“The Diario has just arrived,” he said. “I haven’t tried to read it yet, but the liner has been attacked.”
Dick, who was superintending the building of the sluice, hastily scrambled up the bank, and Stuyvesant, taking the newspaper, sat down in the shade of the tower. He knew more Castilian than the others, who gathered round him as he translated.
The liner, the account stated, had the coast in sight shortly before dark and was steaming along it when a large, black funnel steamer appeared from behind a point. The captain at once swung his vessel round and the stranger fired a shot, of which he took no notice. It was blowing fresh, the light would soon fade, and there was a group of reefs, which he knew well, not far away. The raider gained a little during the next hour and fired several shots. Two of the shells burst on board, killing a seaman and wounding some passengers, but the captain held on. When it was getting dark the reefs lay close ahead, with the sea breaking heavily on their outer edge, but he steamed boldly for an intricate, unmarked channel between them and the land. In altering his course, he exposed the vessel’s broadside to the enemy and a shot smashed the pilot-house, but they steered her in with the hand-gear. The pursuer then sheered off, but it got very dark and the vessel grounded in a position where the reef gave some shelter.
Nothing could be done until morning, but as day broke the raider reappeared and had fired a shot across the reef when a gunboat belonging to the state in whose territorial waters the steamer lay came upon the scene. She steamed towards the raider, which made off at full speed. Then the gunboat took the liner’s passengers on board, and it was hoped that the vessel could be re-floated.
“A clear story, told by a French or Spanish sailor who’d taken a passage on the ship,” Bethune remarked. “It certainly didn’t come from one of the British crew.”
“Why?” Jake asked.
Bethune smiled. “A seaman who tells the truth about anything startling that happens on board a passenger boat gets fired. The convention is to wrap the thing in mystery, if it can’t be denied. Besides, the ability to take what you might call a quick, bird’s-eye view isn’t a British gift; an Englishman would have concentrated on some particular point. Anyhow, I can’t see how the boat came to be where she was at the time mentioned.” He turned to Dick and asked: “Do you know, Brandon?”
“No,” said Dick, shortly, “not altogether.”
“Well,” resumed Bethune, “I’ve seen the antiquated gunboat that came to the rescue, and it’s amusing to think of her steaming up to the big auxiliary cruiser. It’s doubtful if they’ve got ammunition that would go off in their footy little guns, though I expect the gang of half-breed cut-throats would put up a good fight. They have pluck enough, and the country they belong to can stand upon her dignity.”
“She knows where to look for support,” Stuyvesant remarked. “If the other party goes much farther, she’ll get a sharp snub up. What’s your idea of the situation?”