Chapter Thirteen.
The Sea Fight.
The Swift had been almost deserted, as the larger decks of the Irene offered an irresistible attraction, and when the work was abandoned at dusk the crew took possession of the forecastle, while Miss Anstrade, with Hume and Webster, lingered on the poop, after surrendering the main-deck amidships to the Captain, who preferred his own company. Mr Commins, alone for choice, remained on the catcher, and for a long time the glow of his cigar could be seen under the small awning, while Juarez, over whom he had offered to keep strict watch, lay near, under the shadow of a lamp, smoking cigarettes. The Brazilian Captain had never been permitted to appear on deck when Miss Anstrade was there, and his close confinement below had not improved his naturally brutal nature, but he had tamed his temper down to the point of almost abject humility in imploring the Captain to let him on deck. Now the guttural tones of his voice could be heard as he made occasionally a few remarks to Mr Commins, the only man who cared to hold converse with him.
The night was beautiful, the dark vault of the sky gloriously gemmed down to the dark belt of the horizon, while out of the intense black of the sea there gleamed, near at hand, swordlike flashes of phosphorescent fire from predatory fish, and between the sea and the sky there was no living thing to break the brooding silence. The men, glad of the opportunity to stretch their legs, were soon asleep, and, except for an occasional murmur of voices from the three on the poop and the rough burr of Juarez at intervals, there was no sound on board. The swell of the sea rising and sinking between the catcher and the Irene made a soft ripple, followed by a deep sigh, having a power in its melancholy music to draw Miss Anstrade to the port side, where she had leant with her elbows on the rail, until at the dim sight of Juarez she started back with a shudder of revulsion and sought the remoter side.
There the three of them leant, the efforts of the two men to talk to the girl between them gradually lessening to complete silence. She had changed greatly since the excitement of the wild rush to Madeira, had grown listless, the womanhood in her revolting against the strain and burden she had rashly imposed on herself, and at each sign of helplessness the two young men had felt more tender towards her, trying, each in his own way, to show their sympathy. They had talked often together about the object of the voyage, and, sanguine though they were with the ardour of youth, they could see nothing but disaster before them, while the desperate nature of the enterprise had also come home to her. Presently, with a moan, she thrust her hands forward:
“There is nothing but failure before me, and perhaps death.”
“You are over-worn,” said Frank gently; “and, indeed, the Swift is too rough a boat for a lady.”
“Ay, that it is, Miss Laura,” said Webster, “and, as for talk of failure or death, they are for us to prove, and not for you, who are made for better things. This steamer has been thrown across us by the mercy of Providence, and it is your duty almost to accept the gift, and embark in it for a safe port.”
“I despise myself,” she said wearily; “but I have no courage and no hope, and shudder at the thought of remaining on the Swift. I cannot understand it.”
“I think I can,” said Frank, in a low tone. “You have been mistaken in yourself, and your presence on board, in contrast with the grim ship, has seemed to me a sort of marvel. You are fitted for better things.”
“You mean I have no strength of purpose,” she said slowly. “And do you expect me to relinquish this enterprise, to go back without striking one blow, to surrender to my weakness, and for ever be a victim of my cowardice, haunted by a memory, and lashed by my conscience? No—no—never!”
She threw her head up proudly.
“You may go to safety in this ship; but—I—I will do what I have said.”
“You mistake us,” said Hume; “neither Mr Webster nor myself asks you to give up the enterprise. We have no thought of turning from it; but we do think strongly that you should not share in the work and worry of it. It is not fair to you; it is unjust to us.”
“Unjust, sir—how?”
“Madam, you may not know it, but every man on board the Swift thinks more of you than of his own safety, and if they all knew you were ashore they would be happier in working out your purpose.”
“You are right there, Frank,” said Webster. “We’d go into action with a laugh if you were not aboard, madam, but every shell would make our hearts beat with fear if you were with us.”
“Ah! my friends,” she answered with emotion, “you make my sorrow all the greater to think I should have brought you to this, and be myself so fearful of the end. Forgive me, but I am proud and weak by turns. Oh, if I had the courage of a man!”
“You are better as you are,” said Frank. “Your weakness has more power over us than if you never winced or wavered.”
Suddenly she stood back and looked at them, laughing low.
“What is it?”
“It has occurred to me, gentlemen, that you are both to remain on the Irene.”
“Yes, madam; but why does that amuse you?” said Frank helplessly.
“And so you have been scheming to have my company. I am sure I am greatly charmed, and would be more if you had not pretended an anxiety for my safety.”
“Pretended, madam!” gasped Webster. “I’ll see the Captain hanged before I leave the Swift. He can sail this old tub himself, so that he takes you with her.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, with another rippling laugh, “though you might have turned me over to the Captain more gracefully. And you, Mr Hume?”
“We are plain men,” he began stiffly.
“Yes, you are very plain, and very stupid.”
At this unexpected retort the two men fell into a gloomy silence, being too much in earnest and too greatly surprised to laugh.
“Ah, dear,” she said, “that I had one woman with me, then I could laugh, and rage, and weep upon her neck within a minute, and have no ill looks in return. Come, my friends, be not angry.”
She gave each one a hand, and each raised it to his lips, which showed that they could express themselves well in deeds, though not in words.
She placed both hands to her cheeks, and her fine eyes glowed as she looked at them.
“It is the kiss of brave men,” she said in low, thrilling tones; “the pledge of your lives to me. Ah, my friends, I read that little act more clearly than what you could tell me in words, and see, for those who love you, for the mother who has treasured you, in return for the homage the strong and brave pay to woman, I kiss you.”
She leant forward, and pressed her lips to their cheeks in turn.
They stood back and straightened themselves with kindling eyes, feeling as the young knight who has received his spurs.
“Out with all lights!” It was the Captain’s voice, ringing out loud and stern.
There was a breathless pause, followed by a confused murmur of voices.
“Silence, forward, there. Is that you, Mr Dixon?”—a quiet, grave man, whose heart was with his wife and child at home.
“Yes, sir.”
“Get up steam, but be careful with your fire.”
“What can the matter be?” gasped Miss Anstrade, at the sound of men moving quietly from the Irene into the Swift.
Webster, at the first cry from the Captain, had sprung to the bulwark, holding to a wire rope-stay.
“There’s a steamer’s lights away aft. I wonder she has escaped us.”
The Captain’s dark form appeared on the poop.
“Mr Webster, see the fires relit on this ship.”
“Ay, ay, sir. What do you make her out to be?”
“When did you mark her?”
“When you called, sir.”
“Ah! She appeared an hour since, and I judge from her movements and her lights she is a man-of-war, probably the same cruiser which surprised this ship before.”
“Do you think she has seen us?”
“I’m afraid so, though our lights must be very dim, for she altered her course and is bearing down. She may pass us, unless she brings the spars of the Irene against a star. I won’t leave this prize, however, until I am obliged.”
Webster moved off, and the others, including the sailors on board, watched the approaching vessel; while Mr Commins, who could not, of course, see the stranger from the hidden catcher, hurried on board to find out the cause of the commotion.
“You think she is the Brazilian steamer?” he said in a voice of alarm, listening to the explanation. “Curse it! Misfortune dogs us. I wish we were out of this!”
“Speak for yourself,” answered the Captain in a growl.
Mr Commins lingered awhile, and then went off to give the news to Juarez, who received it with a savage laugh.
The red light rapidly approached through the black of the night, and it was evident she would pass very near. The excitement grew rapidly as the news was passed from mouth to mouth in rapid whispers.
“Mr Hume, will you help Miss Anstrade to the Swift; pass the word to the men to get on board, and have them stationed at the guns.”
In a few minutes Captain Pardee was the only man on board the Irene, with the exception of the stokers, who were busily preparing the fires.
To those in the Swift who could see nothing there followed a long and anxious state of suspense, broken at last by the low voice of the Captain speaking from above.
“Mr Hume, stand by to slip the fastenings.”
They held their breath, listening, and to them came the regular beat of engines.
Louder and louder grew the noise, but they could see nothing of the danger, and its imminence seemed to them the nearer. There was a movement in the air, the pulsation of the distant screw affected them so that they believed the Swift itself was throbbing, and presently the Irene leant over towards them gently, and as gently rolled away.
“’Tis the wave from her wake,” muttered the Quartermaster.
The sound of the engines gradually lessened.
The Captain’s figure appeared above. “She has passed,” he said.
There was a rush for the tall sides of the Irene, and presently everyone was staring forward at a green light fast diminishing in the dark, now at its blackest before the dawn.
“Thank God for His mercy,” murmured Miss Anstrade, who had stood near Hume silent and white, though without a sign of fear.
“You may well say that, Miss Laura,” said the Captain.
The green light sunk rapidly, and had almost disappeared, when suddenly a brilliant glare shot up, throwing a sickly light over the group on the poop.
The Captain gave a bound to the side, and next minute there was a hoarse cry as his pistol rang out.
“It is that villain Juarez; send his black soul to hell! Overboard with him!” roared the Captain.
The black-bearded Quartermaster, balancing himself on the rail a moment, sprang to the iron deck below, and next minute there was a howl of mingled fear and rage, followed by a splash.
“Launch the boat, and smother that light with a sail!”
The Captain gnashed his teeth as he glared at the brilliant flare from a life-saving light floating on the quiet waters, and sending forth an appeal to the distant battleship. Mr Commins stood in the catcher near the spot where the slinking figure of Juarez had been shot down, seemingly without power to move, as he looked horror-struck at the dark waters.
Without a second’s delay the boat was launched, and a strip of canvas thrown over the light, when the darkness settled down blacker than before. But the mischief had been done, and sullen looks were directed at the dim speck in the distance.
“Ay, ay, there she comes round,” said the sailor Dick. In the distance a red light replaced the green, but as they watched it suddenly disappeared.
“She has gone,” said Miss Anstrade, with an hysterical sob.
The Captain shook his head.
“She has put out her lights, and will hang about till morning.”
“We’d better slip away, sir,” said Webster.
The Captain lifted his fist, and banged it into his open hand.
“By the Lord,” he growled, “I’ll not leave this ship without a fight for it!”
The Captain, however, gave way so far to the urgent protestations of Miss Anstrade, that he abandoned any idea of placing a crew on board the derelict until daylight revealed whether there was any chance of getting clear away. Fires were kept going on board the Swift, a look-out was stationed on the larger vessel, and the men were sent to their berths. Miss Anstrade retired to snatch an uneasy sleep, and the Captain, leaving Webster and Hume in charge, went also to his cabin, falling almost immediately into a sound sleep. The small hours of the night passed anxiously to the two officers who patrolled the poop of the Irene in silence, listening for any sound that would indicate the whereabouts of the stranger. There was, however, no sign of her presence, and when the intense darkness of the night began to fade before the dawn, a thick, white, low-lying mist wrapped the ship as in an impenetrable cloak.
Webster, to get a view over the mist, if possible, went aloft, his figure soon becoming blurred, and after a long stay, descended rapidly.
“She is near us,” he said in an excited whisper to Hume. “Waken the Captain. We could slip away without being seen.”
Very soon Captain Pardoe climbed on board, and heard what his Lieutenant had to say.
“I should judge her position to be about a mile on the starboard beam, and she is steaming ahead at eight knots. If the mist doesn’t lift we could easily slip her by making a nor’-west course.”
“Which way is the wind? Ah! blowing across to her. She would hear us getting under way. We’ll lie close awhile; but do you, meanwhile, Mr Hume, rouse the crew; see they have a nip to warm them up, and get them to their quarters quickly and in silence. Is all in readiness on board the ship, Mr Webster?”
“Yes, sir—except the crew.”
“I’ll take a look at her myself;” and the Captain went heavily into the rattlins.
There was a movement on the Swift as the men presently went to their stations, and a sound of murmuring voices, followed, presently, by the rush of escaping steam from both vessels as the fires were stirred. A few minutes more, and the stranger would put himself out of hearing. The engineer stood in readiness to set the screw in motion, and men were at hand ready to throw off the lashings which moored the catcher to the Irene. Suddenly, however, the mist began rapidly to melt, showing in an instant almost a wide stretch of grey water.
The Captain reached the deck with a bound, just as the notes of a boatswain’s whistle came faintly over the still waters from beyond the melting mist.
“She has seen us,” said the Captain hoarsely.
As he spoke, there appeared the blurred outline of a big ship, about a mile and a half distant, over the starboard stern, and the next instant she stood out, broadside on, just as she came round, with tall masts, and lofty sides of gleaming white.
“She has caught us, Captain,” said Webster quietly; “and we could easily have got away in the night.”
The Captain turned on his heels with a stormy look on his face, and walked a few steps, when he stood with his eyes bent on the deck. Then he threw his head up, gazed keenly at the cruiser, and when he faced Webster again his mind was made up.
“On board,” he cried, waving his hand to the catcher, and in a moment was on the deck of the smaller ship.
“Madam and men,” he said in his deep tones, “the ship we saw last night is, I fear, a cruiser of the Brazilian navy. She is near us, and if she is an enemy we are in danger. The blame is mine. I should have kept on instead of remaining to save this vessel.”
Miss Anstrade made as though she would speak, but the Captain waved his hand.
“Madam—Miss Laura—no words you could say would add to the regret I feel. But there is no time. I have brought you into this peril, and please God I will deliver you. I want nine men to fight this ship. Who volunteers?”
There was a moment’s pause as the men looked at one another, then the Quartermaster stood out.
“We are all yours, Captain; to the last man.”
“Ay, ay,” came the response.
A dull flush crept into the Captain’s face. “Thank you, men,” he said quietly; “but I want nine only. Quartermaster, select eight. Mr Hume, help Miss Anstrade on board. Mr Webster, take command of the Irene, and make full steam as soon as I engage the cruiser.”
The men lingered reluctantly, and Miss Anstrade, with heaving breast, stood looking at the Captain.
“Quick, Mr Hume,” said the Captain, and at the same moment he took Miss Anstrade by the hand and led her to the ladder. “I am very sorry,” he said; then his hand was seized by a sailor, and all the men in turn wrung his hand as they passed.
He looked round, and saw Webster standing by the engineer.
“Come, Jim, my boy,” he said to the Lieutenant, “it is your duty to save Miss Anstrade.”
Webster moved forward with a strange look in his face.
“Remember Loo,” he said hoarsely, “and let me stay here.”
“It cannot be, my lad. Good-bye, my boy, good-bye, and tell her I did what she would expect me to. Up.” He almost forced Webster to the ladder, then turned.
“Mr Dixon,” he said, and looked at the engineer. “If I could spare you I would, for it’s death before us.”
The engineer smiled softly.
“I am not sorry, Captain,” he said, “for I understand.”
He took one last look round at the wide sea and crimson heavens, then his lips moved, he turned to grasp the Captain’s outstretched hand, and the two men looked into one another’s eyes.
A pale figure of a man slipped out of the door and made furtively for the steps.
“Mr Commins,”—the Captain’s hand was laid upon his arm—“you will stay with me, for your scheming nature and coward heart have brought us to this.”
Mr Commins trembled beneath the gloomy eyes turned upon him, cast one imploring look at the faces above, then, without a word, allowed the Captain to lead him to the cabin door.
The sound of a gun broke with relief upon the strained nerves of the spectators.
“Cut the moorings!”
Silently the men on the Irene cut through the ropes, and the Swift floated free.
There was another sullen report, and a shell tore through the tall rigging of the Irene.
The big, white cruiser, with a cloud of smoke hanging about her sides, was leisurely steaming up about half a mile distant, and there was no question of her nature, nor of the ferocity of her commander, who could ruthlessly open fire for sheer devilment on a defenceless ship, for the Swift was up to the present completely hidden.
What must have been the astonishment of her people when, following their last shot, there broke from the blockade-runner a murmur of cheering as every soul on board cracked his throat in sending up a loud hurrah for the Swift and her gallant crew; and when, immediately afterwards, there shot out from the shadow of the Irene a long, low grey craft. When the hunter, coming upon the dead quarry he had wounded earlier in the day, suddenly discovers, crouching behind, the striped body of the tiger, his feeling of dismay, perhaps, would be the same.
“Captain! Captain!” cried Miss Anstrade, “what are you doing? Ah, heaven, I see it now; may the saints preserve him!” She caught hold of a rope, and stood looking from the catcher to the towering battleship, with its broadside pierced for heavy guns, and its decks crowded with men.
“Oh,” she said, “it is cruel!”
Captain Pardoe stood on the bridge before entering the conning-tower, his glass to his eyes, and his feet braced apart. Then he turned and waved his hand to the Irene, bringing it to his mouth in a trumpet.
“Steam away at full speed, and make for Cape Verde. Good-bye.”
Another cheer, strangely hoarse, broke from the Irene, and was responded to by the men on the catcher, and a moment later the four-inch gun opened fire with a roar. The smaller guns spoke, and the whole five of them flashed out shot after shot, making such a volume of smoke that the low ship was at once completely hidden from those on the Irene.
“My God,” murmured Webster, “why did I not stay with him?”
“Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain,” said Hume, touching Webster on the shoulder. “He will be happier if he knows we can escape.”
“It is terrible, Frank; I cannot give the order. Do so yourself.”
Hume sadly went to the bridge and gave the order for full speed ahead, but the Irene had not gone a mile when, as though by common consent, the steamer slowed down, and everyone on board, even to the stokers, crowded on to the stern poop to watch the unequal battle, letting the steamer drift as she liked.
The cruiser had made not the slightest attempt to stop the Irene, for the storm of shot bursting in a sudden upon her, when she was in the full security of conscious strength, had plunged her into a state of wild confusion. At the first smash and yell of the missiles along her sides and through her tall rigging, there had been a wild rush from her decks as the terrified crew sought shelter from the mysterious enemy, and their panic was increased by the fierce bombardment which the catcher poured in from her five quick-firing guns at the rate of thirty shots a minute. They saw approaching a revolving cloud of smoke, out of which there flashed flames of fire, and the cruiser fairly turned and fled, pouring in a scattering broadside which went wide of the mark.
When the Irene slowed down, the cruiser, about two miles distant, was steaming on a south-west course, and the Swift was turning under cover of her smoke, which hung low on the water. The men on the derelict raised cheer on cheer in a state of great exultation.
“It is magnificent,” said Miss Anstrade, with shining eyes. “Why don’t you cheer, Mr Webster?” and she gave out a ringing cry.
“It is too good to be true,” murmured the Lieutenant, as he anxiously watched the cruiser. “Ah, I feared so. See, he is coming round.”
The stately white ship, making a wide sweep to port, came round, letting go her broadside of six guns and her two heavy bow chasers before she steadied on a course which would bring her very soon opposite the Irene. The water about the Swift was torn up, and she heeled over to the shock.
“She is struck!”
“Good God, she is sinking!”
“No; hurrah! she is righting.”
Miss Anstrade covered her face with her hands, then threw them from her with a passionate gesture, while Webster and Hume stood by with white, set faces.
The Swift had pointed her bows at the cruiser, and was firing now only with her four-inch, at the same time steaming slowly astern, as though waiting for some opening.
The contrast between the combatants was most striking, as the Swift lay broadside on to the Irene, a long, low, grey line on the great waste, while, though further off, the high bows of the cruiser, her lofty decks and towering spars, loomed vast and terrible.
“God’s truth!” cried one sailor, smashing his brawny fist against the bulwarks, in a fury; “it’s wrong; it’s a shame; they’re not matched!”
“Watch him; he’s porting his helm.”
The cruiser was now altering her course, and the water was piled up as she turned a few points to port, bringing her bow chasers to bear on the Swift.
“They’ll rake the Swift fore and aft; sweep her guns away,” muttered Webster, moistening his lips.
“Look! there he goes! God bless the Captain! Hurrah for our mates!”
The Swift suddenly moved ahead, and gaining way from the tremendous power of her engines, leapt towards her huge opponent. That moment the heavy guns roared, but the shells missed their prey by a few feet. As it was the two funnels were sheered off as though they had been cut, and the fragments whirled aloft. Then the catcher’s guns maintained a furious fire as she swept on, but the cruiser, completing her manoeuvre, went round to port, and from her bow to her stern her broadside guns thundered one after the other.
A shudder, a hoarse murmur of grief, ran round the group on the Irene.
Out of the smoke the Swift swept to leeward, rolling heavily. Her long gun had been torn away from its fastenings and thrown across the ship, the shields about the twelve-pounders were battered down, and the brave men who had served them were stretched motionless.
Her guns were silenced. There remained yet her torpedoes, but were there any left to work them?
The cruiser was still going round to bring her port broadside to bear, and it all depended now whether Captain Pardoe could turn the Swift, carry her under the stern of the enemy, and discharge his torpedoes.
But the Swift rolled heavily, and at the moment when she should have turned to starboard her bows went round.
“Her steering gear has been injured,” said Webster, with a groan.
Out of the raffle, forward by the conning-tower, a man appeared, and with a perceptible stagger reeled aft to the wheel, which had escaped uninjured.
“’Tis the Quartermaster,” whispered the men.
From the cruiser’s deck men fired at him, but he reached the wheel, and threw his strength into it.
Then on the shattered portion of the bridge there stood the figure of the Captain. A moment he looked around him, then above his head to the summit of a single bare pole on board there mounted a black ball, and there streamed out the red and blue of the Union Jack!
Both ships came round, the Swift stem on, and the cruiser with her broadside.
The six guns flashed together in one thunderous roar, the Swift seemed to shrink at the shock, her decks were swept, the bridge torn to fragments; then she leapt forward and buried her ram in the body of her great enemy. Through iron and wood the spur of steel forced its way, and the splinters and crash could be heard above the fierce lashings of the screws and the wild cries of the crew.
For a breathless pause the catcher battered at the wound she had made; then she was swept round against the side of the cruiser, and sunk stern foremost. Into the whirlpool made the cruiser dipped her wounded side, her decks came over at first slowly to the weight of rushing water; then, with a mighty smash her masts struck the sea and she turned bottom up; there was a flash of shining copper, and then the waves above her closed, with a rush, and there was nothing but tossing foam to mark where the two antagonists had gone down, almost locked together in their last deadly embrace.