A LUCKY SHOT TOOK AWAY A PORTION OF THE BRIDGE
"Just mark that wheel aft!" came in stentorian tones from Jack. "The last shot smashed the steering-gear on the bridge, and if we don't let 'em man the other gear they'll be helpless. Here you, Tom, and you, Charles, you make it your business to see that no one goes near it! Boys, make ready to board the trawler!"
They waved their hands at him, those gallant sailors, they cheered him with vigour, and then, peering over the bulwarks, watching every movement, they waited eagerly for the moment when the two ships would grind together. They drew nearer. Figures aboard the hostile trawler were now clearly visible; men still raced to and fro. Now and again a rifle was fired, and a bullet could be heard as it pinged against the steel sides of the vessel. Two men rushed aft towards the steering-gear which Jack had pointed out to his comrades, and, reaching it, measured their length at once, shot down by those told off to fire in that direction.
Less than five minutes later the two vessels came together with a clang and a grinding crash, and instantly, before the men picked out by Jack to lash them together could get a hawser over the side, a number of the British sailors had scrambled from their own ship and gained the deck of the hostile trawler. They swept along it like an avalanche, beating down the resistance of the deck hands. They threw them down the companion-way, just as they had done with the crew of their own captured vessel. They shouted down the engine-room hatch, and in but a few brief minutes they had assembled the whole of the engine-room staff on the deck, and Jack could be seen haranguing them for all the world as if these Germans could understand all that he said. And, as he talked, Larry stood beside him, as nonchalant a figure as ever, chewing his cigar, vastly entertained by all the proceedings.
"You get in and talk to 'em, Jack," he said. "Just tell 'em all that's wanted. Ef they keep on working hard, and play the game and what not, well, all will be well with them; ef not—— Well, let 'em know what then."
Jack nodded, Jack actually grinned, then mopped the perspiration from his hot forehead. "I knows! See here, you—you—sons o' guns," he said, bellowing the words at the Germans, "you'll get straight down below. Savvy? You'll stoke and grease and carry on as you did before; and if you don't, well no one will be there to help you. This 'ere Tom will go along to watch things. Tom, you've got a gun, ain't you?"
Tom had. Tom was a tall and sinewy individual—as honest a British sailor as you could meet in a day's march, but one who, if he wished, could adopt a sinister appearance. And sinister he looked now as he patted his rifle and glared at the prisoners. Then he held up one big battered forefinger and beckoned to them.
"You come right along here," he said. "You get right down below, double quick. Savvy! I'm comin' along behind you, don't you fear. You get in and carry on yer business. No," he added a moment later, shaking the same forefinger at one of the prisoners—a man with an evil cast of countenance, who glowered at him, "you ain't got no call to look at me like that. I'm harmless, I am! Only, just you take care of yourself, young feller! Just hop it, or things will begin to happen as won't be too comfortable for you!"