Chapter Eight.
The Rescue.
It was a matter of but a few moments to raise the Flying Fish five thousand feet into the air, start her engines, and head her on her course for Odessa, which lies practically due south of Saint Petersburg. Then, there being no mountains in the way—nothing, in fact, that, at the height of five thousand feet, could possibly interfere with their flight—the little party retired to their respective cabins and turned in, leaving the great ship to take care of herself and pursue her way unwatched; Mildmay and the professor undertaking to rise betimes in the morning and call the other two early enough to assist in the capture—for that was what it amounted to—of the convict-ship.
Mildmay possessed the very useful faculty of being able to awake at any prearranged moment, and, in the exercise of this faculty, he rose from his cot as the first faint streaks of dawn filtered in through the port of his berth, and proceeded forthwith to the bathroom, growing conscious, as he went, of the fact that the temperature had become very much milder during the last few hours. This, however, was only what might be naturally expected, since the ship had been speeding to the southward all through the night at the rate of one hundred and twenty miles per hour, in addition to such further speed as she might have derived from the favourable gale that had been aiding her flight.
The rise of temperature, however, had not perceptibly communicated itself to the water of the bath, which the gallant captain found to be icy cold. There was, therefore, no temptation for him to linger, and a few brief minutes sufficed him to complete his ablutions and return to his cabin, rousing the professor as he went. Then, dressing with the expedition of a seaman, he wended his way to the pilot-house, where, some ten minutes later, he was joined by von Schalckenberg, who in his turn was quickly followed by George, bearing on a tray two cups of scalding hot coffee and a small plate of biscuits.
The light of the coming day had by this time so far increased that the occupants of the pilot-house were enabled to see somewhat of their surroundings. The first discovery made by them was that they had outrun the gale of the previous night, and were now sweeping through an atmosphere that, judging from the appearance of the few small shreds of cloud that floated about and above them, must be nearly or quite motionless. And the next was that, as a result of this change of weather, the Flying Fish was fully one hundred miles from the spot where, in accordance with their calculations of the previous night, she ought at that moment to have been. According to those calculations she ought then to have been clear of the land and well out over the Black Sea, whereas the land was still beneath the ship, although, so clear was the atmosphere, the gleam of sea could just be detected on the extreme verge of the southern horizon, some eighty-five miles ahead. But this, after all, was a matter of very trifling import; it would defer the capture of the Ludwig Gadd to the extent of about an hour only, which Mildmay and the professor agreed was “neither here nor there.” Meanwhile, there was just one trifling item of preparation to be attended to, and, having leisurely imbibed their morning coffee and munched a biscuit or two, they stopped the engines of the Flying Fish, and retired from the pilot-house to attend to it. Treading noiselessly in their india rubber-soled shoes, they descended to one of the storerooms, throwing open the door giving access to the deck on their way, and there loaded themselves with a number of queer-looking objects constructed of aethereum, with which they wended their way to the deck. Arrived here, they sought out a certain spot on the deck, about midway between the pilot-house and the fore end of the superstructure, and quite close to the port rail; and, having found it, they at once proceeded to remove three small aethereum discs from the deck, disclosing three sunk bolt-holes so arranged as to form the angles of an equilateral triangle measuring eighteen inches along each side. The top ends of the bolts in these holes revealed themselves about a quarter of an inch below the level of the deck, and were easily grasped by the fingers and drawn upward by about a couple of inches. Over these three bolts a base-piece was next carefully arranged, which done, the nuts were put on to the bolt-ends and screwed up tight by means of a spanner. Then, upon this base-piece was rapidly built up the component parts of what, upon completion, proved to be a Maxim gun, constructed entirely of aethereum, with an aethereum shield or turret, cylindrically shaped in such a manner as to protect completely the entire person of the gunner, the whole affair being so arranged that the gun could be trained in any direction by the inmate of the shield. The mounting of this gun and shield, and the placing in position of an entire case of cartridges in readiness for firing, occupied the two men but a bare quarter of an hour, at the expiration of which time they returned to the pilot-house, closed the door, and once more sent the engines ahead at full speed. Meanwhile the pause, that had been necessary to enable them to execute this task in comfort to themselves, had enabled them to determine the fact that the atmosphere was practically in a state of calm, the ship having revealed no perceptible drift in any direction, when once she had lost her “way” or momentum through the air after the stoppage of her engines.
The pair had scarcely settled themselves again comfortably in the pilot-house when the sun rose, and they found themselves sweeping at headlong speed over a vast plain intersected by a perfect network of streams and rivers, and dotted here and there with towns and villages, a few of which they were able to identify by means of a map which they opened and spread out upon the table before them. Minute by minute the sea, gleaming like a polished mirror in the light of the new-born day, spread itself ever more broadly before and to the left of them, and soon the indentation of Odessa Bay, with the town stretching along its southern margin, came into view. They now decided that the moment had arrived when the remaining male members of the party ought to be called. The professor accordingly retired to perform this service, and presently returned with the information that Sir Reginald and Colonel Lethbridge were already astir and taking their coffee in the dining-room. A few minutes later these two gentlemen made their appearance in the pilot-house with a cheery “Good morning” to Mildmay.
“The professor tells us that Odessa is in sight,” remarked Sir Reginald, peering ahead through one of the ports. “Is that the place, right ahead, on the far side of the bay, with the two lakes beyond it?”
“Yes,” answered Mildmay, “that is Odessa. But what you take to be the second lake—the more distant and larger sheet of water—is Dniester Bay, the estuary of the river Dniester; and if you will look away there into the far distance on our right, you will catch glimpses here and there of the stream winding through the landscape.”
“Yes, of course; I see it quite distinctly,” returned Sir Reginald; “and the broad sheet of water ahead and on our port bow, I take it, is the Black Sea. When do you expect to sight the convict-ship?”
“In the course of the next hour I hope to be alongside her,” answered Mildmay. “Fortunately for us, the weather is gloriously clear, and we ought, therefore, to sight her at a very considerable distance. Furthermore, since we know, within a very few miles, precisely where to look for her, I think we need not anticipate any difficulty in the matter of identification. And, once alongside her, I propose to make short work of the job, even should she happen to be in company with other ships. For, in such an event, no other craft—unless, indeed, she should happen to be a Russian man-o’-war—will be in the least degree likely to interfere with us.”
“Have you decided upon your plan of operation?” demanded Lethbridge.
“Yes,” answered Mildmay. “I propose that as soon as we have sighted and identified the steamer, we sink to the surface of the water, and approach our quarry in the character of an ordinary ship of more or less mysterious appearance, for by so doing we shall render our own identification all the more difficult. It will be necessary that the professor and I should remain here in the pilot-house—I to manoeuvre the Flying Fish, and the professor, prompted by me, to do the hailing part of the business, since he is the only man among us who can make himself thoroughly intelligible in the Russian language. We have mounted one of our Maxims, as you have, doubtless, already observed; for it is improbable that the skipper of the other craft will concede our demands until we have convinced him of our power to enforce them, and I shall therefore be obliged to request one of you two gentlemen to take charge of the gun, while the other stations himself in the torpedo-room for’ard, and stands by to fire a torpedo-shell if necessary.”
“Very well,” said Sir Reginald. “I will take the Maxim, and Lethbridge will no doubt attend to the torpedo part of the business. But I hope,” he added, “it will not be necessary to use one of those terrible shells, for, if it is, the loss of life will be frightful.”
“Not necessarily,” said the professor. “Mildmay and I have talked the matter over together, and our gallant friend is confident of his ability to manoeuvre the Flying Fish so that the firing of a shell shall result in nothing more serious than the destruction of the convict-ship’s rudder and propeller, thus completely disabling her without imperilling her safety.”
“Very well,” rather reluctantly assented the baronet; “if that can be done, well and good, but for pity’s sake, Mildmay, be very careful what you do.”
“I will,” responded Mildmay. “I am not altogether without hope that we may be able to accomplish our purpose without the necessity to resort to so stringent a measure as the firing of a shell; and in any case I promise you that I will only do so after all other means have failed. But here we are, clear of the land at last; and we must alter our course a point and a half to the westward to intercept the chase.”
It was exactly thirty-six minutes later, by the clock in the pilot-house, that Mildmay, peering out through one of the port-holes, pointed straight ahead, and exclaimed—
“There she is! There cannot be any mistake about it, for yonder steamer is exactly where the Ludwig Gadd ought to be; and there is no other craft anywhere in sight.”
The other three men forthwith stepped to the nearest port that would afford a view of the chase, and gazed eagerly ahead. And there, immediately over the long, tapering, conical-pointed bow of the Flying Fish they beheld, some ten miles distant, a small, faintly denned grey blotch on the mirror-like surface of the sea, with a trail of black smoke issuing from it, as though the furnaces on board her had just been freshly stoked.
“We will descend and take to the water at once,” remarked Mildmay. “The conditions could not possibly be more favourable for the success of our plans; and I take it that we shall all be glad to get this business over as soon as possible, and our suspense brought to an end.”
Therewith he laid his hand upon a small wheel, and gave it two or three turns, thus partially opening the main air-valve and admitting a thin stream of air into the vacuum chambers of the Flying Fish, with the result that the huge craft at once began to settle down toward the surface of the sea, upon which, a few minutes later, she floated buoyantly as a soap-bubble. Then the main air-pumps were set to work, forcing compressed air into the vacuum chambers, and causing the ship to sink very gradually in the water, while at the same time, to facilitate the operation of sinking, water was admitted into certain of the ballast chambers in the ship’s bottom until she floated at her ordinary trim for cruising on the surface of the sea—that is to say, with the whole of her immense propeller completely submerged, and her conical-pointed bow buried to the depth of a foot or so. During this operation of submergence the engines had been stopped, but they were now sent ahead again at full speed; and some ten minutes later the singular-looking craft ranged up on the weather quarter of a big black-hulled steamer of about three thousand tons register, the round stern of which bore the name of Ludwig Gadd in large, yellow-painted Russian characters. This alone was sufficient to identify her beyond question as the convict-ship of which they were in search; but if further evidence had been needed it was to be found in the “pen”—a stout, substantially built wooden structure of closely set palings, about ten feet high, that occupied nearly the whole of the fore-deck, except a narrow alley-way on each side of it to allow of the passage of the crew fore and aft, and which included the great main hatchway, the covers of which had been replaced by a stout grating, with a small aperture in it just large enough for a man to squeeze through, and at which a soldier with a loaded rifle stood guard.
There were not many people visible about the convict-ship’s decks, for the hour was still early, and the business of the day had not yet begun—although, had she been British, her crew would already have been at the job of washing the decks and scouring the paint and brass-work. But here a solitary seaman slouched to and fro on the topgallant forecastle, keeping a perfunctory lookout; two or three others lolled over the rail forward, staring in stupid, open-mouthed wonderment at the silver shape of the Flying Fish; and the officer of the watch paced the bridge athwartships with an air of great importance, pausing for a moment every time he passed the compass, to glance into its bowl, or murmur a word to quicken the vigilance of the helmsman.
As the Flying Fish, her name temporarily masked by tarpaulins carelessly dropped over it, ranged up on the other craft’s starboard quarter, close enough to heave a biscuit aboard her, this man paused in his strutting march, and, standing at the extreme end of the bridge, gazed with quite visible perturbation at the strange apparition that seemed to have sprung from nowhere in particular within a very few minutes; and presently, having meanwhile seemingly made up his mind that what he beheld was really a ship, hailed in Russian—
“Ho, the ship ahoy! Port your helm, and sheer off a bit; you’ll be aboard me if you are not careful!” At the same time he waved his hand to his own helmsman to starboard his helm.
But Mildmay was a British naval officer—a man who, by training and the tradition of the Service, had acquired the habit of prompt resolution, and an equal promptitude of action in the conversion of such resolution into an accomplished fact. The helmsman of the Ludwig Gadd, therefore, had scarcely begun to revolve his steering-wheel ere the Flying Fish, with her speed accurately reduced to that of the other vessel, had sheered still closer, while von Schalckenberg, prompted by his companion, hailed in Russian, through one of the pilot-house ports—
“Ludwig Gadd, ahoy! Is your captain on deck?”
“No, he is not,” bawled back the Russian officer. “Why should he be on deck at this unearthly hour of the morning? And if you do not instantly sheer off, I will give orders to my men to open fire upon you! What do you want? and what do you mean by sheering up alongside me in this manner?”
The professor rapidly translated this communication to Mildmay, and at once, again prompted by the latter, replied—
“Be good enough to stop your engines at once, sir, and send a message to your captain that his presence is required on the bridge. I have an important communication to make to him. And, for your own sake, you will do well to say nothing about opening fire upon us; for, as you may see for yourself, our machine-gun is already trained to sweep your decks, while a single torpedo would suffice to blow you out of the water. I beg to assure you that resistance is quite useless; you are absolutely at our mercy, and you will therefore be well advised to yield prompt obedience to our request!”
The Russian stood staring with mingled fury and bewilderment for a few seconds; and then, having apparently arrived at the conclusion that discretion would perhaps in this case prove the better part of valour, he laid his hand upon the engine-room telegraph apparatus. A tinkling of bells in the ship’s interior was distinctly heard by those aboard the Flying Fish, and presently the churning of water about the convict-ship’s rudder suddenly ceased, showing that her engines had been stopped. At the same moment the officer on her bridge called a sailor to him, and, with a few brief words, undistinguishable to those in the Flying Fish’s pilot-house, dispatched him to the interior of the vessel.
It is probable that the skipper of the Ludwig Gadd had already been awakened by the hailing that had passed between the two craft, for in less than five minutes he emerged from the cabin under the poop, and, making his way forward, leisurely ascended to the bridge, where he was at once accosted by the officer in charge. He listened gravely to this individual’s communication, glancing with much curiosity meanwhile at the strange glittering shape that floated quietly close alongside, and then, striding to the starboard extremity of the narrow structure upon which he stood, he hailed, in true nautical fashion—
“Ship ahoy! What ship is that?”
“Are you the captain of the Ludwig Gadd?” hailed back the professor, ignoring the previous question.
“Ay, ay,” answered the skipper, waving his hand impatiently. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“You have on board your ship a certain Colonel Sziszkinski, who is being transported as a convict. Is it not so?” answered the professor.
“How do you suppose I should know?” yelled back the skipper, savagely. “I know nothing whatever about the convicts aboard here. If your business has to do with any of them, you had better see the officer who is going out in charge of them.”
“Of course,” commented Mildmay, when this had been translated to him. “I ought to have thought of that. Ask him to send for the fellow to come up on to the bridge.”
This was done; and about a quarter of an hour later a man attired in a green military uniform, with a sword belted to his side, and spurs screwed to the heels of his boots, ascended to the bridge and was promptly engaged in conference by the skipper. Presently the latter came to the starboard end of the bridge, accompanied by the soldier, and hailed—
“This is Captain Popovski, the officer in charge of the convicts. He desires to know what is your business with him.”
“Tell him,” returned von Schalckenberg, “that we have on board a prisoner to be exchanged for Colonel Sziszkinski, who has been unjustly condemned.”
The Russian soldier and sailor conferred together for a moment, and then the latter hailed—
“You have, of course, a proper warrant for this exchange?”
“No,” answered the professor; “we have no warrant beyond our power to enforce our demands. Yet I think this should be sufficient, since we can sink you in an instant if you are foolish enough to prove contumacious. Be good enough, therefore, to bring Colonel Sziszkinski on deck at once, and send him, unhurt, aboard us. In exchange for him we will hand you over a man who calls himself Count Vasilovich.”
The two Russian officers again conferred together for several minutes, frequently directing their glances at the Flying Fish, as though searching her for confirmatory evidence of her power to enforce her crew’s demands; and at length the Russian skipper, facing about, waved his hand and shouted—
“All right; we are willing to make the exchange. One prisoner is as good as another to us, so long as we can show the number contained on our list. We will send the colonel to you forthwith.”
And thereupon he faced about and gave certain orders to his subordinate officer, who in his turn bawled an order to the boatswain to pipe away one of the quarter boats. The soldier, meanwhile, descended from the bridge and went below, doubtless to issue his own orders for the release of the prisoner. A minute later some Russian sailors were seen to go shambling aft aboard the convict-ship and busy themselves upon the task of lowering a boat, which they presently got afloat and took to the Ludwig Gadd’s gangway. And at this point in the proceedings Mildmay shouted through the speaking-tube to Lethbridge that no torpedo-shells would be required; and would he be good enough to bring Vasilovich up on deck, in readiness to hand the fellow over in exchange for the colonel.
Lethbridge proved much more prompt in action than the people on board the convict-ship, and within three minutes of the receipt by him of Mildmay’s communication he stood upon the deck of the Flying Fish, in the company of von Schalckenberg and Vasilovich, awaiting the arrival of the boat by means of which the exchange of prisoners was to be effected.
The amazement of Vasilovich was profound at finding himself afloat in the open sea, with the convict-ship—the name on the bows and stern of which was easily decipherable by him—close alongside. He stared alternately about him and at the steamer that lay gently heaving upon the slight swell within a biscuit-toss of him with an expression of mingled bewilderment and incredulity that proved highly diverting to the two men between whom he stood; and presently, turning to the professor, he gasped—
“Why, Herr Professor, what does this mean? When you last night called upon me I was in my own château at Pargolovo; and when you compelled me to enter this ship—if ship it is—it was stationary on dry land. Now it is afloat, upon the waters of the Black Sea, if I am to believe my eyes! I cannot understand it! What does it mean?”
“It means, Count,” replied von Schalckenberg, “that what you deemed an impossibility has been accomplished. When you received that telegram yesterday, announcing the departure of the Ludwig Gadd from Odessa, with Colonel Sziszkinski on board her as a convict, you believed that a man who had dared to oppose certain nefarious plans of yours had at length been effectually removed from your path, and was at the same time undergoing a wholesome punishment for his temerity. Instead of which, you and he are about to change places; you to go on board the Ludwig Gadd as a convict, there and in the island of Sakhalien to pay the inadequate penalty of your countless offences, and the colonel to come here, as our honoured guest, until we are able to place him and his daughter, finally and for ever, beyond the reach of other tyrants like yourself.”
“Sziszkinski and I to change places?” ejaculated Vasilovich. “That shall never be! I know not who you are—you people who have perpetrated this monstrous outrage upon a faithful servant and personal friend of the Tsar—but I know this, that ere long you will curse the day upon which you planned it. Think you that his Majesty will allow such colossal insolence as yours to go unpunished? I tell you that—but enough; I will not degrade myself by further bandying of words with you.”
The professor duly translated this blustering speech to Colonel Lethbridge, causing the latter to smile, at sight of which Vasilovich ground his teeth, and cursed the two men roundly in Russian. But he was biding his time. He saw that a boat from the convict-ship was about to visit the strange craft on board which he found himself; he noted the fact that his abductors apparently consisted of four men only; and he confidently believed that upon the arrival of the boat alongside it would but be necessary for him to declare himself to her crew, and issue to them his orders, to insure the capture of the strangers and their extraordinary ship, out of hand. Meanwhile the convict-ship’s gig, with four oarsmen and a coxswain in her, was hanging on to the foot of her parent vessel’s gangway-ladder; and presently a file of Russian soldiers, with bayonets fixed, were seen to approach the gangway, escorting between them a prisoner. Arrived at the gangway, one of the two soldiers descended the ladder and seated himself in the stern-sheets of the gig; the prisoner, heavily ironed, was next assisted down the ship’s side into the boat, where he seated himself beside the soldier already there; and the second soldier then followed, placing himself on the other side of the prisoner. A few minutes then elapsed, at the expiration of which the officer who had been presented as Captain Popovski appeared at the gangway, and with much care and circumspection lowered himself gingerly down the side-ladder into the gig, where he seated himself square in the centre of the stern-sheets. He then gave an order to the coxswain, who repeated it to the boat’s crew. The bow oarsman bore the boat off from the ship’s side, the oar-blades flashed into the water, and a minute later Captain Popovski was standing on the deck of the Flying Fish, exchanging the most elaborate and ceremonious of bows with von Schalckenberg and Lethbridge, as his small deep-set eyes flashed fore and aft in inquisitive scrutiny of the few visible details of the extraordinary ship on board which he found himself. He appeared as though about to speak, but the professor forestalled him.
“Captain Popovski,” said von Schalckenberg, in Russian, “I have to tender to you my most profound apologies for having thus somewhat unceremoniously interrupted the progress of your voyage; but unfortunately the information upon which I have acted came to me too late to render any other course possible. Knowing, however, how unpleasant this delay must be to you, I propose to render it as brief as may be. Perhaps, therefore, you will have the goodness to give instructions to your men to bring Colonel Sziszkinski up the side to us, here, forthwith; and we can then proceed with and complete the exchange at once.”
The captain bowed, though the expression of his features betrayed the disappointment he experienced at such extreme promptitude of action on the part of the strangers in whose company he found himself. His curiosity had been very keenly aroused by the mysterious appearance of the Flying Fish upon the scene, by the peculiar and indeed unique model and structure of the ship herself, and by the singular blending of politeness with autocratic authority that characterised the demeanour of her crew; and he had hoped that an offer of hospitality by the strangers would have afforded him an opportunity to view the interior of the strange craft, and thus perhaps have enabled him to pick up some few scraps of information concerning her. But clearly this was to be denied him. He therefore proceeded to the head of the gangway-ladder and gave an order that presently resulted in the appearance of Colonel Sziszkinski, accompanied by the two armed guards.
A single glance at the prisoner sufficed to satisfy von Schalckenberg that Captain Popovski was acting in good faith. He bowed to the officer, and said—
“Yes, that is the man we want. Will you have the goodness, Captain, to direct your men to remove his fetters and put them upon this man,”—indicating Vasilovich.
“Stop!” shouted Vasilovich, suddenly stepping forward a pace from the position he had hitherto passively occupied between the professor and Lethbridge, and throwing out his arm with an authoritative gesture towards Captain Popovski. “Stop! I forbid you to take the slightest notice of what that man says. I am Count Vasilovich, a personal friend of his Majesty the Emperor—you have no doubt often heard my name, and are fully aware of the power and influence that I possess. In the name of his Majesty I command you to seize this ship and make prisoners of these men whom you see here, and any other persons whom you may find on board. There are but four unarmed men here to oppose you, as you may see, while there are four of us, three being armed. Soldiers, attention!”
He paused suddenly, for von Schalckenberg’s hand was on his collar, and von Schalckenberg’s pistol-barrel was making its presence uncomfortably felt as the muzzle pressed coldly against his scalp just behind the left ear.
“What?” ejaculated the professor. “Is it possible that you have so soon forgotten the capabilities of this little toy of mine? Be silent, man, if you do not wish your sinful, misspent life to come to a sudden and violent end. I give you your choice: Will you die where you stand, or will you go peaceably aboard yonder ship?”
“I will go,” sullenly answered Vasilovich, through his clenched teeth.
“Good!” remarked von Schalckenberg, cheerfully. “Proceed, Captain Popovski, if you please.”
The Russian officer, who had been watching this little scene with a kindling eye and swiftly changing emotions, waved his hand to his men, who at once stolidly proceeded to remove the fetters from the limbs of Sziszkinski, and place them upon those of the savagely scowling count.
“You shall pay dearly for this outrage, Captain Popovski,” hissed Vasilovich, as he felt the cold iron being clamped round his wrists. “Only wait until his Majesty—”
“Silence!” exclaimed Popovski, angrily. “Remember that you are my prisoner, and learn to treat me with proper respect. If you give me the least trouble I will have you flogged. I have broken many a prouder spirit than yours, my man, and doubt not that I can break yours also, should it be necessary. Now, march!” And he waved his hand imperiously toward the gangway, through which Count Vasilovich and the two soldiers who had him in custody promptly disappeared.
“I trust, Captain, that your new prisoner is not going to give you trouble,” remarked the professor, blandly.
“I trust not—for his own sake,” grimly replied Popovski. “If he does, I shall know how to deal with him.”
He lingered for a moment, to afford the strangers an opportunity to invite him below; then, perceiving that no such invitation was to be forthcoming, he resumed—
“Well, monsieur, I presume that the exchange which you have forced upon me is now completed, and I may go?”
“Undoubtedly,” answered von Schalckenberg, with much suavity of manner. “And take with you, Captain, the expression of our profound appreciation of the extreme courtesy wherewith you have acceded to our request. Believe me, monsieur, we shall never forget it, but shall consider ourselves as for ever indebted to you. I very deeply regret that the exigencies of the situation render it impossible for me to invite you below, but if you will allow me to summon a steward—”
“On no account whatever, monsieur,” answered the captain, hiding his chagrin in a grim smile. “You are doubtless as eager as I am to proceed. I have, therefore, the honour to bid you a very good morning!”
And therewith, bowing low, he turned and passed through the gangway, down the ladder, and so into his boat, which a few minutes later was once more dangling at the davits of the convict-ship, while Count Vasilovich was being inducted into his new quarters among his fellow convicts.