moment a
sheet of flame leapt from the muzzle, there was a terrific roar, and a
shell struck, not the _Ann's_ funnel, but the supporting guys and passed
through a ventilating cowl above the engine-room. Despite this
unequivocal hint, the steamer did not stop, and the foam under her stern
showed that she was putting on speed.

"Aim for the chart-room and make a better shot of it," said Calamity.

Mr. Dykes, greatly chagrined at his first shot having gone wide of its
mark, again sighted the gun. Meanwhile the Captain was bringing round
the _Hawk_ in the arc of a circle to get her in the wake of the
retreating steamer.

Bang!

This time the mate had better luck, his second shot smashing through the
chart-room and completely wrecking it.

"That ought to bring them to reason," he remarked complacently.

It did. Before the thin veil of smoke had drifted away a man was seen on
the _Ann's_ stern, frantically calling up the _Hawk_ in the semaphore
code. A man on the privateer's bridge answered and then the other
started to flap his flags about.

"Don't fire, stopping," read the message.

The foam under the stranger's stern was subsiding and an arrow of white
steam shot into the air out of her exhaust-pipe. Already the distance
between the two vessels was rapidly diminishing and soon they were
within hailing distance. The skipper of the _Ann_ was the first to avail
himself of this, for, making a funnel of his hands, he demanded to know
what the sanguinary blazes was meant by this hold-up.

"I demand to see your papers," bellowed Calamity.

The other appeared to execute a sort of complicated war-dance on the
bridge, wildly waving his clenched fists above his head. No words came
for a second or more, and then a burst of raw, pungent, and
kaleidoscopic profanity hurtled across the intervening space, evoking by
its wonderful variety the admiration even of the _Hawk's_ crew.

"Blimey!" murmured Smith in an awed tone, "it's a treat to 'ear a bloke
handle cuss-words like that."

Even Mr. Dykes, who rather prided himself on his mastery of the
refreshing art of invective, was moved to wonder. Indeed, he made a
mental note of several vituperative combinations whose force and
originality impressed him.

When, at last, the master of the _Ann_ paused, presumably for want of
breath, the crew of the _Hawk_ looked expectantly towards Calamity.
Would he be able to rise to the occasion and wither his opponent by a
scorching blast of even deadlier profanity, or would he humiliate them
by using the commonplace swear-words of everyday life? He did neither.

"I'm going to board you!" he shouted. "Make one attempt to hinder me and
you go to the bottom."

His words, backed by the guns which were trained on the _Ann_, brought
an immediate reply:

"Come aboard if you must, but for the love of God don't sink me."

"Fizzled out like a damp squib," muttered Smith.

"I guess he's played his long suit," remarked the mate, who also felt
disappointed at the ignoble collapse of the _Ann's_ skipper after such
brilliant promise.

A boat was quickly lowered from the _Hawk_, and the Captain, before
getting into it, gave Mr. Dykes certain instructions.

"And remember," he added, "if you see any sign of trickery put a shot
under her water-line amidships."

"Very good, sir," answered the mate.

A few minutes afterwards Calamity had reached the deck of the _Ann_,
where he was met by the Captain and the first mate.

"I demand an explanation of this outrage!" blustered the former. "Are
you aware that you are committing piracy? that----"

Calamity cut him short.

"I know perfectly well what I'm doing, or I shouldn't be here. Your
papers, Captain."

"By what right do you ask for my papers?" demanded the other, who showed
signs of again becoming truculent.

"That," answered Calamity shortly, pointing to the _Hawk's_ guns.

"This is outrageous, and I shall----"

"Your papers, Captain," interrupted Calamity peremptorily.

There was something in his voice which made the _Ann's_ skipper realise
that argument was not only useless, but probably dangerous as well. He
shrugged his shoulders and led the way to his cabin, where he invited
Calamity to sit down. Then he unlocked a drawer and took from it a metal
deed-box which he placed on the table.

"Where the devil are the keys?" he muttered, and, stooping over the box,
began to fumble in his pockets.

Suddenly stepping back, he raised his head, and, as he did so, gave a
sharp exclamation of mingled rage and fear. He was staring right into
the barrel of a nasty-looking automatic pistol which Calamity was
pointing directly at him.

"I've seen that game played before," said Calamity with a quiet smile.
"Hand me your pistol; butt first, please."

And the discomfited skipper of the _Ann_ reluctantly handed over a fully
loaded revolver, which he had been in the act of drawing from his pocket
when he chanced to look down the barrel of the automatic pistol.

"Thanks," said Calamity as he took it. "Now for those papers, if you'll
be so kind."

Without a word, the other unlocked the box and handed over a bundle of
documents. Calamity glanced over them hastily and then smiled.

"Your other papers, Captain," he said.

"Other papers! What other papers d'you mean? They're all there."

"I think not. If you wish to avoid trouble, you will fetch out your
alternative papers at once. You didn't hoist the German ensign without
having something to justify it."

"I swear that----"

"Don't," broke in Calamity. "I can do all the swearing I want for
myself."

"But I can't give you what I haven't got!"

Calamity leant across the table till his face almost touched the
other's.

"The papers," he said in a low, menacing voice. "Understand me?"

The other did, apparently, for, with a muttered curse, he unlocked one
of the table drawers and took therefrom a second bundle of documents.

"Take them and be damned to you," he said, flinging them on the table.

Calamity picked up the papers, and, as he glanced at them there was a
look of grim satisfaction on his face.

"Will you be good enough to explain to me, Captain Noel, how it is that
you happen to have two different sets of papers?" he inquired. "The
first state that the _Ann_ is a British ship, owned by Masters and Ready
of Sunderland, and that she has cleared for Hongkong from Rio. The
second batch declare her to be a German vessel, cleared for Bangkok from
Bremen. They give the owner as----"

He stopped abruptly as he glanced again at the paper he was holding. A
look of incredulous astonishment appeared on his face, but it was almost
immediately succeeded by one of the keenest satisfaction.

"----Isaac Solomon of Singapore," he concluded.

The other made no answer, and for a moment or two Calamity regarded him
thoughtfully.

"It's a clever trick and how you managed to obtain these two sets of
papers I don't pretend to guess," he went on. "It may interest you,
however, to know that the esteemed Mr. Isaac Solomon is a dear--one
might almost say, expensive--friend of mine, and no doubt he will let me
into the secret later on. What is your cargo, Captain?"

"Sand ballast and Portland cement," growled the other.

"No doubt the cargo you took out was rather more interesting. But what's
this?" he added, holding up a document heavily sealed.

"I don't know."

"Still, it would be as well to find out," and without hesitation he
calmly broke the seals.

To the astonishment of them both, the document was absolutely blank; to
all appearances a virgin sheet of paper.

"H'm, this is strange," murmured Calamity. "It is not usual to enclose
and seal a blank sheet of paper with the ship's documents. Have you got
a candle?"

Captain Noel produced one from a shelf and lit it. He seemed as eager to
find out the meaning of this mysterious enclosure as Calamity himself.
The latter held the paper in front of the flame and, as he had expected,
writing began to appear. When the whole communication became legible he
spread the document out on the table and commenced to read.

It was, in effect, a letter from a German official to Mr. Isaac Solomon
of Singapore, informing him that his last cargo had reached its first
destination, a neutral port, without mishap. This was followed by some
very valuable advice concerning the manner in which another
cargo--referred to as "Eastern merchandise"--might be delivered at the
same port. There were also other matters of even greater interest, but
Calamity decided to study these at a more convenient time.

"I have only one more question to ask you, Captain," he said. "What was
the exact nature of this 'Eastern merchandise'?"

"Copper and nickel," answered the other.

"A very profitable cargo, I should imagine; yet not as profitable as
this one little piece of paper should prove to me--eh, Captain Noel?"

"I'll take my oath I knew nothing of this," answered the latter eagerly.

"You knew about the cargo, at any rate. However, that's a matter which
doesn't concern me. I shall hand you back your German clearance papers,
but the English ones, together with this interesting little document, I
shall keep."

"You--you're going to keep the English papers?" faltered the other.

"Yes."

"But, good God, man, I shall be captured! I can't reach a port with
German papers. I'm at the mercy of the first British cruiser I meet!"

"Exactly. And dear Isaac Solomon, bless his gentle heart, will have his
ship confiscated. Still, I'll wager he'd sooner the authorities took his
ship than this piece of paper."

Calamity rose to his feet, and, leaving the German papers on the table,
put the others in his pocket.

"I'll wish you good-day, Captain Noel," he said. "I may capture a few
prizes during my cruise, but I can never hope to get another like this.
If you should meet Mr. Solomon during the next week or so kindly
remember me to him. Captain Calamity; he'll not have forgotten the
name."

He left the steamer, and, returning to the _Hawk_, told Mr. Dykes to
continue the original course.

"Very good, sir," answered the mate. "I suppose," he added, "there
weren't nothin' worth freezin' on to aboard that packet?"

Calamity made no answer, and, going to his cabin, locked himself in.
Meanwhile, to the surprise and disappointment of the crew, the _Ann_ was
permitted to proceed on her way and the _Hawk_ resumed her course.

"Don't savee what it means, don't you?" Jasper Skelt was saying in the
foc'sle. "It means this, my jolly sailor-boys. The skipper's helped
himself to the money-chest on that blooming barge and he's going to
stick to it. Yes, my festive deck-wallopers, all the prize-money and
plunder that comes your way you'll be able to stick in a hollow tooth."

A low, angry murmur went up, and then a man, bolder than the rest, rose
to his feet.

"If I b'lieved you, Jas Skelt, I'd 'ave a go at that un'oly swine aft,
and chance it."

"Aye, aye," growled some others. "We ain't goin' to be done out of our
rights."

"Then you stand by me," answered Skelt, "and I'll see that you get 'em."

"We'll stand by you, mate," said the first speaker. "And, what's more,
we'll make you skipper of the _'Awk_. Ain't that so?" he added, turning
to the others.

There was a low murmur of approval.




CHAPTER IX

TRAGEDY


As Calamity sat in his cabin reading the secret document which had so
unexpectedly fallen into his hands, he chuckled grimly. It proved,
beyond any vestige of a doubt, that Mr. Isaac Solomon was playing an
extremely profitable, but also extremely hazardous game. It was not
simply a case of blockade-running, it was a matter of trading with the
enemy--in effect, treason. He was, by devious tricks and dodges,
supplying the enemy with war material, and, it went without saying,
making a gigantic profit on each rascally transaction. His method was
wonderfully ingenious, for, by providing German and English clearance
papers for his ships, he was reasonably sure of their getting through,
whether stopped by British vessels or those of the enemy. Moreover, the
cargoes were shipped to neutral ports and their real nature disguised,
to lessen further the risk of discovery. But how the astute Solomon had
managed to get these papers Calamity could not imagine; still, he had
done so.

This remarkable document also shed a light on the character and variety
of some of Mr. Solomon's numerous business activities, and seemed to
show that he was even wealthier than rumour had alleged. Until now,
Calamity himself had never guessed that his partner possessed any
ships, and certainly Singapore knew nothing of it.

"Inscrutable are the ways of Solomon," he murmured with a smile.

He would not have parted with the incriminating document for a fortune
because it meant that, henceforward, Solomon would be in his power. In
all his transactions with the wily ship-chandler, he had always been
made to feel that it was the latter who held the whip-hand. He had been
conscious of it when he left Singapore on this privateering expedition
and had more than suspected that Solomon's motives for financing him had
been only partly concerned with the making of a profit out of possible
prizes. He felt even more sure of it now, but it only increased his
sense of grim satisfaction. The tables had been turned, and it was he
who held the whip-hand, for it was in his power not only to ruin his
partner financially, but to have him sent to prison for what, in all
probability, would be the term of his natural life.

While Calamity was gloating over these matters, and while Jasper Skelt
was doing his best to incite the crew to mutiny, Mr. Dykes was
ventilating a grievance to the chief engineer. What puzzled and
irritated him, as it did nearly everyone else on the _Hawk_, was the
Captain's seeming folly in letting the _Ann_, admittedly an enemy ship,
get away. Even if she carried no cargo of any value, she could have been
escorted into Singapore and claimed as a prize. The Admiralty award
would surely have been generous, and well worth all the trouble.

This view he explained at some length to McPhulach, who was absorbing a
fearful concoction of gin and rum. The engineer was not a very
sympathetic listener at any time, but as both the second-mate and the
second-engineer were on watch, there was no one else to whom Mr. Dykes
could unburden himself with anything like freedom.

"I ain't saying but what he mayn't have his reasons, and very good
ones," said the mate; "but, if he has, he ought to tell us. The crew are
startin' to look nasty again, and who's to blame 'em? Three times
already we've had a chance to rope in a prize and he's let every one
breeze away. It gets by me, and that's a fact."

McPhulach, who had been dozing between drinks, opened his eyes as the
speaker paused.

"He's a michty quare mon; a verra michty--hic--quare mon," he murmured,
and closed his eyes again.

"Mind you," went on the mate, "I ain't grouchin', but, all the same, I'd
like to know where this dance is going to end. Is he goin' to tote us
all over the Pacific for the fun of stoppin' ships and letting 'em go
again? And where's the prize-money that we were goin' to get such
lashings of?"

A stentorian snore was the only reply, and Mr. Dykes, realising that the
engineer was fast asleep, suppressed a desire to administer him a hearty
kick, and left the cabin. Outside he came upon Miss Fletcher sitting on
a camp-stool at the door of the cabin that had once been his.

"What's the matter? You're looking very serious," she said.

Mr. Dykes paused, and, leaning his back against the opposite bulkhead,
stuck both hands in his pockets and assumed an air of weary resignation.

"I was jest tryin' to figger out whether we're on a yachtin' trip or
whether the old man is jest dodgin' about for the sake of his health,"
he answered.

The girl looked puzzled.

"I don't understand," she said.

The mate heaved a sigh and sat down on the cabin step beside her. In
spite of that past episode when he had forgotten himself, they were on
very friendly terms. She did not appear to resent or even to remember
the incident, probably because she knew that Mr. Dykes had learnt his
lesson and would be more discreet in future. Certainly she had not
reported the matter to Calamity, as he had at first feared she would,
and this fact raised her in his esteem as much as the blow between the
eyes had done. In fact, he had a very healthy respect for this
self-possessed young woman.

"I don't understand what you mean," she reiterated.

Whereupon Mr. Dykes repeated more or less what he had said to the
engineer concerning the Captain's apparent want of enterprise.

"You may be sure he knows what he's about," she said, when the mate had
finished.

"I'm willin' to allow that," he answered; "but it don't help us any. We
didn't sign on this packet for a pleasure cruise, and good intentions
don't cut no ice."

"Then you don't trust the Captain?" she inquired, with a touch of scorn
in her voice.

"Now you're gettin' a hitch on the wrong cow. I didn't say anything of
the sort. What I want to know is, when are we goin' to start biz, the
real biz? I ain't out to study the beauties of the deep; none of us are;
we've seen 'em too often, and they ain't none too beautiful neither."

"Why don't you ask the Captain?"

"That ain't all," went on Mr. Dykes, ignoring the question, "it won't do
to bank too much on this here crew. They're gettin' ugly, and when they
do stampede it won't be like last time. There'll be real, genuine
trouble accompanied by corpses--you can put your shirt on that."

"But you told me he quelled a mutiny single-handed when you were only a
few days out."

"Yes; but this is different. Then the men were unprepared, they didn't
know what to expect, and so the old man was able to raise Cain before
they'd got their bearin's. This time it'll be different; it'll be a
real, genuine, bloody mutiny, with hell to pay."

"Personally, I have no fear. I would back your Captain against any
number of such scum," answered the girl a little contemptuously.

Mr. Dykes shook his head gloomily.

"This ain't the sort of ship for a woman to be on," he remarked.

"I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

The mate made no answer, and, realising that his forebodings were not
meeting with any sympathy, rose slowly from the step and yawned.

"Guess I'll turn in for a spell," he said; "mine's the middle watch."

She made no attempt to detain him, and he lounged away towards the
second-mate's cabin to get some sleep before going on duty.

The brief twilight of the tropics had given place to night, and, though
there was no moon, the sky was ablaze with myriads of brilliant stars,
some in clusters like groups of sparkling gems, others strewn, as it
were, promiscuously over the translucent blue dome and a few isolated
and outstanding by reason of their wonderful brilliance. The cool
night-air was filled with a subtle, intoxicating perfume, and the sea
was like a vast steel mirror save for the expanding streak of bubbling,
foam-flecked water in the steamer's wake. And the only sounds to be
heard were the steady, rhythmic beat of the engines and the gurgling
swish of the water as it swept past the ship's sides, clear, cool, and
enticing. The mast-head light shone out steady and bright like a star of
enormous magnitude and on either beam the navigating lights cast red or
green reflections on the placid sea.

Dora Fletcher retired to her cabin, where she sat watching, through an
open port, the beauty and wonder of the starlit night. She had
extinguished the lamp the better to enjoy this and the sense of peace
which the darkness induced. Presently, however, she turned away with a
sigh to prepare for bed, and, as she did so, glanced carelessly out of
the port which looked across the deck towards the foc'sle. The door of
the latter was shut, but through the chinks a yellow ray of light
penetrated, and, listening intently, she caught the murmur of voices.

For a moment she forgot all about the beauty and peacefulness of the
night, and her thoughts turned to the lugubrious forebodings of the
mate. On such a night, and under such conditions, it was almost
impossible to imagine a scene such as he had hinted; impossible to
picture the silent and deserted decks aswarm with savage, bloodthirsty
men, intent upon murder and destruction. Yet she, who had been afloat
before most children have left the nursery, knew that it was possible,
just as she knew that it was only the iron mastery of one man which kept
this horde of ruffians in check. Since babyhood, almost, she had
listened to tales of mutiny and crime on the high seas; had sailed with
men who had witnessed such things, and some who even boasted of the
parts they had played therein.

Suddenly she was roused from the vague, waking dream into which she had
fallen by the sound of a man's voice raised almost to a shout. It
dropped abruptly as though the speaker had suddenly recollected himself
and was conscious of having committed an indiscretion. It was evident,
however, that something unusual was going on in the foc'sle which,
ordinarily, should have been silent till the relief watch was routed out
and the off-going watch tumbled in. After a while she again heard
voices, and then sounds that seemed to suggest subdued quarrelling.
These sounds again died down, all was silent, and soon afterwards the
light in the foc'sle was extinguished.

For some moments the girl lingered at the port, wondering what the
commotion for'ad portended, wondering also whether the officer on the
bridge had noticed it. The chances were that he had not, for the noise
of the engines coming through the gratings would probably have drowned
the sounds in the foc'sle, and the fact that it had been lighted up was
not in itself suspicious; a dim light was always kept burning there.

She was just about to move away and turn in, when she saw the foc'sle
door open and a man creep stealthily out. Had he stepped out boldly she
would have thought nothing of it, but his furtive movements at once
roused her curiosity. Keeping well in the shadow of the bulwarks, he
crept forward till at last he reached the alleyway between the cabins
amidships and disappeared. Next moment the girl heard soft footsteps
approach her cabin, pass the door, and die away.

She kept quite still for a few seconds in order to let the man pass,
then softly opened her door and peered out. At the other end of the
alleyway, giving upon the after-deck, she caught sight of the shadowy
figure making its way aft, and still keeping well in the shadows.
Stepping noiselessly out of the cabin, she followed him in obedience to
an insistent desire to find out what he was about to do. On reaching the
deck-house aft which led to the Captain's quarters, the man stopped and
the girl had barely time to sink behind a steam-winch before he turned
round and gazed furtively about him.

Then, apparently satisfied that he was not being watched, the man did an
extraordinary thing. Climbing over the taffrail, he began to lower
himself gently towards the water. A wild fear that he intended to commit
suicide took possession of the girl, and she was about to cry out, when
his next action arrested her. With his feet on the iron wind-shoot that
projected from the scuttle of the Captain's cabin, he lowered himself
still farther and then, grasping the shoot with his hands, let himself
down till he was nearly up to the waist in water.

Then, and not till then, the girl guessed what his intention was. The
Captain's bunk was situated immediately beneath the porthole, a fact she
had noticed during her first and, so far, last interview with Calamity.
From his present insecure position, the man could, by putting his arm
through the open port, reach the Captain as he lay asleep, and,
providing he had a weapon, a knife for instance, stab him before he
could utter a cry for help or defend himself.

And, even as she looked, Dora Fletcher saw the gleam of a knife in the
man's hand; saw it raised for the murderous blow. Involuntarily she
closed her eyes and was about to shriek for help when she felt herself
seized from behind and a hand pressed tightly over her mouth.




CHAPTER X

THE CAPTAIN'S "APPEAL"


"Not a word," whispered a harsh voice which, to her astonishment, she
recognised as belonging to Captain Calamity.

He removed his hand from her mouth.

"Go back to your bunk," he said in a low tone. "And not a whisper of
what you have seen to a soul. Understand?"

She nodded.

He jerked his head in a manner signifying that she was to go, and the
girl crept back to her cabin, feeling very much like a school-boy who
has been discovered breaking bounds. What she had thought to be a
horrible tragedy had, so far as she was concerned, turned out to be a
farce. Yet, with feminine inconsistency, her secret admiration for
Calamity was increased a hundredfold. His extraordinary preparedness,
his calm, unshakable self-reliance, his independence of everyone else,
fascinated her. There was nothing picturesque or heroic in his manner or
appearance, yet he had proved himself a match, and more than a match,
for the desperadoes who surrounded him. There was not a man on board his
equal in resourcefulness, watchfulness, or strength of purpose; he was
master of them all.

Even while she felt deeply humiliated at his treatment of her, she
realised the absurdity of such a feeling. To him she was of less
consequence even than the most inefficient fireman or sailor on board;
for all she knew to the contrary, he had, until this brief and
unexpected encounter, forgotten her very existence. She felt that to
nourish resentment on this account would be childish; a wave might as
well nourish resentment against the rock on which it ineffectually
dashed itself. For the first time in her life Dora Fletcher had met a
man who was as indifferent to her feelings as he was to her sex, and,
curiously enough, she was not altogether displeased by this.

Calamity, meanwhile, was playing his own game in his own way.
Withdrawing into the shadows, he awaited the return of Skelt from his
murderous errand. He had not long to wait. A moment or two after Dora
Fletcher had been so curtly ordered back to her cabin, the head of the
ex-boatswain appeared over the taffrail. He cast a hurried glance right
and left, then cautiously clambered over the rail and lowered himself on
to the deck. As he did so a hand shot out from the darkness and clutched
his throat with a grip of steel. Not until he was on the verge of being
suffocated did the choking grip relax, and then a hand fastened upon his
shoulder.

"Silence. Come with me," said a voice which sent a thrill of terror
through him.

Skelt had no alternative but to obey, and so, with the Captain's heavy
hand still upon his shoulder, accompanied him into the cabin.

"Now," said Calamity as he seated himself and surveyed his prisoner, "be
good enough to explain this disobedience to orders."

The fellow looked at him in astonishment. It was disconcerting enough to
find himself a prisoner in the hands of the man he had intended to
murder, but it was amazing to be accused by him of what sounded like a
minor offence.

"I don't understand," he answered sullenly.

"Is that how you have been in the habit of addressing your Captain?"

"Sir," growled the man.

"Remember that the next time you speak. Now then, what is your excuse
for being on the after-deck when, as you know, no men are allowed there
after sunset unless by express command?"

Something akin to hope arose in the ex-bos'n's breast. Could it be
possible, he thought, that the Captain was unaware of his real intention
and thought that he had merely disobeyed one of the ship's regulations?
And, being wholly ignorant of the extraordinary methods of the terrible
skipper of the _Hawk_, Jasper Skelt permitted himself the luxury of a
little secret contempt.

"I didn't know anything about the orders, sir," he answered.

"Indeed? Do you know the penalty for disobedience on board a privateer?"

"No, sir."

"Death."

The man started nervously and turned a shade paler. Things were not
going quite so well as he had thought, after all.

"I've never been aboard a privateer before, sir," he replied humbly.

"So I presume. What's more, I don't think you're likely ever to be
aboard another."

Again the ex-boatswain glanced nervously at the skipper. The last remark
struck him as being unpleasantly ominous. The question which followed
confirmed his worst fears.

"Did the men know why you came aft to-night?"

"I--I can't say, sir," faltered Skelt.

"You mean to say that you told none of them what you intended to do?"

The man's knees were trembling. He made an attempt to speak, but seemed
to choke before he could get the words out.

"Answer me!" rapped out the Captain, and Skelt started as if at the
sound of a pistol-shot.

"N--no, sir," he faltered, hardly realising what he said.

"Then I am to understand that they didn't know you intended to murder
me?"

Skelt's last hope deserted him. His face turned an ashen grey. He tried
to speak, but only a dry sob of abject terror escaped him.

"If you don't answer my question, you die inside two minutes," said
Calamity quietly.

"Not all of them, sir," replied the wretched man.

"You admit that you meant to kill me, then?"

"God forgive me, sir, I----"

"Never mind about God," interrupted the Captain grimly. "It's me you're
up against at the moment. Answer me, did all the men know of this?"

"Yes, sir."

"And they were all quite willing you should do it."

"Only two objected, sir."

"Who were they?"

"Li Chang and Brunton, sir."

"But they made no effort to warn me."

"The others said they'd kill them if they did."

"I see."

Calamity leant back in his chair and surveyed his prisoner with the
calm, questioning scrutiny of a scientist surveying some new and
interesting specimen.

"So," he remarked at length, "it never occurred to any of you that I
might be acquainted with everything that went on in the foc'sle; you
even felt sure that I knew nothing of the little indignation meeting you
held last Sunday. You were actually such fools as to suppose that,
having shipped the worst gang of port vermin that ever soiled a ship's
decks, I should remain quietly in my cabin in the hope that they were
behaving themselves like decent men. I never thought that rascality and
faith went hand in hand."

Skelt made no answer, and the Captain rang a little hand-bell on the
table. Next moment the steward, a huge Chinaman called Sing-hi, entered
the cabin.

"You lingee?" he inquired.

"Yes." Calamity turned to the prisoner. "Have you anything to say?" he
asked.

"For God's sake don't be hard on me," implored the would-be murderer
with abject piteousness. "Give me a chance, sir, and I'll do anything
for you. Only one chance, sir, only one, and, before Christ, I'll be
your slave."

A queer smile came over Calamity's face as he regarded the cringing
servility of the ruffian.

"You would, would you?" he observed. "If I asked you to kill a certain
man fora'd while he was asleep, would you do it?"

"Yes, sir, if you'll spare my life. I'll do anything, sir!" cried the
man, with grovelling eagerness.

"You'd swear to do it?"

"I'll take my oath on the Bible, sir."

"I thought you would," answered the Captain grimly. "Steward, lock the
man up in your room and don't hesitate to kill him if he tries to
escape. Savee?"

"Savee plenty muchee," answered the huge Chinaman with a grin, whereupon
he caught hold of the ex-boatswain's collar, swung him round, and
hustled him out of the cabin. When they had gone, Calamity arose and
made his way to the bridge, where Mr. Dykes was on watch.

"Anything to report?" asked the Captain.

"No, sir."

"How are you managing with the crew?"

"Well, sir, they ain't quite as peaceful as they might be; not since we
met the _Ann_."

"Indeed? why?"

"They seem to think we might have made her a prize and taken her into
port. In fact," added the mate, warming up, "I may as well tell you
there's going to be trouble, sir."

"Mutiny, you mean?"

"Yep, and when they start there'll be blue murder. It's that swine we
picked up that's been workin' the mischief."

"Then we must deal with him, Mr. Dykes."

"I guess it'll be a stiff proposition, Cap'n; he's gotten all the crew
behind him. D'rectly you lay hands on him, it'll be like a spark in a
powder-barrel."

"Then you regard him, virtually, as Captain of the ship?"

The mate made no answer, but shrugged his shoulders significantly. He
believed that, in utterly disregarding the wishes of the crew, and, at
the same time, maintaining an iron discipline, Calamity had bitten off
"a bigger chunk than he could chew." However, he considered it prudent
to keep this opinion to himself, and therein he was undoubtedly right.

"By to-morrow morning," went on the Captain after a pause, "all signs of
mutiny will, I think, have disappeared."

"I hope to God they will, sir."

"I feel sure that an appeal to the men's reason, such as I shall make
to-morrow, will not fail in its effect."

"An appeal to their reason, sir!" gasped the mate.

"Yes. A mild demonstration of the absurdity of attempting to mutiny."

"I don't get you, sir."

"No? Well, muster all hands on deck at eight bells. Good-night, Mr.
Dykes."

"Good-night, sir," answered the mate, and, walking to the bridge-rail,
expectorated over the side. "Well," he muttered, "if it ain't enough to
make a feller spit blood. An appeal to their reason! Gee, he'll be
holdin' family prayers in the cabin next."

At six bells, which was an hour before his watch was up, the mate
perceived a man mounting the bridge-ladder.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, "who are you?"

"Brunton, sir," answered the man.

"Well, what d'you want? It's not your watch."

"Have you seen Skelt, sir?"

"Seen Skelt!" roared the mate. "What the hell do you take me for? D'you
think I know where every perishin' son of a cock-eyed monkey aboard this
packet is?"

"He was going to murder the Captain, sir. I couldn't get away before, as
all the others were watching me. I only got out now because they think
he's funked it."

"Goin' to murder--here, fetch the second-mate up, quick!"

The man hurried to Smith's cabin and roused out the sleeping occupant,
who stumbled up to the bridge vomiting profanity of varied hues.

"Get aft!" shouted the mate, "they're murderin' the old man."

Smith turned and dashed off to the Captain's cabin, which he entered
without even the ceremony of knocking. It was empty, but from a small
room adjoining came the sound of stentorian snores.

"Blimey!" muttered Smith, glancing round him. "He don't sound as if he
were dead."

His eye fell on the ship's log which lay open on the table.
Instinctively he glanced at it and, under the entry for the day, read
the following:

"Jasper Skelt, boatswain of the barque _Esmeralda_. Died at sea. Cause,
misadventure."

He slowly returned to the bridge and told the mate what he had seen.

"You're sure he was alive?" asked the latter.

"Well, he was makin' a noise like a motor-'bus climbin' a hill,"
answered Smith.

At eight bells that morning Mr. Dykes, in quite a different frame of
mind to that of a couple of hours ago, sent the bos'n to muster all
hands on deck. The men tumbled out sullenly, muttering among themselves
in a manner which seemed to justify the mate's recent warning to the
Captain.

Suddenly one of them gave a cry.

In the clear, grey morning light, they beheld, hanging from one of the
derricks, the lifeless body of Jasper Skelt. His hands and feet were
tightly bound with cords, and he was suspended from the boom by a rope
round his neck.

Judging from the men's faces as they stared at the ghastly spectacle,
Calamity's "appeal" was not likely to prove a vain one.




CHAPTER XI

THE FIGHT


The German gunboat, that the _Hawk_ had been following so assiduously,
had disappeared in the fog of the Sunday on which the _Ann_ was stopped.
Nevertheless, Calamity set the course each day with an unhesitating
decisiveness which seemed to suggest that he had some definite plan in
view. A day or two after that encounter a large steam-yacht painted
war-grey, and flying no ensign, was sighted steaming in a northerly
direction. Calamity, who was on the bridge at the time, examined her
through his glasses and then handed them to Smith, the mate being below.

"What do you make of her?" he asked.

The second-mate, after a long and careful scrutiny, handed the glasses
back.

"Looks like a commerce-destroyer," he said, "but blowed if I can tell
what nationality she is."

"H'm, we'll soon find out," answered the Captain. "Go for'ad and send a
shot after her as soon as I've altered the course."

Smith left the bridge, and, mounting the foc'sle, took the tarpaulin
cover off the quick-firer which was mounted there. Meanwhile Calamity
had brought the _Hawk's_ nose round so that he was now in the wake of
the strange ship.

"All ready, sir!" shouted Smith.

"Then let her have it."

The second-mate carefully laid the gun and next minute a shell went
hurtling over the yacht's stern; too high to do any damage, yet near
enough to make any nervous persons on board feel more nervous still. The
noise brought the privateer's crew tumbling on deck, eager to see what
was happening. Then, before the sound of the shot had died away, the
yacht was observed to be changing her course--steaming round in the arc
of a circle to starboard of the _Hawk_. Obviously she was not running
away, and the inference was that she intended to fight.

"Pipe to quarters!" cried Calamity from the bridge; but before the bos'n
had time to obey the order the men were rushing to their places. It
seemed as if there was going to be a fight at last.

The yacht, a steamer of about 3,000 tons, came round with her bows
pointing towards the _Hawk's_ starboard quarter, and, as she reached
that position, there came the sullen boom of a gun. A shell whistled
above the privateer's upper works, smashing to splinters one of the
boats which the carpenter had been repairing on the davits. A second
shot followed hard upon the first, and then a third, which smashed one
of the raised skylights above the engine-room, sending a shower of
broken glass upon the men below.

"Blimey!" ejaculated Smith as he stood by his gun, lanyard in hand,
"this looks like the real thing--not half it don't."

The damage done by the last two shots would have been greater still had
not Calamity thrust the quartermaster away from the wheel and taken it
himself. Under his control, the _Hawk_ slewed round so that she
presented only her bows as a target for her opponent. As the sound of
the latter's guns died away, she was seen to hoist the German naval
ensign at her stern, while a signal hoist was run up to the mast-head
signifying "Surrender or I sink you."

There was a lull, the two vessels facing each other bows-on like a
couple of fierce dogs about to fight. Then a little bundle trundled up
to the _Hawk's_ triatic stay, broke, and two burgees, one blue and
white, the other red, fluttered out in the breeze. It was Calamity's
answer: "Stand by to abandon ship." As his men looked up and read the
signal there was a burst of hoarse laughter, followed by a ringing
cheer. They realised the grim humour of the message, and thoroughly
appreciated it.

During the next half-hour the engagement consisted only of the exchange
of a few shots, one or two of which did damage on both sides. The
belligerents were manoeuvring for position, each trying to force the
other to fight facing the sun, which would, of course, place him at a
serious disadvantage. While these tactical evolutions were in progress,
a couple of the _Hawk's_ men received wounds and Miss Fletcher, who had
been watching the spectacle through her cabin porthole, rushed on deck,
in spite of the risk she ran of being hit herself. She was helping to
remove one of the injured men, when Calamity caught sight of her.

"Send that fool-woman to her cabin!" he roared to Mr. Dykes.

The mate hesitated. He was extraordinarily impressed by the girl's
plucky act, but the Captain's order, though a wise one, struck him as
being unduly harsh. Besides, he was loth to miss such a unique
opportunity of, perhaps, doing daring deeds under her very eyes.

"D'you hear what I say?" shouted the Captain.

"Excuse me, sir," he answered; "but who's to look after the wounded if
Miss Fletcher doesn't?"

"If the girl wants to make herself useful she can dress the men's wounds
in the hold. But I won't have a woman on deck during a fight."

It was an ungracious order, but Mr. Dykes had nothing for it but to
leave the bridge and acquaint Miss Fletcher with the Captain's
instructions.

"The skipper's compliments," he said, "and would you attend to the
wounded when they're taken down to the hold?"

The girl glanced at him sharply; probably the hesitating manner in which
he spoke roused her suspicions.

"That's not what he said?" she challenged.

"Well, I guess it's as near as no matter."

"You mean he has ordered me off the deck?"

The mate made a deprecatory gesture and turned away. For a moment the
girl hesitated, half inclined to defy the Captain's orders and remain on
deck. Then the futility of any such act of defiance occurred to her, and
she returned to her cabin, locking the door behind her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, stamping her foot with rage, "I hate him!"

She continued to hate him ardently for a while, and then, as this gave
little real satisfaction, she opened her cabin door and peered out just
as Smith was passing.

"Are you going on to the bridge?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, pausing.

"Then be good enough to tell the Captain that he can tend the wounded
himself," she burst out, and slammed the door before the astonished
second-mate could recover from his surprise.

He duly delivered her message, but it was doubtful if Calamity heard it;
certainly he made no comment, and Smith thought it wise to let the
matter go at that.

The two vessels were still fencing and manoeuvring, getting a shot in
when and wherever they could. But at last both the commanders tired of
these fruitless tactics, and then the engagement began in real earnest.
The yacht was armed with lighter guns than those of her opponent, but
she had more of them, and, in addition, possessed the advantage of
speed, being capable of answering her helm twice as quickly as the
privateer. This enabled her to swing round at all angles, catch the
_Hawk_ broadside-on and sweep her decks fore and aft. Notwithstanding
this, she by no means had it all her own way, for the privateer kept up
a steady, well-trained fire that made things aboard her adversary more
than lively.

As only those men who served the guns were allowed on deck, the
casualties were relatively small on the _Hawk_. Whenever a man fell, his
place was taken by another from the reserve men in the foc'sle and thus
unnecessary losses were avoided. A hospital of sorts had been rigged up
in the for'ad hold and here the wounded men were carried and placed on
mattresses until such time as they could be attended to.

Calamity had thrown off his jacket, and, with arms bared to the elbows,
was working the quick-firer on the bridge, three of the gun's crew
having been killed or wounded.

"Hit her amidships, in the engine-room!" he shouted to Mr. Dykes, who
had charge of the gun on the poop.

A minute or two later there was a loud explosion on the yacht, owing to
one of her guns being hit while loaded, by a shell from the _Hawk_. A
wild cheer went up from the privateers' men, and Calamity, thinking he
might board his adversary in the confusion, bellowed an order to the
quartermaster.

"Hard a starboard! Quick, damn your eyes!"

"Hard a----" the quartermaster started to echo, but before he could
finish a fragment of shell struck him, and Calamity, swinging round to
see what had happened, was bespattered with blood and brains. He sprang
to the wheel, and, pushing aside the dead body with his foot, altered
the helm. But it was too late, the other had divined his purpose and was
drawing off. Instantly the _Hawk_ started in pursuit, but, as she came
round in the yacht's wake, a ricocheting shell dropped through the
engine-room skylight and there was an explosion below which shook the
vessel from stem to stern. Volumes of hissing steam ascended through the
gratings and ventilators, while, above the roar, came the agonised
shrieks of some wretched firemen who were being scalded to death in the
stokehold.

A man, his face a wet, shapeless, raw mass of flesh, stumbled out of the
fiddley, staggered a few paces, and fell sprawling on the deck. Another
followed whose hair, still attached to the skin, was falling off in
lumps, and he, too, collapsed on the deck. At the same moment the steady
throb of the engines ceased and the _Hawk_ began to lose way. Meanwhile
the German had drawn off, and, for the time being, firing ceased on both
sides. The enemy, it would seem, was in little better condition than the
privateer, for she was steaming at a rate of certainly not more than
five knots. Calamity, watching her from the bridge, cursed aloud as he
saw his hoped-for prize slowly but surely getting away while he was
unable to prevent her or to go in pursuit.

"Send for McPhulach!" he cried; but, before anyone could obey, the
chief-engineer mounted to the bridge.

"I'm sair dootin' we'll hae to bide where we are," he remarked placidly.

"Do you mean to say the engines are wrecked?" demanded Calamity.

"I wouldna go sae far as tae say that," answered the engineer. "Ye micht
speak o' them as assorted scrap-iron."

The Captain laid a firm hand on McPhulach's arm.

"You've got to repair those engines," he said quietly.

"Eh!"

"You heard me."

"Losh presarve us, mon, the A'michty Himsel' couldna do it!"

"The Almighty's not chief engineer of the _Hawk_, so you needn't worry
about that. Get those engines going or I'll string you up at the end of
a derrick."

"Guid God, are ye mad, mon!" gasped the engineer.

"Mad or sane, I'll do what I say."

"I tell ye the engine-room's like a steam-laundry," wailed McPhulach.
"There isna a pipe that isna squairting steam out of some crack or itha,
and it'll take all the cotton-waste in the ship to bind up the leaks.
It's a plumber's job, no' an engineer's."

"Well, if you can't do your job, I'll undertake to do mine," said the
Captain grimly.

McPhulach emitted a groan, then took from his pocket a short and very
rank briar pipe. A look of phlegmatic resignation had come over his
face.

"Maybe ye're richt, skipper," he said. "Hae ye got sic a thing as a plug
o' tobaccy on ye'r pairson?"

Calamity handed him a pouch of tobacco. McPhulach filled his pipe, and,
remarking that he might run short, also put some tobacco loose in his
pocket.

"Gin ye hae a match, I'll go below and see what can be done," he said.

The Captain produced a box of vestas. The engineer lit his pipe, and,
absent-mindedly dropping the matches into his own pocket, left the
bridge.

The mate, meanwhile, had been superintending the removal of the wounded
and the washing down of the decks. Three men had been killed, not
including two firemen scalded to death in the stokehold, and the wounded
numbered eleven. The latter were made as comfortable as possible in the
hold and the former were carried into the wheel-house pending burial.

Gradually the commerce-destroyer became smaller and smaller, until, by
evening, all that was visible of her was a feathery smoke-trail on the
horizon.

Soon after eight bells that night, McPhulach succeeded in performing a
miracle--the _Hawk's_ engines began to move.




CHAPTER XII

A DESPERATE VENTURE


Slowly, like a convalescent taking his first walk and as yet doubtful of
his strength, the _Hawk_ began to push the seas aside and move ahead.
The engines, instead of working with rhythmic regularity, were banging
and thumping in jerky spasms--still, they were working--the bridge shook
with their ponderous vibrations, while the wire funnel stays tautened
and slacked as the smokestack quivered.

The first duty accomplished after the clearing up of the decks was the
disposal of the dead, which were placed in canvas bags weighted with
firebars to ensure their sinking. There were no prayers, services, or
ceremonies of any kind; they were simply dropped over the side....

In the hold Calamity and the mate were at work with their coats off and
shirt-sleeves rolled up. Some of the hatch-covers had been removed to
secure better ventilation and a couple of lanterns suspended from the
girders flickered feebly in the semi-twilight. Against the bulkheads
were two rows of mattresses arranged so as to leave a passage between
them, and on some of these lay wounded men, each with a coarse, black
blanket thrown over him. The Captain, assisted by Mr. Dykes, was
attending to the more serious cases in a manner which caused the mate
considerable secret astonishment. He had expected to see the skipper
perform the duties of surgeon in a rough and ready if not a brutal way,
and had felt a strong sympathy for his prospective victims. Instead,
Calamity handled the men with almost professional skill, performing even
serious operations with deft, quick fingers, and without either
nervousness or hesitation. A smile, a cheery word of encouragement, a
full-flavoured joke worked wonders, and a man, even in excruciating
pain, would grin feebly at some broad jest uttered by the Captain.

Dora Fletcher, who had thought better of her first hasty decision, was
dressing some of the minor wounds. To her, Calamity's new rôle came as a
startling revelation of a hitherto unsuspected phase of his character.
She, who had seen him commit acts of unquestionable brutality, now
watched him pass from bed to bed with an air of quiet assurance that
inspired even the worst cases with new confidence and hope. Men flinched
apprehensively as he approached to examine their injuries, but his
touch, though firm, was as gentle as a woman's, and their fears were
quickly set at rest.

He scarcely even glanced at the girl, and when he did so it was to give
some curt directions as from a surgeon to a nurse. Yet she felt
strangely happy and triumphant, for at last he had been forced to
recognise and to demand her assistance. She felt herself necessary to
him, and the terse orders, involving her co-operation in the work of
succour, seemed to her a tacit admission of the fact. Henceforth she
would at least be an entity in his eyes; he would have to acknowledge
her existence, even if he resented it.

After the Captain and Mr. Dykes had gone; throughout the whole night,
indeed, the girl remained at her post. She found plenty to do; giving
cooling drinks to those whose throats were parched with fever,
readjusting dressings which had worked out of place, and performing the
hundred and one offices which fall to the lot of a watcher of the sick.
At intervals during the night the mate or Smith would enter the dim
hold, which now reeked with the pungent odour of antiseptics, to proffer
their services, and once Mr. Dykes tried to persuade her to turn in. But
she rejected the suggestion indignantly, and ordered him out of the
place, whereupon he departed sheepishly. At about five o'clock in the
morning Calamity looked in again and seemed surprised to find her there.

"How long have you been on watch?" he asked.

"Since you left," she answered.

"Then you'd no right to. Dykes or Smith should have told off a man to
keep watch. Get off to your bunk. I don't want a sick woman aboard."

Without a word she left the sick-bay, and then, for the first time,
realised how exhausted she really was. Without troubling to undress, she
flung herself upon the bunk and was asleep almost before her head
touched the pillow.

All that day and the next as well, the _Hawk_ chugged her way in a
northerly direction, her speed never exceeding six knots and sometimes
falling below that. How McPhulach had contrived to patch up her engines
sufficiently to do even so much was a mystery no one but himself could
have explained. Still, they might break down again at any moment, and it
was absolutely necessary to find some port where the repairs could be
carried out more thoroughly, and with the proper appliances. In the
meantime much of the damage sustained in the encounter with the yacht
had been repaired. Paint and canvas had done much to cover the effects
of shot and shell, and outwardly, at least, the _Hawk_ had resumed her
normal appearance. But it was merely superficial, like the creams and
cosmetics used by a faded beauty to hide the ravages of time. In fact
she was, as Smith put it, "a whited bloomin' sepulchre."

On the second morning, as Miss Fletcher was going down to the hold, she
met Mr. Dykes.

"The skipper's orders are that you're to take four-hour watches, so that
you'll have a rest between each spell," he said.

She merely nodded and passed into the hold. The dim, yellow glow of the
lanterns was fading in the growing daylight, making the surroundings
more gloomy and depressing than even the half-light. She moved from bed
to bed with noiseless steps, performing various little services for the
sufferers. One man, who knew that he was dying, asked her to write down
and witness his last will and testament--a curiously pathetic
document--and for another she wrote a letter that was to be posted at
the first port the ship touched. In a far corner she found a man making
feeble efforts to undo the front of his shirt. He was too weak to speak,
and, wondering what he wanted, the girl unbuttoned it to find a small
silver crucifix suspended from a piece of string round his neck.
Divining his need, she placed it in his hand, and the coarse, misshapen
fingers closed over the Symbol; thus he died.

Soon afterwards the Captain entered and passed between the beds,
stopping to ask each of the patients how he was getting on, and giving a
cheery word of encouragement to everyone. At last he reached the bed
where Dora Fletcher stood over the dead figure, whose fingers still
clasped the little silver crucifix.

"H'm," he grunted, "another loss. Anything to report?"

In a few words the girl described the condition and progress of the
various patients. At the conclusion Calamity nodded, but made no
comment.

"I should like to ask you a favour, Captain," she said quietly.

"A favour? Well, what is it?" he demanded in a tone that was the reverse
of encouraging.

"Do you think you could give this poor fellow"--she indicated the dead
man on the bed--"a Christian burial? I--I think he would have wished
it."

A look of mingled surprise and annoyance came into the Captain's face as
he glanced at the unconscious figure.

"The man's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, of course," answered the girl, puzzled by the question.

"Then what difference can it make to him how he's buried?" demanded
Calamity, and, without waiting for an answer, walked away.

Later on that day Mr. Dykes urged the request again at Miss Fletcher's
desire.

"I can't make distinctions," replied the Captain. "The man's got to take
his chance of paradise with the rest. I'm not going to give him an
unfair advantage over the others. Besides, this is a cheerful ship, and
I don't intend to depress the living by reading burial services over the
dead. They'll get their proper ratings without my assistance."

So that evening the corpse, sewed up in canvas and weighted with a
piece of pig-iron, was cast over the side without ceremony.

Early on the following morning the look-out upon the foc'sle head
reported land on the starboard bow.

The news brought the men rushing on deck at once, for the sight of land
to sailors at sea is always an interesting event, savouring of
adventure, women, and wine. The news was immediately reported to the
Captain, who hurried on to the bridge and scrutinised the seeming cloud
for some time through the glasses which Smith, who was on watch, handed
to him.

"H'm," grunted Calamity, "an island."

"One of the Palau Group I should say, sir."

"Which means that it's German--eh?"

"_Was_ German, sir," corrected the second-mate.

"There's no knowing; among so many scattered islands it's quite possible
that one or two may have been overlooked by our cruisers."

"Maybe, sir," answered Smith doubtfully.

Calamity again focussed the glasses on the dark smudge in the dim
distance. As he had just pointed out to the second-mate, it was quite
possible that some of the small islands which went to make up what was
once called the Bismarck Archipelago had escaped official annexation.
This seemed the more probable since two German vessels, the gunboat and
the commerce-destroyer, were apparently still at large in these waters.
Both ships, particularly the former, would require a coaling station not
too far away, and what more likely, therefore, than that there should be
one hidden away among these innumerable islands?

The _Hawk_ slowly bore down upon the land, but her speed was now so
reduced that night had set in before those on board were able to get a
really good view. By the following morning, however, they found
themselves within a mile of it, and its palm-fringed beaches could be
seen plainly from the deck. There was nothing about the island to excite
wonder or interest, save that it just happened to be dry land amidst a
boundless waste of blue waters. Numbers of such islands, many of them
far larger, were to be met with in these latitudes.

Yet, because it was land, and suggestive of illicit pleasures, there was
an air of suppressed excitement aboard the _Hawk_. Throughout the day
she coasted slowly round it, but never once did a canoe or a catamaran
put off to trade; indeed, not a vestige of human life was to be seen. At
last, after they had nearly completed a circuit of the island, a small
harbour was sighted at the eastern extremity. On a hill, overlooking the
entrance, was a structure which suggested a fort, and this at once gave
Calamity the idea that the gunboat which had hitherto eluded him was
probably ensconced within this harbour. To "dig out" the pirate and take
possession of her spoils was the first thought which occurred to him,
but another and a stronger motive made him decide to enter the harbour
at all costs. This was the fact that the _Hawk's_ engines were next door
to useless, and, unless they could be more effectually repaired, would
become entirely so. It was quite possible, he reflected, that if the
island really was a German station, there would be appliances for
dealing with engine-room mishaps.

So, towards sundown, he steered boldly for the harbour, even blowing the
steam syren to call attention to his visit. The flagstaff on the fort,
he noticed, was bare, although as the _Hawk_ drew nearer it was possible
to make out an inconspicuous wireless installation.

"German without a doubt," he remarked to himself. "If it were British
the Union Jack would be floating up there."

He turned to Mr. Dykes and in a few words explained what he wanted done.
The _Hawk_ was to pose as a harmless American merchantman which had put
in for the purpose of trying to obtain some coal. The large crew,
totally out of proportion to the number required to man a peaceful
"tramp," were to remain in the foc'sle, except one or two who were to
lounge about the deck for show purposes. Therefore in a very few minutes
the decks were deserted except for the look-out and a couple of grimy
firemen who leant over the bulwarks expectorating into the water. Half
an hour later, the _Hawk_ reached the mouth of the harbour and the syren
emitted three ear-piercing shrieks.

The sound had scarcely died away when a boat, manned by natives and with
a white man seated in the stern-sheets, put off from a small, wooden
jetty beneath the fort. When within hailing distance, the man in the
stern stood up and put both hands to his mouth.

"Wie heisst das schiff?" he bawled.

"Don't get you," answered Calamity; "have another try."

"Vot schip vos dot?" bellowed the other, who was evidently some sort of
port official.

"This is the American steamer _Hawk_, Singapore for Valparaiso."

"Vy you no show your flarg?" inquired the official, his boat coming
nearer the _Hawk_ every moment.

"Sorry; if I'd known it was your birthday, guess I'd have hoisted a bit
of bunting," replied the pseudo Yankee skipper, and gave an order which
resulted in the Stars and Stripes fluttering out astern.

The reply, however, did not appear to please the official.

"You 'eave-to!" he commanded. "I vant to see your papers."

Calamity rang down "Stop," the engines ceased thudding and a couple of
men came out on deck and threw a rope-ladder over the side. A moment
later the boat came alongside and the official, a short, fat little man,
ascended the ladder with some difficulty, alighting on deck hot and
breathless. Meanwhile his coffee-coloured cox'n having made the boat
fast to a rung of the rope-ladder, sat down and lighted a cheroot.

"You vas der Captain?" asked the newcomer of Calamity, as soon as he had
recovered his breath.

"Yes."

"You must produce your papers."

"If you'll come with me, sir, I'll show them to you," answered Calamity
politely, and led the way towards his cabin.

Suddenly he stopped near the after-hatch, from which a couple of the
covers had previously been removed.

"Like to have a squint at the cargo?" he asked. "Guess it'll interest
you."

The fussy little man looked surprised at the question, but he stepped up
to the hatch, and, leaning over the combing, peered into the obscure
depths below. While he was still in this convenient attitude an
impelling force caught him in the small of the back, and he shot
downwards into the hold, alighting head foremost on a heap of
sand-ballast. Then, before he had recovered sufficiently to raise a
shout, the hatch-covers were promptly clapped on again and he was left
there in the dark to meditate on the ups and downs of a port official's
life.

Having satisfactorily disposed of this inquisitive person, Calamity
returned to the bridge and the _Hawk_ began to steam slowly past the
fort into the harbour. Two or three sentinels on the hill watched her
progress, but they having seen her boarded by one of their officials
doubtless concluded that all was well. Meanwhile Mr. Dykes had managed
to convince the dusky cox'n in the waiting boat alongside that his
master would remain on board, whereupon the man saluted, cast off the
painter, and steered his boat shorewards.

When the _Hawk_ had rounded the bend which hid the upper portion of the
harbour from view, Mr. Dykes gave vent to a sudden exclamation of
astonishment.

"Durned if that ain't our old bug-trap?"

Looking in the direction indicated by the mate, Calamity saw the pirate
gunboat beached just beyond the jetty and lying on her side, evidently
for the purpose of being repaired. His assumption, then, had been
correct: this island was a secret coaling station and place of refuge
for the very few German vessels which were still at large. However, he
made no comment aloud, and in a few more minutes the anchor was let go
and the _Hawk_ swung peacefully at her moorings.

The situation in which Calamity had voluntarily placed himself by
entering this harbour was, as he fully realised, fraught with infinite
peril. He knew that if he now attempted to escape he risked being sunk
by the guns on the fort, yet he could not remain where he was much
longer without being subjected to investigations which would result in
capture, if not worse. Under the circumstances, therefore, there was
only one thing to do, and that was to attack the fort and capture it.
This plan, viewed impartially, seemed hopelessly impossible, especially
if, as appeared highly probable, the fort were strongly garrisoned.
Still, Calamity did not hesitate between this and the only
alternative--surrender.

He sent for the two mates to whom, in a few curt sentences, he outlined
his plan of action. It was simple in the extreme, and, by reason of its
amazing boldness, might even be successful. The Germans, he argued,
though regarding the vessel with suspicion, would hardly anticipate the
landing of an armed party, which was what he contemplated. The brief
twilight would soon descend, and, the _Hawk_ being safely bottled up in
the harbour, the enemy would probably not worry much about her till the
morning; therefore the attack was to be carried out as soon as darkness
fell.

When this had been explained Calamity and his officers set about making
preparations for the landing. A party consisting of as many men as could
be packed into the ship's boats was to effect a landing under cover of
the darkness, while those left on board were to open fire on the fort
with the machine-guns directly the enemy discovered the attack. By this
means it was hoped to cover the landing operations and prevent the
defenders turning their heavier guns on the storming party. To this end
Mr. Dykes was placed in temporary command of the _Hawk_, Calamity
himself undertaking to lead the attack from the shore.

In a remarkably short space of time the preparations were complete, and
the only thing they waited for now was darkness--the swift, enveloping
darkness of the tropics.




CHAPTER XIII

THE EBB TIDE


At last night came. Calamity gave the word and the men streamed out of
the foc'sle, some rushing to the falls ready to lower the boats from the
davits, others stowing arms and ammunition under the thwarts. Every man
had his own particular duty to discharge; there was no confusion, no
shouting of orders, no wild and objectless rushing about--everything was
done quietly and systematically.

"Stand by!"

The Captain's voice was low but penetrating. Everyone stood still at his
post.

"Slip!"

The boats dropped from the davits, the falls were cast off, the oars
flung out, and the bowmen stood up, ready to push off at the order.
Quickly, and with scarce a sound, the landing party swarmed down the
rope-ladders and took their places in the boats.

"Give way!"

As one man, the rowers bent to their oars, the boats shot out into the
darkness, and were lost to view by those left on board. The oars had
been muffled, so that the only sounds which could be heard were the soft
plash of the blades as they dipped into the water and the creaking of
the thwarts and stretchers. But soon these noises died away in the
distance, and then all seemed perfectly still to the dark figures
crouching beside the guns on the _Hawk's_ decks.

About five minutes after the boats had left a tongue of flame suddenly
leapt from the fort, followed by a dull boom. Evidently the Germans had
just discovered the attack, and were attempting to sink the boats before
they reached the shore. The sound of the gun had scarcely died away when
Mr. Dykes passed the word to open fire on the fort, and there ensued a
lively duel between the latter and the _Hawk_. As it was a pitch dark
night, each side had to guide its fire by the flashes of the enemy's
guns, so that, at first, the shooting was somewhat erratic. But, after a
while, the Germans began to get the range of the _Hawk_ and to make such
good practice that Mr. Dykes had to order some of his men to fill bags
with sand ballast and stack them along the bulwarks to afford additional
protection to the gun crews. Unfortunately, the enemy's guns were of
much heavier calibre than the _Hawk's_, so that, when a shell struck the
vessel, it did considerable damage.

"By Gum!" ejaculated the mate, "this is getting durned hot."

He had not reckoned upon receiving such a tremendous fusillade from the
fort, and, though by no means a timorous man, began to fear that the
_Hawk_ would be sunk at her moorings. So far as he was able to tell at
present, there had been only a few casualties on board, the bulwarks and
sandbags affording an excellent protection for the men working the guns,
although, had it been daylight, these would probably have been of little
avail. But the steamer herself had suffered considerably; the
deck-houses were mostly in splinters, all the skylights had been
smashed, and where the funnel had once stood there was now only a jagged
stump. Once the enemy succeeded in battering down the defences, his guns
would simply annihilate every living thing on board.

"I wish some of them shells would cut our cables," he murmured to
himself, "then we could just skidoo out of the harbour, and the old man
couldn't say a word."

The notion of slipping the cables himself and creeping out of the
harbour occurred to him more than once, but each time he dismissed it
from his mind. It would certainly savour of cowardice to leave Calamity
and his men on the island without a chance to retreat, while, if the
Captain should ever succeed in getting within reach of him afterwards,
the consequences would be very far from pleasant.

By this time one of the _Hawk's_ machine-guns had been put out of
action, and still the fort kept up an unceasing bombardment. Mr. Dykes
was now fervently hoping that Calamity would abandon the attack, return
on board, and get out of this hornet's nest with all possible speed--if,
of course, the steamer was not already too battered about to get under
way. With this possibility in view, he sent a man to fetch McPhulach and
was exceedingly surprised to learn that the engineer could not be found.

"Ain't he in his cabin?" he inquired.

"No, sir, nor yet in the engine-room," replied the messenger.

"But he must be, the skipper said he was to stand by the engines."

"'E's not there," repeated the man.

"See if he's in the alleyway."

The man departed but returned with the information that McPhulach was
not in the alleyway. Moreover, nobody on board had seen him since the
landing party left.

"Fetch up Mr. Sims," said the mate.

Mr. Sims was the second-engineer, a melancholy man with watery eyes, a
pallid face, and chronic dyspepsia, who never mixed with the other
officers or uttered a word if he could possibly help it. He was, too, an
indifferent engineer; but, as McPhulach had once said, the biggest
success as a nonentity he had ever met.

"How long will it take us to get under way?" inquired the mate when Mr.
Sims appeared.

"Half an hour, may be."

"What!" ejaculated Mr. Dykes.

Mr. Sims nodded in confirmation of his statement.

"Ain't there no steam, then?"

Mr. Sims shook his head.

"Then what in thunder have you been doing down there? Didn't you have
orders to keep up a full head of steam?"

Mr. Sims nodded.

"For God's sake use your tongue, man," roared the mate. "Why ain't there
no steam?"

"Because all the firemen are on deck."

Mr. Dykes almost danced with rage, yet this time he could say nothing
for the simple reason that he now recollected having ordered all hands
on deck for the purpose of serving the guns and passing up ammunition
out of the hold.

"Oh, get to hell out of it!" he spluttered and Mr. Sims vanished back
into obscurity.

Having despatched some firemen below to get up steam, the mate again
fell to considering the advisability of drawing off since the enemy's
fire showed no signs of slackening. To do him justice, it was not from
fear of being himself hit at any moment, but rather from a vivid
anticipation of the fate in store for him and the others on board if
they fell into the hands of the enemy. Still, if Mr. Sims's report was
correct, nothing could be done for at least half an hour.

In order to assure himself that the firemen were doing their utmost, Mr.
Dykes left the bos'n's-mate in charge of the deck and descended to the
stokehold--a thing he would not have dared to do had McPhulach been on
board. Having ascertained that there was already a fair pressure of
steam, he returned to the deck and personally tested the capstans used
for hauling up the anchors.

"I'm goin' to get out of this death-trap," he said to the bos'n's-mate,
"so stand by to pick up the anchor. Keep the men at the guns till I give
the word to cease firing, else them durned Germans will smell a rat and
butt in before we can quit."

"'Ow about the Cap'n, sir?" asked the man doubtfully.

"Damn your eyes, do what I tell you, and don't ask fool questions!"
snapped the mate.

The man walked away, somewhat unwillingly Mr. Dykes thought, which made
him all the more angry and determined to carry out his plan. He wasn't
going to be dictated to by a swab of a bos'n's-mate or anyone else so
long as he was in charge of the ship.

Having rung down "Stand by" to the engine-room, he went on to the
foc'sle head to superintend the weighing of the anchor. When all was
ready and he was about to pass the word to the man at the steam capstan,
Miss Fletcher suddenly appeared on the foc'sle.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Get under way," he answered curtly.

"And leave the Captain and his men in the lurch?"

"There ain't any Captain, nor men either, by now, so just quit this
foc'sle," answered the mate in a voice of suppressed rage.

"That's as it may be," said the girl quietly, "but you're not going to
heave that anchor."

"Eh!" exclaimed Mr. Dykes, scarce able to believe his ears.

"I say that you shan't leave this harbour till the Captain comes on
board."

For a moment Mr. Dykes was so overcome with mingled astonishment and
indignation that he could not speak. Then, uttering an oath, he sprang
towards her, apparently with the intention of thrusting her off the
foc'sle. Suddenly, however, he stopped dead as he caught sight of a
revolver in the girl's hand. Then, while they still stood eyeing each
other, the vessel gave an unexpected lurch which nearly threw them off
their feet. The mate sprang to the side and gazed down into the dark
water below.

"Euchred!" he ejaculated. "The tide's runnin' out and we're fast
aground."




CHAPTER XIV

THE ATTACK


Having failed in his attempt to effect a landing without discovery,
Calamity regarded the crossfire between the fort and the _Hawk_ as the
next best thing, as it would to some extent distract the attention of
the Germans from his own operations. Nevertheless, the defenders did not
concentrate their fire wholly on the steamer, and some of their guns
were firing, more or less promiscuously, into the harbour. Fortunately,
they did not appear to have either searchlights or illuminating shells,
for it was only the darkness and consequent inaccurate aim of the
gunners that prevented the little force from being annihilated before a
single boat touched the shore. Even as it was, the water around them was
constantly sending up cascades where shells or fragments of bursting
shrapnel struck it.

"Pull like hell!" roared Calamity above the din.

The men needed no urging and the boats leapt through the water with oars
that bent under the strain. Suddenly, above the thunder of the guns, a
terrible cry was heard, and where there had been a boatload of men a
moment before, there was now only some splintered wreckage with a few
wounded men clinging to it. Yet none dared go to their assistance for
that would have meant inevitable destruction now that one, at least, of
the enemy's guns had found the range. So, deaf to the shrieks of their
comrades, the men in the remaining boats pulled like demons, expecting
every moment to be blown out of the water by a well-placed shot. But at
last the first boat, which was under the charge of the Captain himself,
grounded. The men leapt out, waist-deep in the water, and, grabbing
their rifles and cartridge belts, waded ashore. The other boats quickly
followed, and Calamity, collecting his force, led it up the beach at the
double towards some warehouses or "go-downs" that served to screen the
enemy's fire.

Here he let them have a few minutes "stand-easy," while he consulted
with his lieutenants, Smith and the bos'n. He had already formed a
fairly accurate idea of the nature and strength of the defences to be
overcome, and had arranged his plans accordingly. The fort, so far as he
had been able to ascertain with the aid of glasses when steaming past
it, appeared to be built principally of mud and shale with an outer
defence consisting of a tall bamboo stockade. The approach from the
harbour side consisted of a very steep incline which seemed totally
devoid of any sort of cover and without anything in the nature of a road
or track. But the fact that it was so steep placed the defenders at one
disadvantage, because it made it practically impossible for them to
train their big guns on the attacking force, although a well-directed
musketry fire could not fail to cause fearful havoc in the latter's
ranks. Still, Calamity's chief asset was the darkness, which, for one
thing, prevented the Germans from seeing what a ridiculously small force
he had with him.

Calamity gave the order to advance, the party left the shelter of the
"go-downs," and moved towards the hill in open order. It was not till
they started to climb that the enemy showed himself to be aware of their
presence on the island. Then a brisk rifle-fire was opened on them from
the fort, but the aim was too high, and the bullets flew harmlessly
above the sailors' heads. Even by the time they were halfway up, only
one man had been hit, and his wound was so slight that he continued to
advance with the others. But now with each forward step the danger
increased, and, as the attackers drew nearer and nearer to the stockade
the bullets came perilously near, one or two men dropping out of the
advance. But the long, thin line of creeping figures never wavered,
though not one of them had as yet fired a shot. For the last fifty yards
or so they simply crawled forward on their bellies, while a hail of
bullets whistled above their heads.

Then, high above the din, there arose the long, shrill call of the
bos'n's pipe. This was the signal to storm the fort, and the men,
leaping to their feet, rushed across the few remaining yards that
separated them from the stockade. While some, slinging their rifles
across their backs, made prodigious efforts to scale the bamboo
defences, others, provided with dynamite cartridges, tried to blow gaps
in it to enable their comrades to enter. For a few minutes there was a
terrific struggle, those of the attacking party who had succeeded in
getting over or through the stockade, engaging in fierce hand-to-hand
encounters with the defenders, using whatever weapon came handiest,
rifle-butt, sheath-knife, or simply bare fists. But eventually the
seamen, finding themselves hopelessly outnumbered, began to waver and
fall back, fighting desperately all the time. At last they were forced
to abandon the hardly-won ground altogether and then, as if acting on a
common impulse, they turned and fled.

The Captain made a vain attempt to rally them, but they were unnerved,
and, heedless of his shouts, fled in panic down the hill, till they
reached the shelter of the "go-downs" at the bottom of the slope.

"To the boats!" cried someone. "We've 'ad enough of this 'ell. To the
boats!"

But just as the men were about to make a move towards the water's edge,
there came the sound of a terrific explosion and a great flame shot
upwards from the fort on the hill, lighting up the landscape with a
weird, lurid glare that must have been observable for miles around.
Calamity's first thought was that a shell from the _Hawk_ had exploded
the magazine in the fort, but, whatever the cause, he saw here an
opportunity to convert a rout into a victory.

"Fall in!" he shouted.

At sight of the disaster which had overtaken the enemy, the men regained
their courage, and, forming into line once more, followed their Captain
up the slope. On this occasion no deadly fire swept down upon them, and,
in the light of the flames, they could see small bodies of terrified
soldiers scrambling over the stockade or forcing their way through the
gaps, in panic-stricken endeavours to escape from the blazing enclosure.

"Steady, lads!" cried Calamity. "Now give it them."

The straggling line of seamen halted, and next moment a hail of lead
swept through the chaotic mass of Germans with fearful effect. Another
volley followed, and some of the fugitives, in their terror, dashed back
towards the blazing fort while others, more cool-headed, flung
themselves flat upon the ground. Even so, a heap of dead and wounded lay
around the stockade, and the few who had escaped threw up their arms in
token of surrender.

Since it was impossible to enter the fort here owing to the flames,
Calamity led his men round to the other side which, so far, had escaped
the fire, and gave the word to attack. With a wild yell of triumph, the
party rushed up to the palisades and those who could not scale them,
smashed a way through with their rifle butts. So far there had been no
resistance, but, as Calamity reformed his men inside the enclosure, some
twenty or thirty soldiers advanced upon them, led by an officer who
appeared to be the commandant of the fort. The space was too confined
for an exchange of rifle-fire and so the two parties immediately engaged
in a close encounter with whatever weapons came handiest. The defenders
fought with the desperate courage of men determined to sell their lives
as dearly as possible, the seamen with the savage ferocity of men still
smarting under defeat and eager to avenge it. Yet so fierce was the
resistance that it seemed as though the _Hawk's_ party might even now be
forced to retreat, when, from the dense smoke in the Germans' rear,
there came the sound of shots. The defenders, believing themselves
attacked by another force from behind, threw down their arms, and their
officer called out that he surrendered unconditionally.

There was a brief lull while Smith and the bos'n took charge of the
prisoners. Then suddenly above the crackling of the flames, there arose,
from amidst the smoke, a hoarse, stentorian voice bawling:

    "Oh I'll tak' the high road,
    An' you'll tak' the low----"

The voice ceased abruptly and there staggered into the open the figure
of Phineas McPhulach, a revolver in one hand and a gin-bottle--which, at
the moment, he was holding up to his mouth--in the other.

    "For the days of auld Lang Syne!"

bellowed the engineer as he removed the bottle from his lips.

Then, heedless of the sensation he was causing among friend and foe
alike, he commenced to dance a Highland fling, at the same time waving
the revolver above his head and firing it to the peril of all beholders.
Suddenly he threw the weapon from him, tried to execute a complicated
step, failed, and collapsed on a heap of smoking timber.

"How the devil did you get here?" demanded Calamity.

A beatific but uncomprehending smile illumined the engineer's face and
he made a vain effort to raise the gin-bottle to his lips.

"It's a--hic--michty square bus--hic--iness," he murmured.

"Get up," commanded the Captain.

"Eh, mon, but will ye no hae a wee sup o' this--hic--cordial. It's a
verra----"

His voice died away into an incoherent murmur, his eyes closed, and he
emitted a lusty snore. Calamity seized his arm and dragged him to his
feet; but McPhulach, still snoring, slid gently back into his former
recumbent position. Suddenly, however, he sat up with a jerk and his
expression changed from befuddled contentment to genuine horror.

"Mon!" he cried, pointing a trembling finger in front of him, "D'ye ken
yon snake? An' losh presairve us, there's anither beastie, a pink ane,
wi' thairty legs!"

He raised the bottle above his head and threw it with all his might at
the imaginary reptile, narrowly missing Calamity.

"Smith!" called the latter, "take this drunken sot back to the ship and
pour a bucket of cold water over him."

With the assistance of a couple of men, the inebriated engineer was
raised to his feet. After a vain attempt to embrace Calamity, whom he
addressed as "me ain dear mither," and to kiss one of the German
prisoners, he burst into tears and was carried away by four seamen, who
ducked him in the water before depositing him in the bottom of one of
the boats. Here, although soaked to the skin, he fell into a peaceful
slumber, from which he did not awake till the morning, when he found
himself back in his bunk.

In the meantime, the prisoners were marched down the hill and placed in
the "go-down," except the commandant, whom Calamity wished to question
concerning the place where the booty taken by the gunboat was
stored--for it was pretty certain the Germans had not left it on board
her. He was, however, unable at first to elicit any satisfactory reply,
the prisoner declaring that he knew nothing about it.

"Very well," said Calamity, "since you refuse to tell me, I must take
measures to induce you to change your mind."

"What is that?" asked the prisoner, starting. Like most German officers,
he understood English perfectly.

"I mean," answered the Captain suavely, "that if your memory is at fault
concerning the disposal of the gunboat's plunder, I shall try and find
some means of refreshing it."

"You would not dare to torture me, sir!" exclaimed the commandant,
turning pale.

"There are a few things I wouldn't dare, perhaps, but that's not one of
them."

At last the commandant, fearing that his captor was in earnest,
reluctantly gave the required information, and Calamity, with the bos'n
and half a dozen picked men, made his way to the place indicated. There
they found, on the side of the hill, a strong iron door, in front of
which was a narrow foot-track about twenty yards long, evidently the
result of sentinels pacing up and down. This door, of course, was
securely fastened, but a charge of dynamite sufficed to blow it in, and
Calamity, followed by the others, who carried storm lanterns, entered.
There was nothing romantic or suggestive of Aladdin's cave about the
place; in fact, it looked much like an ordinary store-house, with cases
and packages stacked around it.

"Open that," said Calamity, indicating one of several heavily sealed
cases, edged with metal.

After some little difficulty, for the case was very stoutly made, the
top was knocked off, revealing bars of bullion.

"Very good," murmured the Captain, "very good."

From the marks on the cases, he judged that the gold had been sent out
from England to a Colonial bank. Obviously the ship carrying it had been
stopped and robbed by the German pirate-captain, who, taking one thing
with another, appeared to have been both industrious and successful in
the profession of his adoption. A methodical search showed that there
were quite a number of these cases, not all of them bearing the same
marks, for some were French, and must have been taken from a different
ship. There were other things besides bullion: bales of cloth, cases of
wines and spirits, tobacco and cigars, and so forth. A money-chest, well
stocked with English, American, and German notes and gold, was probably
the property of the German Government for use in paying wages,
purchasing coal, ammunition, and such-like necessaries, while the
Kaiser's cruisers were still at large in the Pacific.

Dawn was breaking and the fires which had consumed the fort were dying
down as if satiated, when the treasure, strongly guarded, was taken on
board the _Hawk_, where, under Calamity's personal supervision, it was
carefully stowed away.




CHAPTER XV

MCPHULACH EXPLAINS


On the following morning Calamity went ashore, Mr. Dykes having preceded
him for the purpose of finding out what stores, coal, and so forth had
escaped the fire. Of coal there proved to be an abundance stored in a
"go-down" near the little jetty that ran out into the harbour, and so
arrangements were made to replenish the _Hawk's_ bunkers, which were
running low.

"By the way," said the Captain after Mr. Dykes had made his report,
"have you come across any natives? Surely there ought to be some on an
island like this."

"Well, sir, I guess if there ever were any they've been cleared out by
the squareheads," answered the mate. "I ain't seen a sign of one."

"Well, come with me and bring half a dozen men with you," said Calamity,
and led the way up the hill to the smoking remains of the fort. Upon the
very summit a spar was set up on end with the Union Jack nailed to it,
and Calamity formally annexed the island in the name of His Britannic
Majesty, King George the Fifth. This done, the Captain, accompanied by
Mr. Dykes, paid a visit to the beached gunboat and found that, although
her propeller had been damaged, the work of repair was all but
completed. Moreover, in a shed near by they found a forge and a
well-fitted engineer's workshop, with all the tools and machinery for
repairing damaged engines.

"This is better than I could have hoped," said Calamity. "They seem to
have established a regular small dockyard here."

"German thoroughness, sir," answered the mate. "You see, if any of their
small boats in the Pacific got knocked about they could put in here for
repairs. I'll bet the _Emden_ would have quitted business long ago if it
hadn't been for this little cosy corner."

"Well, we'll take over the gunboat since we can't cram all the prisoners
on board the _Hawk_, otherwise I should blow her up."

"Don't know how you're going to officer her, sir."

"We must manage somehow," answered Calamity.

Mr. Dykes, however, mildly protested. He pointed out that there were
only himself and Smith available to take command of her, and, since only
one of them could be spared from the _Hawk_, the whole work of
navigating the gunboat would fall on one man.

"It would mean that he'd have to be on the bridge practically night and
day, sir," he concluded.

"You'll have to make the best arrangements you can, that's all."

"Me, sir!" ejaculated the mate.

"Yes, I shall place you in command of the gunboat with some of the
_Hawk's_ men. You must divide the watches with the bos'n's-mate and any
other man you like to select. You may pick your crew."

Mr. Dykes groaned, but decided that it was not safe to offer any further
objections. To be placed in command of a steamer without even one
reliable officer under him, and with, perhaps, twenty or more prisoners
on board, was a great deal more than he had bargained for.

"What about an engineer, sir?" he asked.

"You can have Sims."

The mate choked back the remark he was about to make concerning
the qualities of Mr. Sims. But inwardly he vowed that, if the
second-engineer had no conception of what hell might be like, he would
be in possession of a good working theory before he left the gunboat.

"Now that's settled," went on the Captain, "you had better go aboard her
and make preparations for coaling and victualling."

"Very good, sir," answered Mr. Dykes in a spiritless voice, and departed
in deep dudgeon. Had the Captain shown any inclination to listen to his
advice, he would have suggested leaving the prisoners on the island
under a strong guard, till the British authorities were informed and
could send a vessel to take them away. However, to argue with Calamity
would be about as cheerful a job as trying experiments with a live
shell, and so the mate wisely accepted his burden with what fortitude he
could muster.

Having acquainted himself with what resources the one-time German colony
possessed, Calamity returned to the _Hawk_. He was anxious to consult
McPhulach concerning the repairs to the engines and other parts of the
ship which had suffered from the fort's guns on the preceding night.
There was to be explained, also, the mystery of the engineer's presence
in the fort, when, according to orders, he should have been in the
engine-room of the _Hawk_.

"Where is Mr. McPhulach?" asked the Captain as soon as he stepped on
board.

"In his cabin, sir," answered one of the men.

"Then go and fetch him--no, stay though, I'll go to him myself," and
Calamity made his way to the engineer's abode.

"Wha's there?" inquired a feeble voice in answer to the Captain's knock.

Calamity, instead of answering, opened the door and stepped in. The
cabin was darkened by having the curtains drawn across the ports, but he
could make out the figure of McPhulach propped up in his bunk with the
aid of a battered leather bag and a pillow. The engineer presented a
sorry spectacle; his head was enveloped in a wet towel, and on a locker
by his side stood a cup of tea and a half-eaten slice of dry toast.

"How are you?" inquired the Captain, drawing the curtains apart to admit
the daylight.

"I'm no verra weel, an' I thank ye," replied McPhulach, still in a
feeble voice. "Ma heid is like a footba' filled wi' lead."

"Naturally," remarked the Captain coldly.

"Aye, I ken it weel," groaned the sufferer.

"What I want to know is, how the devil you got into the fort and what
you did when you got there," went on Calamity.

"It's a michty quare business, skeeper, an' I dinna a'togither ken it
mesel'."

"You were ordered to remain on board, instead of which, I suppose, you
smuggled yourself into one of the boats when they put off."

"Weel, I didna swim," answered McPhulach testily, and held his aching
head in both hands.

"You disobeyed orders."

There was an ominous ring in the Captain's voice which made the victim
of alcoholic excess pull himself together sharply.

"It was a' due to a nichtmare I had, d'ye ken?" he said, thinking as
hard as his befuddled brain would permit.

"A nightmare! What in hell are you talking about?"

"Weel, I must ha' walked in ma sleep. I thocht ma second--or mebbe 'twas
ma thaird--wife was after me...."

McPhulach rambled on till Calamity, losing patience, pulled him up and
demanded to know the truth. It came out gradually, and the Captain
learnt that, just as the boats were putting off from the _Hawk_,
McPhulach had been seized with an irresistible desire to feel dry land
under him again. So, unobserved in the darkness, he had slipped into the
last boat and been taken ashore. There he mingled with the men and
advanced with them in the first attack. During the fight which followed,
he succeeded in scaling the stockade and had just landed safely on the
other side when a soldier sprang forward and clubbed him with the
butt-end of a rifle. For a time he lay there unconscious, but, on coming
to, quickly realised that he was inside the stockade and might be killed
at any moment. As this latter contingency did not figure on his
programme, he started to crawl away and at last came to an orderly-room
which was untenanted. Taking careful observations, he noticed on the
table several bottles of spirits, and drew the conclusion that the place
was a sort of smoking-room used by the officers of the fort; at any
rate, he decided to sample the contents of the bottles.

By the time he had finished what must have been nearly two pints of
mixed spirits, he felt equal to taking the fort single-handed; in fact,
as he now confessed to Calamity, he would have charged a whole
battalion.

"I didna quite ken what to do," he said, gazing dreamily out of the
porthole, "so I sat doon on the doorstep an' waited for ma temper to
rise."

Apparently it rose pretty quickly, for soon afterwards he wandered out
into the dark enclosure--having first placed the remains of a bottle of
gin in his pocket--to see what he could do. As a start, he drew his
revolver and one of the first shots, fired at random, hit a charge of
powder as it was being removed from the magazine.

"An' after that," concluded the engineer wearily, "I kenned no mair."

"I see," murmured Calamity, for now the mysterious explosion which had
resulted in the capture of the fort was explained. "I suppose," he
added, with unwonted geniality, "you don't remember trying to kill pink
snakes with an empty gin-bottle?"

McPhulach slowly shook his head.

"I ca' to mind seein' a green spider an' a blue centipede creepin'
across yon bulkhead a whiles since," he replied. "But ye meet wi' unco'
quare animals in these latitudes."

Calamity rose to his feet.

"I've a good mind to log you a week's pay for disobeying orders," he
said.

The threat did not seem to impress the engineer, who suddenly leant over
the side of his bunk and stared fixedly at the floor.

"I'll hae to get a rat-trap," he murmured.




CHAPTER XVI

CALAMITY KEEPS HIS WORD


The next day a number of sampans and canoes loaded with fruit,
vegetables, and flowers, came alongside the _Hawk_. Mr. Dykes had been
in error when he stated his belief that the Germans had cleared all the
natives out. As it was discovered afterwards, the people had fled to the
interior on hearing the guns and had only come back that afternoon.

Smith, walking along the deck, caught sight of Dora Fletcher leaning
over the taffrail, just below which was a sampan loaded with wonderful
tropical flowers. Its owner had been endeavouring to sell these, but
without much success, because none of the crew wanted flowers, being
chiefly concerned with the eatables.

"How much?" asked the girl of the native in the sampan.

The man did not understand English, but he comprehended the girl's
gestures, and made some unintelligible reply.

Miss Fletcher, seeing Smith, asked if he would help her.

"Like a bird," answered the second-mate cheerfully, and, addressing the
owner of the flowers, shouted something in the vernacular.

"Well?" queried the girl, when the man had answered.

"He says," answered Smith, "that you can have all those flowers for a
pair of old trousers."

The girl stared at him with a look of astonishment that gradually gave
place to amusement.

"It's the truth, straight," went on Smith, as though she had questioned
the accuracy of his translation.

"What am I to do?" she asked helplessly. "I wanted those flowers."

"I dunno, unless--half a mo' though. I'll be back in a jiff," and the
second-mate darted off towards his cabin.

He returned a couple of minutes later with a pair of greasy,
paint-daubed trousers over his arm.

"Here, corffee-dial," he said, and flung the garments into the sampan.

The native's face expanded into a broad grin, he cast an approving eye
over the discarded trousers, and then started to hand up the flowers.

"How's that?" demanded Smith triumphantly, when the sampan had been
emptied.

"It's very kind of you," answered the girl. "How much do I owe you for
the trousers?"

"Owe me!" ejaculated the other. Then he smiled. "Well, I reckon I could
have got a bob for them from a Whitechapel Sheeny."

"Then I owe you a shilling."

Smith nodded. He knew she would insist on paying him that shilling and
was wondering how on earth she would raise it. He helped her to carry
the flowers away and heap them on the bunk in her cabin.

"Oh, aren't they lovely?" she murmured.

"Um--m, I s'pose so," answered Smith, eyeing them critically, "but I'd
rather have a cokernut myself," whereupon he departed.

Dora Fletcher, susceptible to beauty herself, was amused at the
second-mate's polite contempt for the flowers. She began to arrange them
about the cabin, and, while doing so, was struck by a whimsical thought.

What, she wondered, would the grim and taciturn Captain think if he came
back and found his cabin full of tastefully arranged flowers?

She paused for a minute with one finger on her underlip, considering the
startling proposition. Then her mouth curved in an ironical little
smile, and, half-amused, half-contemptuous of her action, she gathered
up some scarlet hibiscus into a bunch and made her way towards the
Captain's cabin. Descending the companion quietly, she found herself for
the second time in that mysterious sanctum. It was not very large, and
there were none of the homely decorations--photographs, pictures, and so
forth--with which some skippers decorate their quarters. Some maps and
charts, a pair of pistols, one or two bracket-shelves with books hung
from the bulkheads, and the sideboards were littered with odds and
ends--tobacco-pipes, half-empty boxes of matches, and other masculine
lumber. The place reeked, too, of strong tobacco, and there were two or
three cigar-butts lying on the table.

The girl glanced around her with an expression of mingled amusement and
perplexity, then took a tumbler from the rack and filled it with water.
Having arranged the flowers in it to her satisfaction, she stood for a
moment surveying the effect, with that half-ironical smile still playing
about her lips.

As she stood thus, the cabin door opened softly and she swung round, the
blood mounting in a crimson flood to her face. But, with a gasp of
relief, she saw that the intruder was Sing-hi and not the Captain, and
her heart ceased beating tumultuously.

The imperturbable celestial showed not the slightest sign of surprise at
finding her there, and merely greeted her with his usual urbane smile.

"Sing-hi, I have been putting some flowers here for the Captain," she
said; "but you're not to tell him I've been here--savee?"

"Savee," answered Sing-hi, and the girl left the cabin feeling tolerably
sure that the Chinaman would not betray her.

She was quite correct in this assumption, for, after watching her
disappear up the companion, Sing-hi shuffled back into the cabin,
emptied the flowers out of the port, dried the glass, and returned it to
the rack.

During the afternoon McPhulach, who had recovered from the effects of
his debauch, went ashore to meet Calamity. The engineer wished to
inspect the workshop and the plant it contained, in order to make
arrangements for repairing the _Hawk's_ engines as speedily as possible.
Also, since the Captain had decided to convey some of the prisoners to
Singapore in the gunboat, the latter had to be examined and overhauled
before she could be floated; thus, in one way and another, McPhulach and
his staff were likely to be kept busy for several days to come.

Leaving the engineer to attend to these matters, Calamity went in search
of Mr. Dykes, whom he found superintending the loading of lighters with
coal for replenishing the _Hawk's_ bunkers. To facilitate this work, the
mate had pressed some of the German prisoners into his service and these
were employed in transferring the coal from the "go-down" to the jetty.

"Thought I might as well make use of these squareheads, sir," he
explained when the Captain came up.

"Where are the others?"

"Still in the shack yonder, sir. Before rations were served out this
morning I made 'em all take a bath in the harbour. One of 'em, who
speaks English, said he should complain to you."

"On account of the bath?"

"Yes, sir. Called it cruelty towards defenceless prisoners."

"We'll see about that later. How many have you got, Mr. Dykes?"

"Somewhere between thirty and forty I guess, sir. One of them--the slob
who complained about the bath--reckons that the explosion and the fire
did for about the same number, not countin' those who were killed and
wounded in the fighting."

"Which means that there must have been about a hundred men in the fort
all told."

"That's how I figger it out, sir."

"Well, you'd better fetch the prisoners out, Mr. Dykes, and I'll have a
look at them," said Calamity.

Accordingly they were marched out of the "go-down" under an armed guard
and paraded before the Captain. Most of them were soldiers, but a few
had formed part of the gunboat's crew and belonged to the German Naval
Reserve.

"Which is the man who wishes to make a complaint?" asked Calamity, when
the prisoners had filed past him.

"You with the grouch, fall out!" cried the mate.

A man in sailor's uniform stepped out of the ranks, and, drawing himself
up stiffly, saluted the Captain. The latter, as he glanced at him more
closely, started, and a look of recognition flashed between the two.

"Your name?" asked Calamity.

"Fritz Siemann, sir," answered the prisoner.

"Mr. Dykes," said the Captain, "have this man sent aboard the _Hawk_,
and see that he's kept away from the other prisoners."

"Very good, sir," answered the mate, who supposed that Calamity was
going to deal with the grumbler in a manner that would check any further
display of discontent.

When, later on in the day, the Captain returned on board the _Hawk_, he
ordered Fritz Siemann to be brought to his cabin. The prisoner was
brought in by a couple of sailors, who, at a word from Calamity, left
them together.

"This is a strange meeting, my worthy Fritz," said the Captain, looking
at the man with an ironical smile.

The prisoner shrugged his shoulders, but made no answer. He was a man of
between thirty and forty, very fair, tall, and with a pair of small,
cunning eyes.

"Well, how is it that I find you out here in the Pacific, a sailor
instead of a valet?" asked the Captain after a pause.

"I came out on a cruiser as a Naval Reservist, and was afterwards
transferred to the gunboat," answered the fellow.

"When did you leave England?"

"A day or two before war was declared."

"You were recalled by the German Government?"

"Yes."

"H'm; and how was your master when you left?"

"He died about three months before I went," answered the man.

"Died!"

"Yes, sir, he fell from his horse while hunting."

Calamity was silent for some moments, and then he turned once more to
the German.

"Did he ever mention my name in your presence?"

"Not often, but he was always trying to find out if you were dead."

A grim smile stole over the Captain's face at this. Somehow it seemed to
amuse him.

"But, so far as you know, he was never able to find out for certain?"

"I don't think so, but everyone thought you were dead, except Mr.
Vayne."

"Yes, Vayne was the only friend I had," muttered the Captain. He turned
sharply to the prisoner. "Did my brother pay you well for assisting him
in his rascality?"

"I--I don't understand," faltered the German nervously.

"Nevertheless, I should advise you to try," answered Calamity quietly,
"it may save you considerable discomfort. Now, answer my question."

"He paid me well enough while I was in his service," growled the man
reluctantly; "but, as for rascality----"

"I'm referring to the forged cheque," broke in the Captain.

The prisoner started and shot a keen glance at him.

"Forged cheque?" he repeated as if puzzled.

"I am perfectly aware of the part you played in that little affair, so
don't risk your neck by trying to prevaricate. As it is, I'm half
inclined to hang you here and now, but you shall assuredly swing, my
lad, if you utter a single lie."

The ex-valet turned deathly pale, for he realised that the threat was no
empty one. He shifted uneasily from one foot to another, glanced
furtively round the cabin as if considering the possibilities of escape,
and finally let his gaze rest on the Captain.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked sullenly.

"I want you to tell me the truth, and bear in mind that your life
depends on it."

"About the cheque?"

"About the cheque."

"He forged it."

"How do you know?"

"I was in the room with him?"

"You helped him, in fact?"

"I suppose so."

"By God, you deserve to be hanged if ever a man did," exclaimed the
Captain.

"You asked me to tell you the truth, sir," said the man, shrinking back.

"Get on with your story."

"There's nothing much to tell, sir. The scheme worked without a hitch,
and everyone was deceived--except Mr. Vayne; he was always doubtful."

"Well, and what did you get out of it? Such assistance as you gave was
invaluable."

"Five hundred pounds."

"H'm, a very profitable stroke of business on your part, especially as
it placed you in a position to levy blackmail at will. Now what fee"--an
ugly expression crossed the Captain's face as he uttered this--"do you
require in consideration of your writing down a full account of that
interesting transaction and signing it in the presence of witnesses?"

The other hesitated a moment.

"A thousand pounds in cash and a guarantee that I shall not be handed
over to the British authorities as a prisoner of war."

"Agreed. You shall have the money in English and American notes as soon
as you have prepared the document."

"And if I change my mind?"

"Why, then," answered Calamity with a genial smile, "it'll be the last
time you ever change it on this earth," and, rising, he laid pen, ink,
and paper before the prisoner.

"Call the steward when you have finished and he will send for me," said
Calamity as he left the cabin.

For nearly an hour the German wrote steadily, pausing every now and
again to read what he had written. When at last he had finished he
called for the steward.

"Tell the Captain I'm ready," he said as Sing-hi appeared in the
doorway.

The Chinaman nodded and a few minutes afterwards the Captain entered,
accompanied by Smith and McPhulach.

"Be seated, gentlemen," said Calamity, himself taking a chair. "I have
brought you here," he went on, "to witness the signature of a document
which this man has written. He will read it over first, and when I tell
you that every word is absolutely confidential, I feel sure you will
both observe the strictest secrecy. At least," he added significantly,
"it will be to your advantage to do so."

The two witnesses murmured assent and settled themselves down to listen.
Then, at a nod from the Captain, Fritz picked up the paper and began to
read. At the start, the engineer and the second-mate looked mildly
surprised, but as the man read on their expressions changed to amazement
and they stared from the reader to Calamity with looks of mingled
incredulity and awed wonder. At length the prisoner, having finished
reading the document, laid it on the table and signed it.

"Blimey!" muttered Smith under his breath.

"A michty quare business," remarked McPhulach.

"Now, gentlemen," said Calamity, "I will ask you to append your
signatures as witnesses of this interesting confession."

Smith picked up the pen, and, after a preparatory flourish, signed his
name. Then he handed the pen to McPhulach, who took it somewhat
gingerly.

"I'm no incurrin' ony liabeelity?" he asked cautiously.

"None whatever," answered the Captain.

"I dinna hauld wi' signing papers mesel'," went on the engineer, "it's
producteeve of unco----"

"Are you going to sign that paper or not?" interrupted the Captain.

McPhulach hesitated no longer, but hastily scrawled his signature
underneath Smith's.

"Thank you both," said Calamity; "that's all I shall need."

Smith and the engineer, taking the hint, departed and left the Captain
with his prisoner.

"Now you want your reward, I suppose," remarked Calamity, and, stepping
into his little sleeping cabin, he brought out the money-chest which had
been taken from the treasure-house in the fort. From this he counted out
the equivalent of one thousand pounds, most of it, at the prisoner's
request, in American notes.

"You must give me a receipt for these," he said.

The man wrote out a receipt, signed it, and took in exchange the parcel
of notes.

"You've promised not to hand me over to the British, remember," said he.

"I shan't forget it," answered the Captain. "There are quite enough
scoundrels in English prisons already, without adding to their number."

"And I can't go back to the island."

"I suppose not. Well, I will see what can be done, and in the meantime
you had better stay here."

Calamity locked the document in a steel deed-box, placed it under the
bunk in his sleeping-cabin, and then went on deck, having previously
told Sing-hi to keep watch outside the cabin and not to let the prisoner
leave it. He was somewhat puzzled with regard to the promise he had made
Fritz Siemann, for, should he be taken to Singapore with the other
prisoners, he would certainly be interned. The only way out of it,
seemingly, was to put in at some neutral port and land the man there.

Some two hours later he returned to the cabin and found the prisoner
seated on the settee ostensibly reading a book.

"I hope," said the Captain q

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