The Captain of the Kansas

by Louis Tracy

Then he learnt the significance of that column of smoke on the northern point. A fleet of at least forty canoes was advancing on the ship from the sea. Tide and paddles were swinging the small craft along at a spanking pace. They were already much nearer the vessel than the first batch of Indians, who had very cleverly contrived to enlist the attention of the defenders while the real attack was developing without let or hindrance. It was a smart ruse, worthy of a race of higher attainments than the tribe which is ranked lowest in the human scale. During long days of patient watching, they had probably estimated to a nicety the number of men on board. They reasoned that a show of force to the south would draw all eyes from the north, and the stronger squadron of canoes might be enabled to run under the bows of the ship so speedily and quietly that the occupants of the leading craft, men who could climb like monkeys, stood some chance of gaining the deck unobserved. That this was their design was proved by the abstention of the newcomers from firing or stone-slinging. They were gathering with the speed and silence of vultures.

Two mines protected the front of the Kansas, and several canoes had passed them. Indeed, Courtenay soon found that some of the assailants were already screened by the ship’s bows, but the larger number were clustered thickly round Tollemache’s infernal machines. It was well that a cool-headed sailor was called on to deal with this emergency. The captain of the Kansas even smiled as he appreciated the full meaning of the trick which his adversaries had tried to play on him, and the man who smiles in the face of danger is one to be depended on.

The six cords were numbered. He dropped No. 2, which he was holding, and seized Nos. 4 and 5. He drew them in, hand over hand, as rapidly as possible, but careful not to sacrifice a smooth tension to undue hurry. In a few seconds two deafening reports split the air, the glass front of the chart-house shook, pieces of the broken panes rattled on the floor, several scraps of iron, bolts, nuts and heavy nails fell on the decks and hatches, and a tremendous hubbub of yells came from the main body of Indians. A couple of heavily charged dynamite bombs had burst in their midst, dealing death and destruction over a wide area. Several canoes near the floating platforms were torn asunder and sank, while men were killed or wounded out of all proportion to the number of craft disabled.

Courtenay at once picked up the governing cord of the mine which he was about to fire in the first instance. He felt that the Alaculof flotilla would act in future on the “once bitten twice shy” principle where those innocent-looking little poles showed above sea level, and he must strike fierce blows while the opportunity served. The nine canoes on the south were not clustered around the bomb in the same manner as the others, but they were near enough to sustain heavy loss, and their affrighted crews had ceased to ply their paddles. So he fired that shell also, and had the satisfaction of seeing two more of the frail craft capsize.

He heard the crash of bullets against the ship’s sides; a volley of stones smashed several more panes of stout glass; many arrows were embedded in the woodwork: but he calmly pulled another cord, and blew a single loud blast on the siren. That was the agreed signal to warn those below that they must expect to be attacked from the fore part of the vessel. His shot-gun was lying on the table. He took it up, and faced forward again; several canoes were scurrying past and away from the ship as fast as the current and many arms could propel them. He fired both barrels at those within range on the port side. He reloaded, and the sharp snapping of revolver-shots told him that Tollemache and the Chilean were busy.

But the Indians were demoralized by the complete failure of their scheme. They had ceased firing and stone-slinging; they were flying for their lives. Courtenay wheeled round on Suarez.

“Now!” he cried, pointing to a speaking-trumpet. Suarez ran out on deck, put the megaphone to his mouth, and roared after the discomfited enemy a threat of worse things in store if they dared to come near the ship again. As he used the Alaculof language, the sounds he uttered were the most extraordinary that Courtenay had ever heard from a human throat—a compound of hoarse, guttural vowels, and consonants ending in a series of clicks—and the stentorian power of his lungs must have amazed the Indians.

Courtenay saw that the two fleets were combining forces about five hundred yards to westward. They were close inshore, but none of the savages landed, nor did they head for the more remote Otter Creek. As he was anxious to keep them on the run, he resolved to try the siren again. He judged rightly, as it transpired, that they would fear the bellow of the fog-horn even more than the flying missiles which had dealt death and serious wounds so lavishly.

He knew sufficient Spanish, eked out by signs, to bid Suarez hold the siren cord taut for a minute. While the Kansas was still trumpeting forth her loud blare of defiance, he ran down the bridge companion. Mr. Boyle and the tiny garrison of the port promenade deck received him jubilantly; they had escaped without a bruise, and, owing to their position, were able to witness the Indians’ retreat.

He raced across to starboard, and found that, by unfortunate mischance, a Chilean fireman in Tollemache’s detachment had been shot through the brain. The poor fellow was prone on the deck; it was only too evident that a doctor’s skill could avail him naught, so Tollemache had decided that he should not be taken below. The incident marred an easily won victory. Courtenay was assured in his own mind that none of the men had been injured, seeing that he and Suarez, who occupied the most dangerous position, were untouched. This fatality was a mere blunder of fate, and it grieved him sorely.