Chapter Twenty Two.
The Pirate Cruiser.
When, having reached the dining-room of the Flying Fish, Mildmay changed out of his diving-suit into his ordinary clothes, it was found that he was so severely bruised and strained that the professor, in his capacity of emergency medical adviser to the party, insisted upon his immediate retirement to his cabin and his bed. There the worthy man subjected him to so vigorous a massage, and so generous an anointing with a certain embrocation of his own concocting, that two days later the genial sailor was again able to be up and about. And, meanwhile, Sir Reginald and Colonel Sziszkinski continued the examination of the wreck, but unfortunately without any satisfactory result; for although they succeeded in finding the captain’s cabin, and bringing therefrom, and from some of the other cabins, a considerable number of documents, it was found that, owing to their long submersion, they had become so completely sodden that any attempt to handle them, while still wet, reduced them to pulp; and when the alternative of carefully drying them was tried, they became so exceedingly brittle that they simply crumbled to pieces, while, even on the fragments that they contrived to preserve, the writing was so nearly obliterated as to be quite undecipherable. Nevertheless, they preserved as much as they could, in the hope that the experts in such matters, at home, might be more successful than themselves. But it may here be stated that the experts also failed; and the name and nationality of the ship, as well as the identity of those who perished in her at the murderous hands of the savage M’Bongwele, remain a mystery to this day.
On the third day following Mildmay’s adventure with the octopus, the Flying Fish being once more berthed on the beach near the spot where the party had made their amazingly rich haul of rubies, all hands had adjourned to the deck after dinner to enjoy the delicious coolness of a breeze off the sea. Ida had gone to bed somewhat earlier than usual that evening, complaining that she was not feeling very well, her symptoms being a feverish pulse and a slightly increased temperature, toward the alleviation of which the professor had administered a fairly liberal dose of quinine.
Sir Reginald and Lady Olivia, naturally anxious in everything relating to their only child’s health, were discussing the matter with von Schalckenberg, who was endeavouring, without his usual success, to reassure the pair, who were of opinion that the African climate was to blame for their daughter’s indisposition.
“Well,” at length said the professor, “if you really think so, nothing in this world is easier than for us to change it. We can ascend into the atmosphere to any height we please, thus obtaining any desired temperature; we can, in a very few hours, reach any other country that you would care to visit; or, which is perhaps better than either, we can go out to sea and leisurely cruise about in any required direction, and in absolutely pure air.”
“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Mildmay, who, although chatting with Mlle. Feodorovna, had overheard the professor’s words. “There is no sanatorium like old ocean; no doctor like Father Neptune, believe me, Elphinstone. A week’s cruise somewhere away out there to the eastward would set the little darling up far more effectively than all the professor’s drugs. Try it, man; it can do no harm; and I’ll bet you a—a—well, let us say a peck of rubies, that you’ll not regret it.”
“Well, while declining your modest little bet, Mildmay, I really feel more than half inclined to act upon your suggestion,” answered Sir Reginald, with a laugh. “There is no particular reason why we should not, I fancy, beyond the fact that the professor wants to shoot one or two of those new zebras, and we can easily return here for that purpose. The fact is that I am beginning to tire a little of shore life, and I think a trip out to sea would do us all good. What do the rest say?”
“So far as I am concerned I will gladly go anywhere, or do anything, for Ida’s sake,” answered Lethbridge.
“Thanks, old chap; I know you will,” said Sir Reginald. “What say you, Colonel?”—to Sziszkinski—“would you like to go with us, or would you prefer to remain here until our return, and go in for shooting under the aegis of our friend Lobelalatutu?”
“Thank you very much, Sir Reginald, for offering me the choice,” answered the Russian. “I prefer to accompany you. I am quite of your own opinion, that a change will do us all good; and, like my friend, Monsieur Lethbridge, I will gladly go anywhere and do anything for the sake of the charming little Mademoiselle Ida.”
“And you, Mademoiselle?” asked Sir Reginald, turning to Mildmay’s companion.
“I?” she answered. “Oh, Monsieur Edouard—Sir Reginald, I mean—I am so happy on board this beautiful ship that I feel I shall never want to leave her. Please accept papa’s answer as mine also.”
“I am really very much obliged to you all for so cheerfully and readily falling in with my wishes,” said Sir Reginald. “Very well, then; it is settled that we go to sea for a week or two, as the mood takes us. Now, the next question is, Where shall we go? We certainly ought to have some definite objective, don’t you think? Does any one desire to go anywhere in particular?”
There was silence for a minute or two. Apparently no one wished to go anywhere in particular; or, if they did, they were not sufficiently eager to feel called upon to mention the fact.
At length Lady Olivia looked up.
“Has nobody a suggestion to make?” she asked, with a smile. “Then I will make one that I think will be sympathetically received by at least one of us—yourself, my dear Feodorovna. I have long had the wish to possess a really fine set of pearls, not the kind that one can go into any jeweller’s shop and buy, you know, but something quite out of the common; and it appears to me that this voyage of ours affords just the opportunity for somebody to fish those pearls up for me from the bottom of the sea. And I dare say that your papa—or somebody else—would be quite willing to do the same for you, dear. What do you say?”
“What do I say?” repeated the lovely young Russian. “Why, that I simply adore pearls.”
“Then, I think, Reginald, that you have your answer,” said Lady Olivia, turning to her husband.
“All right, dear,” he answered. “Pearl-fishing will suit me down to the ground; and if the ocean holds pearls enough to satisfy you, you shall have them. Now, Professor—Mildmay—where must we go in order to get those pearls? For, of course, we must go to some definite spot to look for them; we can’t go grubbing along the sea-bottom at random until we happen to stumble upon a bed of pearl-oysters, you know.”
“The most famous pearl-fishing grounds are situated in the Persian Gulf and off the coast of Ceylon,” answered Mildmay. “And I believe,” he added, “that in both cases they are Government property, and strictly preserved. But I have no doubt there are plenty of oyster-beds which are beyond the reach of the ordinary pearl-diver; and it is one of those that we must seek. We shall not be poaching on anybody’s preserves if we do this; and shall also stand a better chance of securing some good specimens.”
“Before you come to any definite decision, I should like to refer to a rather interesting manuscript book that I have in my cabin—the book that I recovered from the sunken wreck of the Daedalus, under circumstances which, perhaps, yet remain in your memory,” observed von Schalckenberg, addressing Sir Reginald. “I seem to remember,” he continued, “having come across a passage in it relating to a bed of pearl-oysters of immense value, the situation of which was then unknown to any one except the writer. If you will excuse me a moment, I will go and fetch it.”
“By all means,” said Sir Reginald. “From what you say, Professor, it would appear that the bed to which you refer is the identical one we want to find.”
The professor accordingly retreated; and presently returned with a small, leather-bound, and much discoloured book in his hand. His forefinger was between the pages, and he opened the book there.
“Yes,” he said, “I thought I was not mistaken. Here is the passage, under the heading of ‘Pearls. In Longitude 155 degrees 32 minutes 17 seconds East, and exactly under the Equator, there exists a small atoll, unnamed, and, I believe, unknown, unless it be to the natives of Matador and Greenwich Islands, which are in its neighbourhood. The islet, which is uninhabited, is little more than a mere rock, about a quarter of a mile long, and some fifty feet wide, over which the sea makes a clean breach in heavy weather; but the lagoon is about five miles long and three miles wide, with good anchorage for ships in a pretty uniform depth of ten fathoms. Two miles due west of this island there is a shoal, some seven miles long, by from two to four miles wide, with twenty-eight feet of water over it. And this shoal is almost entirely covered with pearl-oysters, yielding some of the finest and most perfect gems that I have ever seen.’ Now, what think you of that, my friend. Is that good enough for you?” demanded the professor.
“Quite good enough,” answered Sir Reginald. “Now, skipper,” he continued, turning to Mildmay, “how far off is this famous oyster-bed, and how long will it take us to get there?”
“What did you say is the position of the spot, Professor?” asked Mildmay.
The professor restated the longitude.
“Um!” observed Mildmay, figuring upon a piece of paper that he drew from his pocket; “it is a goodish step from here to there! roughly, about seven thousand miles, as the crow flies. As to how long it will take us to get there; we can do the distance in sixty hours, by going aloft into the calm belt, shutting ourselves in, and going full speed ahead. Otherwise—”
“Thanks, very much; and never mind the ‘otherwise,’” answered Sir Reginald. “This is going to be a sea trip; and we are going to do at least a part of it in leisurely fashion, say, about ten to fifteen knots an hour. When we are tired of that, and at night, we can go aloft and put on the speed if we wish. And, now that I come to think of it, is there any reason why we should not start at once?”
No one, it appeared, had any reason to advance against the baronet’s proposal. Accordingly, he and Mildmay forthwith adjourned to consult the chart and lay off the course; and ten minutes later the remainder of the party, who were still sitting on deck, awaiting the return of the absentees, became conscious of the fact that the night-breeze had suddenly strengthened; and when they looked about them in search of an explanation, they saw the sea about three hundred feet beneath them, and the land slipping away into the gloom of the night astern.
The travellers had been at sea a week, pottering along on the surface during the day, and rising some three hundred feet into the air at night—just high enough, in fact, to take them over and clear of the masts of any ships that they might happen to encounter during the hours of darkness—maintaining a tolerably uniform speed of ten knots through the air—not counting the acceleration or retardation of speed due to the varying direction and strength of the several winds that they met with. Thus they had been able to sleep at night with wide open ports, to their great comfort and enjoyment, and the manifest improvement of their health, as was particularly exemplified in the case of little Ida, who was by this time as well as even her parents could desire.
The hour was eleven o’clock in the forenoon—six bells, Mildmay called it—and the ship had been running on the surface for about an hour. The entire party were sitting out on deck under the awnings, amusing themselves in various ways, the two ladies, each with a book on her lap, to which it is to be feared she was giving but scant attention, and Ida, her father, Lethbridge, and the Russian colonel playing bull. It was a most lovely day, the sky without a cloud, the water smooth, and a soft but refreshing breeze was breathing out from the southward. The ship was steering herself, the self-steering apparatus having been thrown into action, as no other craft were in sight.
The horizon was not to remain bare for very long, however; for just as Mildmay rose to his feet with some idea of going below, the dull, muffled boom of a distant gun was heard, and, everybody at once looking round the horizon in search of the source of so very novel an occurrence, the topmast-heads and smoke of a steamer were seen just showing above the ocean’s rim, about three points on the starboard bow. She seemed to be in a hurry, too, if the dense volumes of smoke that poured from her as yet unseen funnels were to be taken as any criterion.
“Now, what craft will that be?” exclaimed “the skipper,” as he studied the two mastheads attentively. “A liner, I should say, by the length of her between her masts. Probably an ‘Orient,’ ‘Orient-Pacific,’ or ‘X. and Z.’ boat. But surely she did not fire that gun? And, if she did not—oho! what is this? There is another craft astern of her! I can just make out her mastheads rising above the horizon. Now, did number two fire that gun; and, if so, why? I must get my glasses; this promises to be interesting. And we shall see more of it presently; they are crossing our hawse in a diagonal direction, and edging this way.”
The game of bull was forthwith abandoned, as being of much less interest than the advent of two strange ships on the scene—for, singularly enough, these were the first craft that they had sighted since leaving the African coast—and everybody at once made a dash below for his or her own especial pair of binoculars.
The two strange craft were coming along at a great rate, and rising above the horizon very quickly; thus, by the time that Mildmay returned to the deck with his glasses in his hand, the leading ship was almost straight ahead, and had risen sufficiently to show her chart-house above the horizon, and to enable “the skipper” to see that she carried a wheel-house on top of the fore end of it, and a short awning abaft the wheel-house.
“Yes,” he muttered to himself, “she is a liner, undoubtedly; and an X. and Z. boat at that, unless I am greatly mistaken. Two masts—the mainmast stepped a long way aft; and two funnels amidships, pretty close together—yes; she is an X. and Z.; I’ll bet my hat on that. And she is steaming for all she is worth. I can see the ‘white feather’ blowing away from the top of her waste-pipes. Now, is she racing with that other chap; or—is she running away from him?”
He turned his binoculars upon the sternmost ship, which was also coming along at a great rate, and gradually lifting above the horizon. About half the length of her masts—two of them—was now showing; and as Mildmay focussed his lenses upon them an ejaculation of astonishment escaped his lips.
“A man-o’-war, by the Lord Harry!” he exclaimed. “Yes; there are her upper signal-yards, and her fighting-tops below them, clear enough. By the piper, this is growing interesting indeed. Now, who and what is she? and why is she chasing a British liner?—for she is chasing her, beyond a doubt!”
“Well, Mildmay, what do you make of them?” inquired Sir Reginald, as he at this moment stepped out on deck.
“I make of it,” answered Mildmay, “that the leading ship is an X. and Z. liner steaming for all she is worth; and that the second ship is a man-o’-war—a second-class cruiser, I should say—chasing her!”
“The dickens you do!” returned Sir Reginald. “Then what does it mean? Is it not something rather unusual?”
“It is so extremely unusual, that I am going to ask your permission to haul up a point or two, presently, that we may investigate the matter,” answered Mildmay. “There is only one possible explanation of it; and that is that war has quite suddenly broken out between England and some other Power. And yet that can scarcely be, either; for when we left home everything was quite quiet; the political horizon was as clear as it ever is, and—dashed if I can understand it. But anyhow, Elphinstone, I suppose we are not going to jog quietly along and see a British ship bullied by a foreigner without having a word or two to say about it, are we?”
“Not much!” answered Sir Reginald, emphatically, and with a flash of the eye that delighted Mildmay. “I know nothing of these matters,” he continued, “or how to proceed; but you do; so take charge, old chap, and give us your orders. We will obey them to the letter, I promise you.”
“A thousand thanks,” answered Mildmay. “Of course I need not tell you that to interfere in a case of this kind, with no knowledge of the facts, is a somewhat ticklish business. But, all the same, that is not going to stop me. I see, yonder, a British ship flying from a stranger; and with your kind permission I am going to lend her a hand.”
He raised his glasses to his eyes again. The hull of the leading ship had by this time almost topped the horizon, and it was now possible to see something of her shape. She was a fairly big craft, measuring, according to Mildmay’s estimate, about eight thousand tons; and her whole shape and appearance confirmed him in his original conviction that she was one of the X. and Z. Company’s boats. She flew no flag at her masthead, it is true; but Mildmay could now see that she had hoisted a blue ensign on her ensign staff.
“Under the command of a R.N.R. man,” he commented, as he saw this. “All right, old man; there is a friend within a few miles of you, whose proximity you probably don’t suspect; and we will see that you don’t come to any harm. Now let us have a look at t’other chap.”
The second craft was still hull-down; but her masts, funnels, tops of her ventilators, and the head of her ensign staff were all visible; and Mildmay noticed that she was showing no colours. This fact rendered the whole affair more puzzling than ever; for there could be no possible doubt that she was chasing the liner, and for a man-o’-war openly and undisguisedly to chase another ship, and not show her colours, was unprecedented, and most certainly not in accordance with any recognised rule of warfare.
Meanwhile, the rest of the party had come on deck, and were all intently watching the two ships through their binoculars as they animatedly discussed the puzzling situation.
“When do you intend to haul up, ‘skipper’?” asked Sir Reginald.
“Not yet,” answered Mildmay. “Perhaps in about ten minutes’ time—unless anything occurs of a character that would make it desirable to do so earlier. I want to see a little more of the game first.”
“Then there you have it!” exclaimed Lethbridge, as a flash, followed by a puff of brilliant white smoke, issued from the bows of the pursuing ship.
A jet of foam leaped up from the surface of the sea, about half a mile astern of the liner, and dissolved like steam in the dazzling sunshine. Then the boom of the gun came floating down to the ears of the watchers.
“A four-inch, by the sound of it,” remarked Mildmay. “And shotted, too. Clearly, the fellow is in earnest, whoever he may be. Now, what the dickens is the explanation of this enigma? And what is the nationality of the craft?”
“Can’t you tell by the build of her?” demanded Lethbridge. “I have always understood that you sailors had but to look at a ship to tell her nationality at once; at least that is the impression that one gathers from the general run of sea novels.”
“Yes,” answered Mildmay. “But that refers to the old days of wooden ships. There was a distinctiveness in the model of the wooden ship that was an almost infallible index to her nationality. But nowadays ships—and particularly war-ships—are built so much alike in shape that, except in a few rather extreme cases, it is practically impossible to identify them. That fellow, yonder, for instance, might be British, Dutch, German, Austrian, Italian, or Japanese, for all that one can tell by merely looking at him. Ah, there goes another gun!”
The shot this time struck somewhat nearer, throwing up three successive jets of water, the last of which appeared to be unpleasantly close to the stern of the chase.
“The fellow is overhauling her,” exclaimed Mildmay. “Now, Elphinstone, with your permission, I will shift our helm and alter our course forty-five degrees to the nor’ard.”
And, so saying, he entered the pilot-house; and a moment later the watchers saw the two distant craft swing back along the horizon until the leading ship bore two points on the Flying Fish’s starboard bow.
“If you have no objection, Sir Reginald, I should like a torpedo-shell put into our bow tube,” observed Mildmay, as he emerged from the pilot-house.
“Certainly,” answered Sir Reginald; “I will go below and put one in at once.”
“Better let me do it,” interposed the professor. “I know more about the working of them than you do; and, moreover, I am not so profoundly interested in this affair as you all seem to be. Besides, I shall not be gone longer than five minutes at the utmost.”
And, Sir Reginald offering no objection, the worthy man turned away and vanished through the pilot-house door.
The leading ship was by this time within about five miles of the Flying Fish, and steering a course that would take her square across the bows of the latter; the two—or, indeed, the three—ships were therefore nearing each other fast, and the men fell to debating the question whether or not the Flying Fish had yet been seen by either of the strangers. The craft was in her usual surface-running trim; that is to say, considerably more than half of her polished hull was submerged, leaving little to be seen except her small superstructure and her pilot-house, both of which were painted a delicate blue-grey colour that would be scarcely visible against the horizon astern. The chances, therefore, were strongly in favour of her invisibility. On the other hand, there was just a possibility that some keen eye aboard the liner, anxiously scanning the horizon in quest of help, might have sighted her; in which case a glimpse of the white ensign might be comforting. Mildmay therefore went to the flag-locker and drew forth the white ensign which, in virtue of his being a member of the Royal Yacht Squadron, Sir Reginald was entitled to fly, and ran it up to the truck of the ensign staff.
Whether it had been seen or not was difficult to say, for nothing in particular followed upon its exhibition, unless the discharge of another gun from the pursuing ship might be taken as a reply. And this time the shot went home to its mark; for as the observers turned their glasses upon the chase, her mainmast was seen to totter and fall by the board, cut short off by the deck. Luckily the spar did not go over the side, but lay, fore-and-aft, inboard; otherwise the rigging might have fouled the propeller and brought the ship to a standstill. As it was, she continued her flight as though nothing had happened.
“This matter has gone quite far enough,” exclaimed Mildmay, sharply, as he saw the liner’s mast fall. “Come inside, all of you, if you please. We may be under fire in another minute or two. Perhaps the ladies had better go below until this affair is settled—if you will be so kind,” he added, with a bow to Lady Olivia as she passed in through the pilot-house door, outside which he was standing.
When all the rest had entered, he followed, closing the door behind him, and at once ascended to the working chamber of the pilot-house, whither Sir Reginald and Lethbridge had preceded him. His first act was to increase the speed of the Flying Fish to thirty knots; and as he moved the lever forward, admitting a larger flow of vapour to the engine-cylinders, Lethbridge, who was standing at one of the windows, with his binoculars to his eyes, turned and said—
“What do you think of that, Mildmay?”
“What do I think of what?” retorted Mildmay, stepping to his side.
“That!” answered Lethbridge, pointing to the pursuing ship and handing over his glasses for the other to use. “The unknown has just hoisted to her masthead a black flag with a white skull and cross-bones in its centre. Is not that—?”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Mildmay. “You surely do not mean it. Let me have a look.”
He raised the glasses to his eyes for a moment and stared through them as though he felt that he could scarcely credit the evidence of his own senses. Then, as he thrust the glasses back into his friend’s hand, he exclaimed—
“The ‘Jolly Roger,’ as I am a living sinner! Well, that ‘takes the cake,’ and no mistake! Yes; the fellow is undoubtedly a genuine, up-to-date, twentieth-century pirate. If it had not been for that last shot I might have been inclined to believe the whole affair an elaborate joke in the very worst taste; but a man does not shoot another fellow’s mast away as a joke. No; that chap means business—and so do I! Ah, another shot! and—yes, here it comes—he is firing at us! Not at all badly aimed, either.”
As he spoke the loud rushing sound of the shot broke upon their ears; and a moment later it struck the sea about three yards astern of the Flying Fish, sending a column of white, steam-like foam and spray shooting some twenty feet into the air. Almost instantly another shot followed, which, judging from the sound, must have passed close over the pilot-house roof; to be followed, a few seconds later, by a third, which struck the water within a fathom of the ship’s sharp nose, which was just level with the water’s surface, and, owing to the speed of the ship, was sending up a fine, perpendicular jet of glassy water some ten feet high.
“Confound the fellow’s impudence!” exclaimed Sir Reginald. “Does the rascal think that he is going to make a prize of us? A fine rich prize we should make, too, did he but know it!”
“It is not that,” explained Mildmay. “It is the white ensign that he doesn’t like the look of. He probably takes us for some new-fangled sort of British gun-boat, bent upon interfering with his little game; and he wants to disable us. He is one of those pestilently persistent fellows who won’t take a hint and sheer off; he is as full of obstinacy as was the mammoth that chased me over yonder,”—with a jerk of his thumb toward the north—“on our first trip, and must be treated as we treated that mammoth. For if we don’t kill him, he will kill us—if he can. You see? Here comes another shot!”
It was a very close shave that time, the missile passing so close athwart the front of the pilot-house that its wind actually came, in a sudden, violent gust, in through the pilot-house window.
“We must put a stop to this at once, or the fellow will do us a mischief,” exclaimed Mildmay. “Kindly take the helm for a moment, Sir Reginald, if you please.”
Sir Reginald at once stepped to the tiller and laid his hand on it. “Where am I to steer for?” he asked.
“Head for the liner, in the first instance,” answered Mildmay, as he threw the self-steering apparatus out of gear; “and then bring the ship’s head very gradually round until you are pointing for the pirate’s stern.”
And, so saying, he stepped to the fore midship window of the pilot-house, laid his finger lightly upon the firing-button that controlled the discharge of the torpedo-shells from the tube in the extremity of the ship’s sharp snout, and so placed his eye that he brought the jack-staff forward in a direct line with a very small notch in
the window-frame. He stood thus, rigid and tense, while Sir Reginald did his part of the work; and presently he saw the jack-staff swinging slowly round toward the pirate cruiser. He waited thus until his two sights pointed something less than an eighth of a length ahead of the cruiser, and then he pressed the button hard. As he did so, something flashed like a sudden gleam of sunlight from the Flying Fish’s stem, a sheet of water some four or five yards in length leaped into the air from under the bows, and some six seconds later a blinding flash started out from the side of the cruiser, midway between her stem and her foremast. As the flash disappeared, Lethbridge, who was watching the ship through his binoculars, saw a great black patch on the cruiser’s side, exactly where the flash had occurred; and while he was still wondering what it could mean he became aware that the craft was rapidly settling by the head. And before he could sufficiently recover from his astonishment to utter a word, the cruiser’s bows sank to a level with the water, her stern rose high in the air, with the propeller still spinning round, and in another second she dived forward and disappeared, with the black flag still fluttering from her main truck.