But Horatio, although he felt as if his knees would give way, retained his presence of mind, and snatching up the nearest bottle, held it up and pretended to read the label. It was not quinine, but that did not matter, and taking it across to the captain he thrust it into his hand.
“Here it is, sir,” he remarked.
To his relief, the lieutenant gave up his search.
“Ah, does Inglesh words!” he exclaimed. “I can speak ze Inglesh ver’ vell, but to read him is more deefecult!”
“Yes,” agreed the skipper with a nervous grin. “They are a bit hard to understand.”
“Vell,” resumed the other pleasantly, “I ’ope you vill soon be vell. Ef zere is anyzing you vant, please to let me know. I say good morning now!” He made a courtly bow and left the cabin.
“Oh, lor’!” gasped the boy with a sigh of relief, as the footsteps died away. “I thought he’d spot wot we was up to!”
“Now,” whispered Sims. “Right at the back at the left of the top row, you’ll see a small blue bottle with an orange-coloured label.”
Horatio dived his hands into the cabinet and withdrew it with the bottle in his grasp.
“Is this it, sir?” he asked eagerly.
“I think so,” said Sims. “Bring it here.”
The boy brought it across, and examining the label the captain saw it was the one he wanted.
“D’you know what this is?” he asked, tapping it.
“No, sir.”
“It’s laudanum. There’s enough in this to send the whole lot of ’em to sleep. Lucky it’s a fairly weak solution, so it won’t actually kill ’em. Here, take it,” he continued, “hide it somewhere!”
Horatio thrust the bottle into the front of his tattered shirt.
“What must I do with it, sir?” he asked mysteriously, for he felt as if he was assisting to blow up the Houses of Parliament, or something equally desperate.
“Shove it in their food, somehow. D’you think you can do it?”
“They orl ’as corfee arter their supper!” whispered the boy, with his eyes opening very wide. “’Ow’ll that do, sir?”
“Very well, I should think,” answered Sims. “What time do they have it?”
“’Bout eight o’clock, sir.”
“Well, empty the bottle in their coffee when you make it. You take the men’s dinners to the forecastle, don’t you?”
Horatio nodded.
“Well, tell ’em, then,” hissed the skipper, “to be ready to make a dash for the deck at half-past eight this evening; d’you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell the officers too, if you get a chance. Now run along. They may smell a rat if you’re here too long. You quite understand what to do, don’t you?”
“Orl rite, sir. I understan’. I’ve got it orl fixed up in me ’ead!” And so saying the boy departed.
Sims lay back on his bunk with a sigh of relief. The plan seemed so very simple; but yet, somehow, too simple to be successful.
Would it succeed? He wondered.
IV
The weary day drew on, and to the captain the hours seemed interminable. He tried to read, but the words conveyed nothing to his brain, for his feverish anxiety would not allow him to concentrate his mind upon his book.
His meals were brought to him by Horatio, who informed him that the men had been told of what was to take place, but the day passed slowly, and he was not sorry when the sound of voices and the clattering of knives and forks outside in the saloon told him that the foreigners were at their supper.
His watch was hanging on the bulkhead, and at three minutes past eight precisely he heard chairs being pushed back and footsteps leaving the saloon. Then came dead silence, only disturbed by the ripple of water as the ship drove along and the footsteps of someone walking up and down on the poop.
He waited in breathless anxiety. Ten minutes past eight, twenty past. Would the time never pass? The minute hand of his watch seemed to be moving terribly slowly, somehow.
He was just beginning to feel nervous, when the footsteps above ceased. He listened intently. Twenty-five minutes past!
He crept out of his bunk and tiptoed noiselessly to the door.
Half-past eight, but nothing happened.
He trembled violently in his overwhelming excitement. Suppose the men had decided that the risk was too great. Suppose—a hundred and one possibilities flashed through his mind.
The hand of the watch crept on to two minutes past the half-hour, and just as he had given up hope, he heard the sudden rush of feet on the ladder leading to the poop.
Nerving himself for an effort, he took a run and hurled himself at the door, hearing as he did so a confused shouting on the poop, followed by two revolver shots. He was no light weight, and the stout panels ripped and crashed as he flung himself at them, and, falling through the debris, he found himself on all fours in the saloon. Picking himself up he dashed out on deck and up the ladder to the poop, and what he saw brought a wave of thankfulness to his heart. The British were in possession. The prize-master lay senseless by the wheel, while the warrant officer, who had evidently been on watch at the time of the attack, had been disarmed, and was now being bound by some of the Evelyn MacDonald’s crew.
Farther aft, two more of the enemy lay prone with their weapons beside them, and looking along the upper deck he saw more of his own men binding the others.
“What’s happened?” he inquired breathlessly, making his way towards the nearest group of men.
“Lor’ bless ye, sir!” exclaimed Ginger Smith excitedly; “they wus orl as ’elpless as babes. Th’ orficer ’ere fired ’is pistol afore we biffed ’im on th’ ’ead, but orl th’ others wus lyin’ like cawpses! Lor’, it wus a gran’ idea of ’Oratio’s, an’ no bloomin’ herror!”
“But where is Horatio?” asked the captain, looking round and not seeing the boy.
“’E wus on deck when we belted this ’ere cove on th’ nut,” remarked one of the other seamen.
“What’s become of him, I wonder?” said Sims anxiously, for he had a sudden horrible feeling that the boy had been killed or flung overboard.
He left the poop and ran forward to the galley and put his head inside.
Twilight was fast approaching, but he saw a small white figure sitting on a locker.
“Chivers!” he said concernedly, for there was something about the youth’s attitude he did not like. “Chivers! Is that you?”
“Yus, sir, it’s me,” said the figure in a husky whisper.
“What’s the matter with you?” queried the captain sympathetically.
“It ’urts somethink crool!” whimpered Horatio.
“What hurts, sonny?”
“Please, sir, that cove wi’ a black beard fired ’is pistol an’ th’ bullet went through me arm!” He showed his left arm, from a neat puncture in which the blood was slowly trickling through his fingers.
“Poor little chap!” said Sims huskily. “Come on, I’ll help you aft, and we’ll put a bandage on it and soon make it better. Don’t forget, my boy,” he added, “it was you who saved the ship!”
“Thank you, sir,” whispered Horatio, as his shipmates clustered round eager to help.
V
Little more remains to be said. Horatio’s wound did not prove very serious, for the bullet had gone through without touching the bone, and when he had been bandaged, the drugged Germans were clapped below in the forecastle with an armed seaman to guard them, and once more the ship was turned round on her course for the Cape of Good Hope.
Some days later the captain of H.M.S. Yorkshire, a 22-knot cruiser, on her way to Simon’s Bay, was rather surprised when a signalman knocked at his cabin door and informed him that a British steamer was flying a signal to the effect that she had prisoners she wished to transfer.
“Prisoners!” he remarked, in a surprised voice. “Humph, some of their own fellows kicked over the traces, I suppose!”
Nevertheless, the cruiser’s course was altered to close the tramp, and stopping abreast of her, she lowered a boat.
The cutter soon arrived alongside the Evelyn MacDonald, and a little midshipman, followed by two armed marines, clambered on board.
“I’ve got seventeen prisoners for you,” remarked Sims, when they had saluted each other.
“Seventeen what?” cried the small officer in amazement, fingering his dirk.
“Seventeen officers and men of the German navy!”
The middy opened his eyes in astonishment. “But how the dickens did they get here?” he demanded.
Sims told him what had happened.
“Well, this is the rummiest business I’ve ever heard of,” declared the future Nelson. “Oh, lor’, though,” he added, “it’s a bit tough her capturing you, isn’t it?”
“I should jolly well think it was, mister,” agreed the skipper with a smile.
“By the way, captain,” remarked the midshipman, as the prisoners were being transferred to the boat, “I should awfully like to shake hands with that Horatio of yours!”
Horatio, much to his disgust and blushing furiously, was pushed forward and solemnly introduced to the young officer, who gravely saluted, and then wrung him by the hand.
“I say, old chap,” he suddenly remarked, bursting with curiosity, “you might let me have a look at the hole in your arm!”
Horatio was forced to untie his bandage and exhibit the neat little puncture.
“I’d give a year’s pay for that!” sighed the middy, for he had never been in action himself.
The officers and men of the Evelyn MacDonald broke into a roar of laughter, in which even the solemn-faced marines joined.
Half-an-hour later the prisoners had been safely transferred, and the man-of-war, with her crew cheering themselves hoarse—for the story had become known all over the ship—was steaming off to the southward.
Soon afterwards the steamer followed suit, and in due course arrived at her destination.
Horatio, I hear, is now serving in the Royal Navy, but he still bears a scar on his left arm, and he is not a little proud of it.
V
THE SALVAGE OF THE CASHMERE
“Well,” remarked Captain Morris of the tug Evening Star, as he slowly refilled his pipe, “things have been pretty bad wi’ us fur th’ last six months. As ye know, mate, I sank all me capital in this old hooker when me poor missus died. The craft’s cost me more’n I care to think about, what wi’ th’ coal, upkeep, an’ wages, and we’ve not had a job wuth calling a job fur a long time. There’s Tom’s schoolin’ to think about, too,” he continued, glancing at his sixteen-year-old son, who sat on the cushioned locker beside him.
Johnson, the mate, nodded, but said nothing.
“Why don’t you let me take that job at the shipbuilding yard, father?” said the boy. “I should earn enough to live on, and then I should cost you nothing.”
“I don’t grudge the money, my son,” continued the skipper; “don’t think that. You’ve bin a good lad, an’ ’tis money well spent. I did want to get ye that job along o’ th’ Wireless Telegraphy Company. The work here in the yard’ll lead to nothing, an’ ye’ll be stuck here all yer life.”
Tom himself did not fancy the idea of spending his days in the little seaport town of Halmouth, though, to save his father expense, he was quite prepared to enter Mr. Saunders’ shipbuilding yard.
“But,” he said, “if nothing else turns up, I must take what I can.”
“I’m afraid so,” replied Morris with a sigh.
“What are ye thinkin’ o’ doin’, then, cap’n?” broke in the mate. “Goin’ to chuck the sea?”
“I’ll have to sell this craft an’ get a job ashore,” growled the skipper. “The Tug an’ Lighter Company have made me an offer for her, an’, though ’tis two hundred less than I gave for her two year ago, I’ll have to take it. Buyin’ an’ sellin’ are two different things, an’ she’s runnin’ sweeter now than ever she was; besides, look at the money I’ve spent on her.”
The mate muttered something under his breath, for he did not like the idea of serving under some other skipper.
“Well,” continued Morris, glancing at the clock on the bulkhead, and rising to his feet and stretching himself, “’tis close on time; we’d best be getting off. Tom, my son, you’d best turn in; it’ll give ye a chance of gettin’ to sleep afore we starts lollopin’ about outside.”
“No, father,” exclaimed the boy; “I’m not a bit tired, and I’d much rather stay up with you.”
“Right ye are, then,” replied his father with a smile; “but when I was your age I liked my bed a fair sight more’n you do.”
With this concluding remark he went on deck, followed by Tom and the mate.
The Evening Star lay anchored in the harbour, while all round her glittered the lights of the coasting craft, taking shelter from the bad weather outside.
The little vessel rolled gently on the slight swell coming in from seaward, while overhead the detached masses of cloud, scurrying across the face of the sky on the strong south-westerly wind, showed that it was blowing a full gale. The glass was also falling rapidly, so there was every prospect of the weather outside being bad.
Tom, at the time of which I write, was studying at a school some distance away from Halmouth, and was now home on his holidays. He was trying for a position in a wireless telegraphy company, a profession in which the prospects were good, and being naturally intelligent and a hard worker, he had every prospect of success in the entrance examination which was due to be held in six months’ time.
The news that his father would not be able to afford his school fees any more came as rather a shock; but, though it was a bitter disappointment, he put a brave face upon it.
As a rule he spent his holidays with his unmarried aunt, who had a little house in Halmouth; but, if the truth must be told, he was not over-fond of the austere old lady, who had such strange ideas as to how boys should behave; so more often than not he lived on board the Evening Star with his father, and looked upon the occasional trips to sea as a great treat.
Once on deck, the skipper glanced round with his practised eye.
“I don’t like the look of the weather,” he observed to Johnson; “look at all that wrack up there to wind’ard.”
“Looks pretty bad,” agreed the mate.
“We must go out,” said the skipper, “for all the weather may be. Are ye all ready for gettin’ the anchor up?”
“All ready, cap’n.”
“All right; get her up, then,” ordered Morris, making his way to the little bridge, followed by his son. “We’re in for a dirty night, my lad,” he observed, “an’ we’d best get our oilskins on now.”
He disappeared into the wheelhouse, and presently reappeared with two bundles.
“Here ye are, boy,” he said, throwing one into Tom’s arms; “they’ll be a bit big for ye, but ye’ll want ’em afore the night’s out.”
Tom put them on, and, with a sou’wester crammed down over his ears, took his place on the bridge alongside his father.
A quarter of an hour later the tug was threading her way through the crowded anchorage, and soon afterwards passed the bobbing buoys at the harbour mouth.
Once in the open water, the combined forces of the wind and sea began to make themselves felt, and whiffs of spray rattled on the painted canvas weather screens of the bridge like volleys of small shot, and this soon developed into a regular shower of water as the little ship drove her way seaward at ten knots.
“How d’ye like it, Tom?” asked the skipper. “Feelin’ seasick?”
“Seasick!” exclaimed Tom indignantly. “I’m enjoying myself fine; much better than being with Aunt Susan, and having to be in bed by half-past eight!”
Morris laughed, and clutching the bridge rail with one brawny hand to steady himself, motioned to the helmsman to put the wheel over.
The bows of the little ship swung round as she took up her new course, and as she was now heading the sea, she rolled and pitched horribly. One instant the bows of the tug were under water, while the next they would be flung high in the air as a gigantic sea raced in from the gloom ahead.
Shipping heavy masses of water, and with the spray driving over her funnel top, the brave little vessel fought her way westward. The water washed round the sea-booted legs of those on the bridge, but holding on to the rails, they peered ahead through the darkness.
Nothing could be seen except the dark gloom of the land and the flashes from a lighthouse away on the starboard bow, while from the south-westward the enormous hillocks of water, the broken water on their summits showing grey in the darkness of the night, advanced on the labouring tug.
At midnight the skipper turned over the watch to the mate, and leaving orders to be called at two o’clock, retired to his tiny cabin.
Tom also went below, and taking off his dripping oilskins, wedged himself firmly on the cushioned lockers in the little saloon. He was dog-tired, and in spite of the violent movement, was soon fast asleep.
By the time the skipper returned to the bridge the Evening Star was well out at sea, and when the mate had gone below the engines were eased to dead slow. The movement instantly became
gentler, and the tug rode over the seas without shipping a drop of water.
Morris stumped up and down the bridge smoking his pipe, stopping every now and then to look round the horizon; but nothing rewarded his gaze except the lights of a few ships making their way up Channel.
Three o’clock came, and by this time the sky overhead had commenced to clear, and presently stars appeared.
The skipper noted these changes with a grunt of satisfaction, and was just about to continue his walk when he suddenly stopped dead. His eye had been caught by a shower of bright falling stars far ahead, in the deep blue sky on the horizon.
“By gum! What’s that?” he muttered.
He had not long to wait, for hardly were the words out of his mouth when the fiery trail of a rocket leapt out from the darkness. He watched it until it burst in a shower of white stars, and then, motioning to the helmsman to steer straight for it, jumped to the engine-room telegraph and put it to “full speed ahead.” He then took the syren lanyard and gave it several lusty pulls.
The hoarse braying of the powerful instrument bellowed out in a series of loud “whoops,” and before the noise had died away, Tom, the mate, and the engineer came rushing on to the bridge.
“What is it?” they all asked in chorus.
“Ship in distress,” said the skipper abruptly, as the tug forged ahead. “She’s bin firin’ rockets.”
As he spoke there was another trail of fire, followed by a shower of stars, as a third rocket climbed upwards and then burst.
“It may mean a salvage job for us,” ejaculated Morris, feeling strangely excited. “Mate, get a blue light to answer them.”
The engineer had vanished on the mention of the word “salvage,” and soon the little tug was quivering as she leapt forward at her best speed.
Johnson quickly reappeared, and before long a blue light had been ignited and was spluttering in his hand. The flare shone out over the heaving sea, illuminating the wave tops as they rushed by, and presently it was answered by a flare from something dead ahead.
“She’s seen us, whoever she is!” exclaimed Morris.
The Evening Star was rapidly approaching, and in about twenty minutes a dull black blur, punctuated by row after row of lighted portholes, became visible in the darkness right ahead.
“She’s a thunderin’ great ship!” gasped the mate, gazing at her in astonishment.
“One of the Australian mail boats, I think,” remarked the skipper, who was looking at her through his binoculars. “I can see two masts and funnels, and—yes, by gum! she’s showing her two red not-under-control lights!” he added, with a pleased, excited laugh.
“Mail boat!” exclaimed Johnson; “that’ll mean a tidy lot o’ money for us if we give her a tow!”
“It will, mate!” agreed Morris joyfully.
Tom, too, felt pleased, for the opportunity for which they had all wished had evidently come.
Steaming on, the tug was soon close alongside the great liner, round whose hull the sea broke in masses of spray. Taking his ship close, Morris took a megaphone and stepped to the end of his bucketing bridge.
“What ship is that?” he bellowed. “D’you want assistance?”
“Yes,” came back a voice from the towering bulk above. “We’re the Cashmere. We struck sunken wreckage about a couple of hours ago, and our rudder’s gone, while the port propeller’s damaged. We’re not making any water to speak of.”
“D’you want a tow, then?” shouted the skipper.
“Yes,” came back the reply. “Could you get us along to Halmouth? We can land the passengers and mails there.”
“I can take ye there,” answered the joyful Morris.
A few more shouted directions passed between the two vessels while a knot of men on the liner’s forecastle made the end of a coir hawser fast to a life-buoy.[B] This was then thrown overboard, and the line was paid out while the tug backed astern.
After what seemed an eternity the buoy was seen floating on the heaving water close to the side of the Evening Star, and when several unsuccessful attempts had been made, it was at length dragged on board. It was then taken to the steam winch, and the powerful little engine commenced to heave in fathom after fathom as Morris manœuvred the tug so as to get ahead of theº Cashmere.
It all took time, but before long a wire hawser appeared, made fast to the end of the coir. The end of this was secured to the towing hook in the tug, and at length there came a hail from the liner to say the other end had also been made fast.
Putting the engine-room telegraph at “Half speed,” Morris circled the Evening Star round for her course for Halmouth. But the engineer below made a fatal mistake; he gave the engines rather too much speed, and as the weight of the liner came on the hawser it suddenly tautened and flew out of the water. The skipper saw at once what had happened, and dashed to the telegraph to stop the engines.
He was too late, however, for there was a sharp crack, and the steel wire suddenly snapped in two. The vessels were once more separated.
“That comes o’ using their bloomin’ wires,” muttered the skipper angrily; “a decent bit o’ hemp ’ud never part like that!”
The men in both ships hauled in the ends of the broken wire, and as they did so Morris reviewed the situation in his mind. He had on board the Evening Star a strong 18-inch hemp rope, which would tow the liner with safety, but the question was how to get it across to the other ship.
He could not float it on account of its weight, while the sea was still too great to lower a boat, and to take the tug close to the disabled ship was too risky to be attempted. He did not wish to lose the chance of towing the Cashmere, but though he thought hard, he could see no way out of the difficulty.
“I don’t know what to do, my son,” he at length remarked to Tom in a puzzled voice; “their blessed wire’s parted, and how are we to get another across?”
The boy thought for a moment.
“Couldn’t I swim across with a thin line, father?” he said at length. “We could tie a life-buoy on to the end of it, and then they could haul a hawser across.”
The skipper looked surprised.
“Swim!” he exclaimed. “How d’ye expect to do it in this sea? You’d never get there.”
“Oh, yes, I would, father,” replied Tom confidently; “you forget I won a prize for swimming last summer term.”
“I couldn’t let ye do it,” said Morris; “it’s too dangerous, an’ I don’t want to lose ye. Look at the sea!”
Tom looked at the heaving waste of water, and it certainly did appear alarming, for the wind whistled across the great rolling waves until their broken tops were flung to leeward in clouds of flying scud.
“Oh, do let me!” he pleaded. “I shall be perfectly safe if I have a lifebelt on, and I shall be holding on to a life-buoy the whole time. You can always haul me back if there’s any danger.”
“I don’t like to,” returned his father hesitatingly; “not but what ye’d do it, but supposing ye got drowned.”
“I won’t get drowned, father,” answered Tom. “How can I if I’ve got a lifebelt on? Just think of what it means. If you tow this ship home you’ll make a lot of money, and if you don’t, somebody else will. You must let me go, father!”
“Yes, it means a lot to me; but suppose—— ”
“You’ll let me go, then?” interrupted Tom, who saw his father was coming round to his way of thinking.
The skipper waited a moment or two, thinking, and then nodded slowly.
“Hooray!” shouted the boy. “I’ll get ready at once!” He ran off the bridge.
Ten minutes later, with a cork jacket round his body and clutching a life-buoy, to which the end of a thin line had been made fast, Tom leapt into the water over the tug’s stern. The line was slacked, and, striking out with his legs, he pushed the buoy through the water and soon got clear of the tug.
In five minutes he was half-way between the two ships, but it was becoming hard work.
At times he would be borne skywards on the foaming crest of a sea, while the next moment he would be deep down in a hollow. Still he struggled on with dogged perseverance, and though breathing was difficult and his eyes were full of scud, so that he could hardly see where he was going, he was moving slowly forward.
Those in the liner had noticed what had taken place, and while the passengers thronged the side and watched the lad’s gallant struggle, for it was now daylight, a rope ladder was lowered over the bows, and a man with a rope round his waist and with the coil of another in his hand, descended to the bottom to help Tom on his arrival.
On and on struggled the swimmer, until at last he came within fifty feet of the great ship, whose tall, black side towered high above him. He was beginning to feel tired and cold; but he still swum strongly, and in a short time was close to the foot of the ladder.
A second or two later a gigantic sea lifted him towards it, and he made a frantic grasp for the lower rung. He missed it, and was being swept away, when the man on the ladder seized his opportunity and threw his rope.
The bowline in the end fell close to the boy, who had the presence of mind to clutch it and place it round his body under his arms. He then undid the smaller rope attached to the life-buoy, and made that also fast round his waist, and, lifting his hand, gave the signal for those on deck to haul in. They pulled with a will, and in a second he felt himself swing into the air, and managed to grasp the ladder.
He rested for a moment, for his ordeal had tired him out, and then, with the man’s assistance, slowly climbed on deck. He had done what he said he would, and as he appeared the crew and passengers of the Cashmere broke into cheer after cheer.
Tom was exhausted after his swim, but was soon taken below to a cabin and provided with a suit of clothes, while before he reappeared on deck the hawser from the Evening Star had been hauled on board, and the two vessels were moving slowly up Channel.
Soon afterwards the wind and sea began to go down, and eight hours later the two ships dropped their anchors in Halmouth harbour. Morris came on board the Cashmere immediately afterwards, and was greeted by his son at the top of the accommodation ladder.
“I’m proud of ye, my son,” exclaimed the skipper, with a quiver in his voice, and wringing the boy’s hand; “I’m proud of ye!”
“So are we all,” said the captain of the liner, coming forward with outstretched hand, “and the passengers have all been spoiling him. I should be proud to have a son like him!”
Tom blushed.
“Well, well,” said Morris, “he’s a good son, an’ all’s well that ends well.”
“You’ve both done us a good turn,” said the other, “and a good stroke of business for yourself at the same time, for I can assure you my owners won’t forget it. Come along to the saloon, captain,” he continued, “for the passengers want to thank you, too.”
Much against his will, the skipper was ushered below, and on his appearance in the gorgeously decorated saloon, where all the passengers were assembled, there was a burst of cheering.
Morris stood nervously fingering his cap, for he was unused to things of this kind; but, holding up his hand for silence, the captain of the liner made a short speech.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “you have all met the captain’s son, but now I must introduce the captain himself. He saw our rockets and came to our assistance, and Master Tom here swam across with the line after the hawser broke. It is due to them both that we have reached our journey’s end in safety, and I will ask you to give them three cheers. I think they deserve it.”
This was the signal for another outburst, and when at length it had subsided a well-groomed, portly old gentleman advanced.
“Captain Morris,” he began, “I have been asked by the passengers to express to you, your noble son, and your gallant crew, our heartfelt thanks for what you have done for us. Er—you have saved us from a predicament which might well have resulted in a tragedy had it not been for your timely assistance, and I have great pleasure in handing you this small gift on behalf of us all, as a thank-offering for our deliverance.”
Here he handed the skipper a small brown-paper parcel.
Ten minutes later Tom and his father, having thanked the passengers for their gift, were back on board the tug, and when the skipper, and his son, the mate, and the engineer were sitting down to tea in the little cabin, the skipper produced the parcel from his pocket, and opening it took out two envelopes, one addressed to himself and the other to Tom.
“By gum!” he cried, opening his, and pulling out a bundle of notes and cheques, “fifty, a hundred, two hundred, three hundred pounds!”
“And a hundred here!” shouted Tom, displaying a cheque. “Father, they have been good to us!”
. . . . . .
Little more remains to be said. The captain distributed the money among his crew in shares, the latter insisting that Tom should keep the whole of his hundred pounds.
Soon afterwards another substantial sum of money was received from the owners of the Cashmere, and it far exceeded the amount Morris had expected; for his share, when invested, gave him an income sufficient to keep him in comfort for the remainder of his life.
The skipper has now left the sea, but the Evening Star is still running, under the command of her former mate.
Tom realised his ambition, for he is now a wireless telegraphy operator on board one of the large Transatlantic liners, and, though he has been through many adventures, he has never forgotten his swim on the occasion when he helped to salve the Cashmere.
VI
THE INNER PATROL
War was a reality, and had actually been in progress for over a month, and the four destroyers, their black shapes sliding noiselessly throughout the night, steamed to and fro with no lights off the entrance to the blockaded harbour. They had been doing this for over three weeks, and since the day after the fleet action on the very outbreak of hostilities in which the enemy had been badly worsted and compelled to retire under the guns of their fortress, they had been carrying out the same routine. There were well over forty torpedo craft actually patrolling, but of these four had been told off for the advanced patrol line and were consequently some distance inshore of the remainder of their consorts.
Sometimes at night they would move slowly to and fro on a line parallel to and about five miles off the coast and the entrance to the harbour, but during the daytime they withdrew seaward, and their places were filled by a cordon of cruisers stationed fifteen miles off the land. A nearer approach in broad daylight was not permissible, for the enemy’s coast defences, armed with powerful long-range guns, had to be treated with due respect. The blockade was maintained with ruthless vigilance, however, for the lines of destroyers, scouts and cruisers guarded all means of exit from the doomed fortress. Away to seaward lay the whole battle fleet, the admiral in command being in constant communication with his inshore vessels by means of wireless telegraphy.
The enemy had not been particularly active, and except for the fleet action, in which it was reported that four of their battleships had been sunk and three more and one battle-cruiser badly damaged, their losses were not known. At the close of the battle the torpedo craft had been sent in to convert the retreat into a rout, but although they had attacked the fleeing enemy the results of their efforts were not known, while several of the destroyers had been badly injured and had finally sunk. Since then there had been little going on, for although the hostile torpedo craft had put to sea at night on three different occasions, they had each time been forced back by the watching vessels. The losses in these encounters were not known for certain, but while that of the blockaders consisted of some couple of dozen men killed and wounded and a destroyer temporarily disabled, it was thought that two of the enemy’s craft had been lost. The hostile submarines, strangely enough, had been comparatively inactive.
The men in the blockading craft were getting sick of it. Not sick of the war, but tired of doing nothing, and in spite of the hard time they were having they were spoiling for a fight.
The weary monotony of the patrol was beginning to tell on their nerves, and they were all, without exception, decidedly annoyed with the enemy for not having more dash and initiative.
The last ship of the four comprising the inner patrol is the one which principally concerns us, and her ship’s company, although the remainder of their flotilla mates called them “pirates,” were perhaps more than usually anxious for the fight from this selfsame reason. It was a pitch-dark night, and the stars and moon were obscured in the heavy clouds banked in the sky, while the north-westerly wind whistled over the surface of the sea and flung the foam from the top of the short curling seas to leeward in sheets of spray. It was midwinter and bitterly cold, and the icy blast numbed all those on board to the very marrow, while to touch metal with the bare hand was painful. The decks, in the places to which the warmth of the boilers had not penetrated, were covered with a thin sheet of ice which was momentarily becoming thicker as the driving spray fell and froze, and in spite of their sheepskin coats, leather sea-boots, and fur caps with ear flaps, the officers and men were almost numb.
On the bridge stood the captain—a young lieutenant-commander—with his sub-lieutenant, signal man, and quartermaster, and every now and then the officers would stamp their feet and swing their arms to restore their circulation. The ship ahead, the white wash of her wake showing up through the blackness of the night, could be seen as a dim shadow over the bows, while far off on the beam the dull line of the coast was occasionally visible through the rifts in the driving squalls. The little ship was all ready for action, for steam was up for full speed, while the torpedoes were ready in their tubes and the guns had their ammunition by them. The watch on deck, except for a look-out at each tube, were huddled together under such shelter as they could obtain from the wind; some were smoking and talking in a low voice, while others were fitfully dozing. Sleep, however, was out of the question on account of the cold, and every now and then a recumbent form would sit up with a grunt and a yawn and curse the weather in extremely nautical language.
“Strike me bloomin’ well pink, Bill,” said an able seaman to his chum. “I’m gettin’ fair fed up with this ’ere, for all the fun we’ve ’ad we might as well be mobilisin’!”
“What yer talkin’ about?” replied his friend. “When they does come out you’ll get yer bellyful all right, I expect. You’ll be singin’ out then right enuf!”
“I ain’t afraid of ’em,” answered the first speaker, “but this ’ere show’s too perishin’ parky for the likes o’ me; knockin’ abart the ’ole time doin’ nothing gives me the fair ’ump. G-r-r-r, it’s cold!”
“Never mind, ole chum, you’ll be warm soon enuf, I reckon,” said the other.
The conversation continued, and the commanding officer, happening to hear what was said, for the speakers were sitting on the deck at the foot of the ladder leading to the bridge, turned to his sub-lieutenant and said, “Well, judging from what they say they’re just about as fed up with this show as I am. I wish to goodness they’d come and have it out!” He was referring to the enemy.
“Yes, sir, so do I,” replied the sub. “We ought to be at the end of the patrol line in another twenty minutes,” he added, “and then we make the sixteen-point turn to the opposite course.”
“Oh, well, keep a good look out, and call me if you see or hear anything,” said the lieutenant-commander. “I’ll try to get a bit of a caulk. Look out, and don’t get astern of station,” and so saying he lay down in a deck chair on the bridge.
Now a deck chair on the bridge of a destroyer in midwinter is not an ideal place for sleep, however many clothes you may have on, and the commanding officer soon gave it up as a bad job and sat staring up at the scurrying clouds above his head. It was getting on for one o’clock in the morning, and he had spent most of his nights in this manner for the past three weeks, taking what sleep he could in the daytime. He had had a hurried wash now and then, but had hardly been out of his clothes, except to change them occasionally, for the whole period. His young face, the cheeks and chin now covered with a thick stubble, seemed prematurely aged, and he bore no resemblance to the smart young officer of three months before. He had aged, and no wonder, for was he not one of the watches upon whom his admiral depended to stop the hostile torpedo craft if they came out? If they were allowed to steal unmolested to the open sea they might be able to deliver a successful attack on the battle fleet, so it was not to be marvelled at that the officers on the advanced patrol felt the responsibility laid heavily upon them.
The weary night drew on, and the patrolling boats steamed to and fro on their beat, but the enemy showed no signs of activity. At about 2.15 a.m., however, the sullen thud of a heavy explosion in the direction of the harbour floated down on the wind. “Cæsar’s aunt!” shouted the lieutenant-commander, springing up. “What’s that?” “Sounded to me like a mine,” answered the sub-lieutenant. “I’ll take my oath it wasn’t a gun.”
“But who’d be messin’ about on top of mines at this time of night? There are none of our craft inshore of us,” said the commanding officer. “By George, though! I’ve got it,” after a minute’s thought, “you know our minelayers were at work off the harbour entrance about a week ago. That’s what it is. The other fellows are comin’ out, and one of the silly blighters has got mixed up in our minefield. It can’t be destroyers, they’d never come out at this time of the mornin’, give them no time to get back before daylight, and it’s their big ships or I’m a Dutchman!” He was still looking towards the shore some five miles away, and had barely spoken when the fiery trail of a rocket shot skywards from close in under the land. It burst in a shower of stars which illuminated everything in the vicinity, and for a brief moment the watchers saw, or thought they could see, a series of deeper shadows gathered under the low cliffs. Before they could make certain, however, the light had gone. But if the shadows were really there they could only be one thing, the enemy’s fleet.
“We’re in for a scrap at last,” exclaimed the captain, rubbing his hands. “Send down and tell the engineer to stand by for a spurt, and warn the hands to be ready!”
The men needed no encouragement, for they were all awake. All hands and the cook were on deck gazing anxiously landwards, and soon dispersed to their stations at the guns and torpedo tubes. The lieutenant-commander, meanwhile, was watching his next ahead, and as he looked he saw a series of red flashes made with a hand lamp, and a second later a whistle sounded shrilly along the line.
“Great Scott! He’s going in to attack!” he exclaimed, jumping to the engine-room telegraphs and jamming them on to full speed. “Look out for the foremost tube, sub. You’ll have to fire when your sights come on, and stand by to come up here if I get knocked out.” He was right. The senior officer had decided to take his chance and to attack, and in a short time the four destroyers were on their way for the harbour entrance at a good twenty knots.
Suddenly from the darkness right ahead the dazzling white ray of a searchlight shot out; it flickered for an instant, and then rested full on the leading boat. In another second at least half a dozen more had been switched on, and shortly afterwards the guns commenced their uproar. The vivid red flashes stabbed the darkness of the night, while the thundering reports, punctuated now and then by the poom-poom-poom of the lighter guns—for the enemy were using pom-poms—reverberated through the air in a noisy crescendo of sound. The whine of the shell and the crash of their explosions could be heard above the din, while at times the beams of the searchlights would be all but obscured by the fountains of spray flung up by the falling projectiles. At first the shooting was wild, but as more guns chimed in it became better, and the thrown-up spray was falling on the decks of the attacking boats while the shell splinters whistled through the air. Nobody as yet had been actually hit, and they drew closer and closer, until the leading boat put her helm over and swung abruptly to starboard, and followed by the remainder of her flock steamed at full speed along the enemy’s line some six hundred yards off. It could now be seen that there were about half a dozen big ships moving slowly ahead, and the leading destroyer, as she swung, fired two torpedoes. Then, after what seemed an eternity, an enormous upheaval of mingled water and flame rose at the side of the battleship, as still firing wildly she vanished in the smoke and spray astern. The roar of the detonation was all but drowned by the reports of the guns, but there was no doubt that one torpedo had gone home.
The fire had now become accurate, and shell after shell, bursting on impact with the water, sent its jagged fragments whistling across the attackers’ deck. Men commenced to fall, rents appeared in the funnels, boats were splintered, but still they swept on, each vessel as she came abreast her opposite number in the enemy’s line firing her torpedoes. How many got home it was impossible to say, for the smoke and spray all but blotted out the outline of the hostile ships. A series of explosions were heard, however, so it was hoped that several of the weapons had found their billet.
The whole attack was over in less than four minutes from the first gun being fired, and in another two the destroyers were swallowed up in the darkness and were steaming to sea as fast as their damaged condition could allow them. The enemy were still firing, but their shot was falling nowhere near the retreating destroyers. Presently, however, this ceased and all was silent once more.
On getting about three miles from the coast the leading boat stopped, and on comparing notes with the others it was found that in the whole sub-division one officer and eighteen men had been killed outright, while fourteen others were wounded. The boats themselves were not vitally damaged, but the funnels, sides, and decks of all four were badly perforated and torn. There was an underwater hole—the only one—in the second boat, but the engines and boilers remained untouched, and on the orifice being plugged she could keep down the flow of water with her pumps.
A wireless signal was made to the supporting cruisers telling them that an attack had been made, and the wounded were made as comfortable as possible until daylight, when the destroyers would be able to approach their own fleet. Towards 4 a.m. another burst of firing broke out in the direction of the harbour, and it was surmised that the outer patrolling boats had gone in to attack. More firing took place at irregular intervals till daylight, as attack after attack was pressed home, and it was evident that the enemy were having anything but a pleasant time.
Towards six o’clock the first signs of dawn appeared to the eastward, and by 6.30 it was light enough to see the harbour entrance. Two big ships appeared to be ashore, and another was sunk with her masts and funnels above water, but beyond this it was impossible to see any details. At 7 a.m. the four destroyers steamed slowly seawards, and passing the outlying cruisers, met the battle fleet, which had approached to within twenty miles of the coast. The killed and wounded were sent aboard the larger vessels, and after being supplied with spare torpedoes the four proceeded at their best speed for their base to repair damages. As they left the signal “Well done, destroyers” fluttered from the foremost head of the flagship, and the weary crews broke into a throaty cheer as the signalmen read out the meaning of the cluster of flags.
They had done their work, and done it well, for the enemy’s fleet had been badly mauled. Life was well worth living. Even the thought of their dead and wounded messmates did not damp their spirits, for they knew they had carried out their work, and that their days and nights of weary watching had not been in vain.
VII
THE GUN-RUNNERS
I
There was no doubt that Jim Watson was in a very bad way. For three long, weary weeks he had wandered round the London docks on the look-out for a berth as cabin-boy. He had interviewed many masters and mates, but without success, for the first question he was invariably asked was: “Have you been to sea before?”
“No,” was all he could say; and, sick at heart, he had been turned away again and again. The family had migrated to England some four years previous to the time of which I write, and Jim’s mother had died a year afterwards. Mr. Watson had managed to secure a subordinate position in a shipping office in the City, but the loss of his wife had preyed on his mind, and three years afterwards he too had died.
So Jim had found himself an orphan at the age of fifteen, and, with two sovereigns and a few silver coins in his pocket, was cast out into the world to earn his own living. Relatives in England to whom he could apply for assistance he had none, and although his father’s old friend gave him a position as office boy, the meagre wages he received barely sufficed to pay for his food, let alone lodging. He had relations and friends in Australia, and determined to throw up his position at the office and endeavour to work his way out there as a cabin-boy in a ship; but in spite of tramping the docks every day for three long weeks, he had not yet succeeded in obtaining a berth. His small amount of money was vanishing rapidly; for although he cut his food down to the smallest possible limit, he found he could not live on less than 9d. a day, while his bed in a doss-house cost him another 6d. a night. He had no professional training, and although he was painstaking and plodding, his schooling had not fitted him for any employment ashore which would bring him in a living wage.
While tramping the docks he had known what hunger was—that awful, gnawing feeling of absolute emptiness which will turn even the strongest man into a living wreck—and as he pursued his weary way along the dock-side at Limehouse, he wondered how long it would last.
Walking along, he came to a small grey-painted steamer called the Sea Foam, made fast alongside the wharf. She was being loaded, and case after case was lowered into her hold, while a swarm of stevedores were hard at work amidst the rattling of steam winches and the shouts of the foremen. He stood and watched the busy scene for a while, and then noticing someone whose uniform cap showed him to be an officer of the ship, he formed a sudden resolve to go on board and ask for a berth. Walking up the gangway, he made his way forward and accosted the mate, for he it was.
“Please, sir,” he commenced, “could you——?”
“What is it, boy?” shouted the officer, turning round; “what do you want?”
Jim trembled; but in spite of the ferocity of the officer’s voice, there was a gleam of kindness in his eyes, and taking courage again he said:
“Please, sir, could you give me a berth? I want to go to Australia.”
“Australia, boy?” thundered the mate. “Australia? We’re not going there—going up the Straits. General cargo.”
The boy thought for a minute, and then came to the conclusion that if there was a chance of a berth he would give up the idea of joining his relations.
“I’m not very keen about Australia, sir,” he said. “I’m strong, and I could do any work.”
“Humph! On your beam ends, eh?” grunted the officer more kindly. “Well, I did hear the old man say he wanted a boy to help the steward, and I know he hasn’t shipped one yet. It’s a dog’s life, though,” he added, looking at Jim. “Been to sea before?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, I don’t know that that matters; you won’t have much sailoring to do. Best wait and see the old man, he’ll be down along in an hour. Had your breakfast?”
“No, sir.”
For answer the mate walked aft, and putting his head through the door leading to the officers’ quarters under the bridge, bawled for the steward, who presently emerged.
“Look here, steward; take this youngster down below and give him something to eat. He looks as if he wanted it, poor little chap!”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jim gratefully, and following the steward, he was soon gobbling up an enormous meal in the little cubby-hole which did duty as a pantry.
“Well, my son, you’re a rare ’un on the victuals!” gasped the steward, as he watched the food disappear. “Hungry? Ain’t had nothing to eat for a fortnight, I should think! What did you come here for?”
“The officer said I might be taken on as a cabin-boy,” said Jim, between his mouthfuls.
“Oh, yes, I did hear the old man say something about having a boy to help me,” replied the steward. “Ye’ll have to mind your eye if he does take you on, though; the old man’s a fair caution when he gets his rag out.”
“I don’t mind that, sir,” said Jim. “Can you tell me where the ship’s going?”
“I dunno exactly,” replied the man; “I believe it’s somewhere up the Straits—Mediterranean, you know. This is her first trip; she’s a brand-new ship—just been built on the Tyne.”
“Do you know how long she will be away, sir?”
“No, sonny, I don’t know for certain. The crew’s only signed on for the voyage. The old man told them he thought ’twould be about three months; but I don’t think he knows for certain. She’s a good ship, though. Not like some of them ordinary tramps you see knocking around. She can do her fifteen knots easy—most of them can’t do more than ten.”
The conversation was here interrupted by shouts of “Steward!” And answering, “Coming, sir!” the man said, as he left the pantry, “That’s the old man. I expect he’ll want to see you in a minute.”
Jim waited in anxiety, and when the steward reappeared and said, “Come this way—he wants you,” he got up and followed the man to the officers’ berth.
“Are you the boy who wants a berth?” inquired a short, thick-set, bearded man, who was sitting in front of the stove. He looked ferocious, but his tone was not unkindly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Any experience?”
“No, sir,” said the boy, his heart failing him as he was asked the inevitable question.
“Well, we’ll knock some into you; and so long as you do your work you won’t fall foul of me. What about wages, now?”
“I’m ready to take anything, sir.”
“Five shillings a week I’ll give you. You get your food with the steward, of course,” said the captain.
“Thank you, sir,” gratefully replied Jim, for the amount, though small, was more than he had expected.
“Well, get your clothes aboard and the steward will show you your work. We sail on the evening tide, about four o’clock.” He waved his hand to show that the interview was at an end.
Jim left the cabin delighted at the prospect of getting away so soon, and, after asking his new master’s permission, went ashore to fetch his scanty belongings and to purchase a few more necessary articles with the remainder of his money.
Returning towards noon, he found the cargo stowed and the men busy preparing the ship for sea. He was not idle long, however, for the steward soon pounced upon him and initiated him into his new duties. These consisted in fetching the officers’ food from the galley, laying and clearing away the table before and after meals, waiting on the officers, washing up the plates, knives and forks, cleaning out, making the beds, and being generally responsible for the chief and second mates’ berths. There was plenty of work to be done, and the whole afternoon he was hard at it.
Towards half-past three steam was up and ready, and soon afterwards the dock gates opened and the Sea Foam was warped out through a basin crowded with shipping, until she finally passed into the muddy Thames. With a pilot on board she steamed slowly down the sinuous reaches of the river, past the Rotherhithe, East India, and Victoria and Albert Docks, and, off Gravesend, the pilot was dropped into his boat alongside, and the ship increased her speed and shaped her course towards the open sea.
It was all entirely novel to Jim, and he stood just below the bridge ladder looking at the ever-changing panorama of ships and land as the ship steamed along. All sorts and conditions of vessels there were: great passenger liners, tramp steamers, large four-masted ocean-going sailing ships, barges, etc., all claimed his attention in turn. He was, however, interrupted; for the mate, who had been aft, suddenly rushed forward, and, pushing Jim aside, dashed up the ladder on to the bridge, taking the steps two at a time. From where the boy stood the skipper could not be seen, but Jim could distinctly hear what was said.
“There’s a Customs launch following us, sir!” the mate shouted. “She’s cracking on all she knows, and will be alongside us in ten minutes!”
“They must have spotted those cases of rifles and ammunition,” said the skipper. “Look here, Barter, tell the engineer to go on all he knows. If he can give us fifteen knots, we should give them the slip all right. I hope they haven’t thought of wiring to Sheerness. They’ll have torpedo-boats out looking for us if they have.”
The mate did not wait to reply, but, running down the bridge ladder, rushed to the engine-room hatch, down which he disappeared. The vibration increased, and the Sea Foam was soon travelling at full speed, with the foam dashing from her bows and clouds of black smoke pouring from her funnel.
“Rifles?” thought Jim. “What on earth are they up to?” Moreover, there was something suspicious in the fact of the Customs boat’s following them and the captain’s taking steps to prevent her overhauling his ship. Glancing aft, he could see the little black-painted launch travelling at full speed, while a man in the bows was waving his arms and motioning to the steamer to stop. It was obvious, however, that the Sea Foam was gaining, and going to the end of the bridge the captain derisively waved his hand in reply, but made no effort to reduce speed.
The pursuit was still kept up, and the steamer dashed along at a rate which was entirely against all rules and regulations governing the speed of vessels navigating the Thames. Try as she might, the Customs launch could not overhaul her. From four hundred yards astern she had dropped to half a mile, and at last, when darkness crept on and the sea got choppy as the Sea Foam left the river and entered the estuary, her pursuer turned tail and abandoned the chase.
By 5:30 it was practically dark, and dashing along at her best speed the steamer rapidly neared the open water. In another half-hour the short, choppy waves had given way to heavier seas, and soon afterwards the little vessel was pitching and rolling more; as her bows were turned to the south-eastward towards the open sea.
It was blowing hard from the south-west, and the heavy masses of cloud were flying down from windward on the strong breeze. Occasional heavy rain-squalls all but blotted out the lights round about, and it was obvious that they were in for a dirty night. But in spite of the risk the captain had ordered all lights to be obscured, for he was anxious lest torpedo-boats from Sheerness might have been sent out to intercept him, and these he naturally wished to avoid.
Jim was still standing at the foot of the bridge ladder when he heard someone come to the top of it.
“Is that you, boy?” said the captain’s voice.
“Yes, sir,” answered Jim.
“Go to the steward and tell him to send up some hot coffee for me and the mate.”
Jim departed on his errand, and presently returned on deck and went to the bridge with two cups of the steaming fluid balanced on a tray. It was pitch dark and blowing hard, while the violent movement of the ship made climbing the bridge ladder rather a difficult matter. The captain and mate took the cups; and, left to himself, Jim had a chance to look about him. Far away to starboard twinkled the lights of Margate, while nearer there were the red, white and green lights of a number of steamers. Going to the end of the bridge, the boy peered over the canvas weather-screen, noticing as he did so that the lights were still unlit; and, as he watched the foaming white caps of the waves go seething past the side of the ship, he heard the skipper make a sudden exclamation:
“What’s that right ahead there, with no lights, Barter?” he gasped, pointing out over the bows.
“Destroyer or torpedo-boat!” said the mate, seizing his night glasses and levelling them.
Jim looked in the direction indicated, and there, barely a quarter of a mile ahead, wallowing in the sea, was a long black shape whose four funnels proclaimed her to be a torpedo-boat destroyer.
“Hard-a-port!” shouted the captain, dropping his coffee cup on to the deck with a crash; “we shall be into her!”
The Sea Foam swung round and cleared the stern of the destroyer by barely twenty yards, and as she did so, shouting could be heard from the latter’s bridge.
“What are you knocking about for without lights, you pirate?” yelled an angry voice; “what ship is that?”
“The Caledonia, London to Barcelona. Sea’s put our lights out!” shouted back the skipper on the spur of the moment.
The mate laughed; but an instant later he exclaimed:
“She smells a rat, sir—she’s after us!”
It was true; for the destroyer, now right astern, was turning into the wake of the steamer, and, as the latter was steadied on her original course, volumes of sparks pouring from the funnels showed that she was being driven for all she was worth.
“They’ll have us, Barter,” gasped the skipper; “we can’t get away from her; she’ll go twenty-five knots at least!”
The man-of-war, however, had to turn, and by the time she was following the Sea Foam she was fully half a mile astern. At that moment a dense, blinding shower of rain drove down from the windward, shutting out all lights and making it impossible to see more than one hundred yards ahead. The skipper was not long in taking advantage of it, and on his shouting “Hard-a-starboard!” to the man at the wheel, the steamer’s bows were turned until she was pointing at right angles to her old course.
“She’ll think we’ve gone straight on,” said the captain in an anxious tone, “and if this squall lasts she may not spot us!”
The mate looked anxiously astern and to windward, but there were no signs of the warship, and it was still raining heavily. “I think we shall do it, sir!” he said, as he walked to the compass to give a direction to the man at the wheel.
A quarter of an hour passed, the minutes seeming like hours to those on the bridge, but still the Sea Foam forged ahead. At the end of this time the squall was beginning to clear—and the destroyer was nowhere visible.
“Have the lamps lit, Barter, and bring her back to south-east,” ordered the captain. “We’ve given her the slip.”
They had.