A dense pall of smoke hid her from sight. Even Captain Cain was at first under the impression that she had sunk suddenly; but when the thick cloud dispersed the Surcouf was sighted steaming away at full speed in the direction of Guernsey.
Pursuit was useless. To attempt to do so would only bring the pirate submarine closer to the French coast, and there were in all probability several torpedo boats at St. Malo. Certainly there were plenty at Brest and Cherbourg, and by following the Surcouf the Alerte would run the grave risk of being trapped in the deep bay between Cape de la Hague and Ushant, where the rocky and uneven bottom combined with violent currents made it a dangerous place for a submarine to rest on the bed of the sea.
The situation was a dangerous one. The Surcouf had got away. Already her wireless was sending out appeals for aid, and warnings that she had been fired upon by a mysterious craft.
Previously, the French authorities had been sceptical about the story of the Cap Hoorn. That craft had, in accordance to orders from their captors, proceeded lamely into Cherbourg, only to find that hostilities had not broken out between France and Germany. There was the evidence afforded by her shattered rudder-head, but the French Admiralty officials, beyond disclaiming responsibility, declined to investigate the damage. Four hours later the Cap Hoorn left Cherbourg for Hamburg in tow of an ocean-going Dutch tug.
Nevertheless, the incident could not be entirely ignored. Some vessel had evidently run amok in the Channel. In consequence, the Surcouf was one of several merchantmen to be hurriedly armed against the aggressions of the mysterious filibuster. And now the Surcouf had reported the attack, and already the news had been transmitted, not only to the French naval bases, but to the British Admiralty. On both sides of the Channel and along the coast of Ireland swift destroyers were raising steam to engage in hunting down the modern pirate craft.
"Look alive, my lads!" exclaimed Captain Cain. "If we're to get out of this with whole necks, we must waste no time. How many casualties, Mr. Pengelly?"
"Seven, sir: four serious, three light."
"Get 'em below," continued the skipper.
"They are already, sir," replied the second in command. "Parkins and Brown—the two who tried to get aft with the machine-gun—are the worst hit. Broadmayne and Vyse carried them below under fire."
"Did they?" commented Captain Cain. Under his breath he muttered, "And a pity they hadn't lost the number of their mess." [1]