“She’s been under fire!” said the Captain in astonishment.
“Ay, ay, raked fore and aft by bow chasers,” was the comment of the men.
“Stand by to lower the boat. Let go!” The boat sank to the sea, shipshape and even, and Hume, with a word to the Captain, slipped down into her.
“Give way!” cried Webster, standing up in the stern-sheets. The men put their backs into it, and very soon an active tar, making use of his toes and hands, was on the quarter-deck. He took one quick look around, then let down a rope, up which the rest scrambled one after the other. An extraordinary spectacle met their gaze: the well was littered with splinters; the ladder reaching to the main-deck was smashed; the entrance to the alley-way blocked with the iron wall of the cabin, which had been torn away from its fastenings. On the starboard side, however, the deck was clear, and passing round, they went up the step to the main-deck. The starboard side here was free, but on the port side the deck was ploughed up, and hampered with a part of the bridge and portion of the boat, while the row of skylights were shattered into pieces.
Sending a couple of men aloft to bring down the man on the booby, Webster and Hume went below to examine the state-room. The table was set for dinner, but the plates were clean, and the meal had not been served. Fallen over on the table was a—bottle of whisky, from which the spirit had run out over the cloth, still filling the room with a strong odour, and on the floor was a broken glass. The cabin door opening into the saloon was open, and an inspection showed that the contents had been overhauled, the boxes standing open, and the floors covered with clothing which had been hastily tossed out.
On a small table, in the Captain’s room, was the log-book, the last entry broken off—
“1 degree North latitude, 30 West longitude. Towards evening sighted a cruiser, which showed the Brazilian (National) colours, and held on. She signalled for our colours. Run up the National flag, when she hauled down her colour and ran up the Government flag, at the same time signalling us to lay-to. Expecting little mercy if she found out the nature of our cargo, made a run for it. She gave chase, and opened fire with her bow guns. Cruiser gave up the chase at dusk, just as a discharge from her bow guns severely mauled us. Irene making water fast, and resolved to take the boats and—”
“That explains her state,” mused Webster, as he turned over the pages of the log, which showed that the Irene, 1,500 tons, had left Bristol for Rio in June, 1893, and had up to the last entry made an uneventful voyage.
“It’s a monstrous thing,” said Frank, “that a peaceful merchant steamer should have been served in this way.”
“She probably carries contraband of war, and navy men don’t go to much ceremony before playing bowls with a blockade-runner. Ask the skipper; he’s been at the game often, and by the same token I believe he took command of the Swift to wipe off old scores. Let’s get below.”