CHAPTER III
The Bomb in the Hold
"Well, that's a cool request," soliloquized Webb. "The old chap wants us to act the part of the cat, and hook the monkey's chestnuts out of the fire. All in a day's work, I suppose."
He glanced at the Portuguese skipper, who was anxiously awaiting the Sub's reply.
"It seems to me a simple matter," said Tom, "to clap on the hatches and carry them into the Tagus. We'll have to tow you, I suppose. There are several of your war-ships off Belem, and I fancy they'll be only too glad of a chance to collar a few Huns."
The captain of the Douro shook his head.
"Senhor, you do not quite understand. These pirates are armed. We are not. Moreover they threaten to blow up the ship."
"Very good," decided the Sub. "Unship the hatches. Stand by, men; take cover until we find out what these rascals intend doing. Laddie, you imp of mischief, keep to heel."
The dog obeyed, reluctantly. Already he had his suspicions that there was danger. His instinct prompted him to bound forward and grapple with the foe.
Deftly the fore hatchway cover was drawn aside. A ray of brilliant sunshine penetrating the narrow opening played with a pendulum-like movement into the dark recesses as the vessel rolled from side to side. The Sub deemed it safe to show himself, since the eyes of the imprisoned Huns were likely to be dazzled by the sudden glare.
"Now then!" he shouted sternly. "Do you surrender?"
"Nein," was the guttural reply; "we vos stop here. If you attempt to damage us do, den we der ship sink."
"All right, please yourself," rejoined Webb coolly. "Only remember, you'll be cooped up under hatches, and I need not remind you that it's a mighty unpleasant death, and you have only yourselves to blame for the consequences of your rash decision."
The trapped Huns conversed amongst themselves for some moments. Apparently their spokesman had been impressed by the Sub's view of the situation, and was communicating the news to his fellows.
"Don't hurry on our account," continued Webb cheerfully. "The odds are that we shall get to the Mediterranean before your submarine. But please do make up your minds."
"You vos our lives spare?" enquired the Hun spokesman anxiously.
"Of course; you will be treated as prisoners of war," replied the young officer promptly.
"Every von of us?"
"Yes, every man jack of you."
"Goot; den we surrender make."
One by one five Germans stumbled up the ladder, each man raising his hands high above his head as he appeared above the coaming. Mistrust was written upon their brutal-looking faces until they found that no attempt was made to harm them. Then their demeanour became insolently defiant towards the smiling young officer.
Webb stepped aside and conferred with the Portuguese captain. The latter nodded his head emphatically.
"Si, senhor; there were six," he declared.
The smile vanished from Webb's face.
"Which of you speak English?" he enquired of the five prisoners.
"Me," replied the man who had tendered the surrender. "Before der war I vos in der English merchantship——"
"Never mind about what you were," said Webb. "The point is: six of you boarded this vessel. There are only five on deck. How about it?"
"We tell you all about it when in the boat we vos," declared the spokesman, glancing over the side at the waiting cutter.
"You'll tell me now," corrected the Sub with unmistakable firmness. "Otherwise I'll have you put in irons."
For a brief instant the Hun hesitated.
"Der six man, Hans, below is," he explained. "He vos stop and light a bomb. Ach! You vos do nodings. You promise make to all our lives spare."
The Sub realized that he had been done. It was up to him to do his best, even at the risk of his life, to prevent the destruction of the ship. It was obviously unfair to risk the lives of his men in a task that, but for his precipitate pledge, need never have been undertaken.
"Keep those fellows on deck under close arrest. The boarding party will remain here," he exclaimed, addressing the coxswain petty officer of the cutter. "I'm going below."
Without hesitation Webb descended the ladder into the gloomy depths of the fore hold. Groping until his feet touched the iron floor, he waited while his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. The place was crowded with cargo, for the most part tiers of barrels. Fore and aft ran a narrow space, terminating at the transverse steel bulkheads.
A faint hissing sound was borne to his ears. For'ard a splutter of dim reddish sparks told him that already the time-fuse had been lighted; but the Hun responsible for the firing of the bomb had not yet bolted for the deck. Was it possible that he was going to throw away his life in a useless act of revenge upon the Douro? Or was the time-fuse of sufficient length for him to remain in the hold for several minutes before making a dash for safety?
In any case the Sub had no time to debate upon the situation. His chief concern was to save the ship. Unhesitatingly he made his way towards the hissing fuse.
"Tamped" by means of a bale of cotton, the bomb had been placed against the curved tapering side of the ship. Only a few inches of the fuse was visible. It seemed a matter of a few seconds before the powerful explosive would be detonated.
Placing his boot upon the ignited tape, Webb severed the fuse. As he knelt there, in order to make certain that the sparks were thoroughly extinguished, a pair of powerful hands gripped him from behind. The desperate Hun, hitherto hidden in the after part of the hold, had thrown himself upon the young officer.
Taken by surprise, although he had been prepared for a frontal attack, Webb found himself stretched upon his back with a burly Teuton kneeling on his chest. The Hun's left hand was pressed over the Sub's mouth, thus effectually preventing him from making a sound, while with his right the fellow groped for the severed portion of the fuse, which, released from the pressure of Webb's boot, had again burst into a splutter of angry sparks.
[Illustration: "ONE BY ONE FIVE GERMANS STUMBLED UP THE LADDER">[
For a seemingly interminable time Webb struggled desperately yet unavailingly. Slowly yet surely the relentless pressure on his chest was telling. Multitudes of lights flashed before his eyes; vainly he gasped for breath, writhing frantically to refill his lungs with air. Dimly he wondered why his men had not come to his assistance. His mind was too confused to remember that it was by his express order that he had forbidden anyone to accompany him upon his hazardous enterprise.
Suddenly the Hun gave vent to a yell of terror. His grasp relaxed. Again he yelled, this time the scream trailing off into a muffled, choking sob. A savage and determined snarl gave the half-dazed Tom an inkling of the identity of his rescuer. It was Laddie.
Unseen and unheard by the Sub the sheep-dog had followed him down the ladder. Eager to face the danger, yet fearing to pass his master's chum, the dog had lurked in the darkness until the German had launched his treacherous attack. In reality the seemingly long interval during which Webb was at the mercy of his assailant was but a few seconds, for with a bound Laddie flew at the Hun's neck.
At the first contact of the animal's teeth in the back of his neck the Hun had yelled. An instant later Laddie had shifted his grip, and was savagely worrying the German's throat. Vainly the man strove to throw off his four-footed enemy. Laddie was not to be denied.
Hearing the sound of the encounter, and guessing rightly that their young officer was in danger, several of the cutter's crew swarmed down into the fore hold. They were barely in time to save the German from death. Even then the dog was reluctant to relax his jaws.
Once more the still fizzling portion of the severed fuse was extinguished. The prisoner was hauled unceremoniously out of the hold, while Webb was assisted to the deck, where in the open air he soon recovered sufficiently to direct operations.
"They're signalling, sir," reported the coxswain, indicating the Portchester Castle, which now lay about a quarter of a mile on the port beam of the Douro. "They want to know what the delay is for."
"Tell them that the vessel's engines are disabled, that an attempt has been made to destroy her by means of bombs, and that we have six prisoners. Ask instructions how to proceed."
A signalman perched upon the guard-rail of the Douro's shattered bridge quickly sent the message. After a brief interval came the order:
"Cutter to be recalled. Bring off prisoners. Inform commanding officer of Douro that we propose to take her in tow."
Without resistance the six Huns were bundled into the boat. The Hun who had attacked Webb in the hold was now quite incapable of so doing, even had he been inclined. With a bandage applied to his lacerated throat he crouched in the stern-sheets, anxiously watching with ill-concealed terror Laddie's fierce-looking blue eyes.
The Portuguese skipper was profuse in his expressions of thanks when Sub-lieutenant Webb took his departure. For the time being all danger was at an end. There was every reason to believe that the Douro would in safety make her destination.
"Very good, carry on," was Captain Staggles's stereotyped remark after Tom had made his report. The Sub saluted and went aft, wondering dimly what manner of man his new skipper could be, since his spoken expression of the Sub's conduct was limited to four words.
For the next twelve hours the Portchester Castle towed the crippled Douro. Late in the afternoon the latter was taken over by a couple of tugs that had been summoned from the Tagus by wireless. Free to resume her interrupted voyage, the British armed merchantman acknowledged the dip of the Portuguese ensign, and was soon reeling off the miles that separated her from Gibraltar.