Captain Ramshaw's next step was to hold a consultation with some of his officers as to the advisability of coping with the internal peril that threatened the ship.
Accordingly Lymore and Aubyn, as representatives of the deck-officers, and McBride and Raeburn for the engine-room staff, were called to the captain's cabin. For once that cosily-furnished apartment reeked of paraffin, for the chief engineer and his assistant had come practically straight from their work, merely stopping to remove from their faces and hands the greasy black oil and had used paraffin for that purpose.
"Don't apologize, Mr. McBride," said the "old man" affably. "Circumstances alter cases, and it is far preferable to have the reek of honest oil than the fumes of a German shell. Now to get straight to the point: have you a plan, Mr. McBride, whereby we can secure this man of yours, Stone, without occasioning comment amongst his comrades; and especially not to alarm the passenger who has taken such a violent fancy to him?"
The chief engineer rubbed his chin and knitted his shaggy brows.
"I can arrange, sir, to have him sent on deck, the miserable worrm. Beyond that, sir, I venture to suggest 'tis a matter for yoursel' to keep the passenger in the dark."
"Now, Mr. Lymore, have you made inquiries about the passenger Mr. Aubyn described?"
"I've interviewed the chief steward, sir. He says that this man registered as Mr. Duncan McDonald, of Port Elizabeth."
"There's by far too many of these rascally Germans going about with guid old Scots names," declared McBride vehemently.
"Quite so," agreed Captain Ramshaw, "but unfortunately we have no evidence to prove that this fellow is a German, except that he spoke the Teuton language. He might be a Britisher after all."
"He's nae Scot, then," said the chief engineer hotly.
"I think I can suggest a good plan, sir," said Raeburn.
"Carry on, then," remarked Captain Ramshaw encouragingly.
"One of the greasers in my watch—a rattling good fellow—he's made five trips in the ship, sir—strongly resembles Stone in appearance. If you could arrest Stone and clap him in irons, we could get Tretheway, the man I refer to, to impersonate him and lure this Duncan McDonald——"
"Steady, laddie; 'tes nae Duncan McDonald," remonstrated McBride.
"The passenger who goes by the name of McDonald," corrected Raeburn. "He could be lured into putting in an appearance. Then we could nab him, too."
"It's feasible, certainly," said Captain Ramshaw. "You think you can arrange this?"
"Yes, sir," replied Raeburn.
"Very good; then perhaps Mr. Aubyn and you will be at the rendezvous at seven bells. Mr. Aubyn will tell off a couple of hands in the event of any display of resistance. The man may be armed."
"We'll take the risk, sir," said Terence.
"Then that's settled. If you'll send Stone on deck, Mr. McBride, the sooner we have him under arrest the better."
"And the sooner I'm back in the engine-room the better, I'm thinking, sir," asserted McBride. "Nae doubt the dirty rogue will be up to his tricks again while I'm not there tae keep an eye on him."
A few minutes later Stone, sent under the pretence of fetching some article from the bos'un's store, was promptly pounced upon by a couple of quartermasters.
"What's the game, old sports?" he asked in a strong Cockney accent and with well-feigned innocence.
His captors made no reply, but led their unresisting prisoner for'ard and placed him in a compartment under lock and key.
As soon as the greaser's arrest was reported, Chief Officer Lymore and Aubyn went to inform him of the charge.
"Attempting to cripple the engines, eh? Strikes me, sir, you're on the wrong tack," muttered the man.
"Your fellow-conspirator does not seem to think so," remarked Lymore at a venture.
The accused's features flushed, then turned deadly pale.
"You've got von Eckenhardt, then?" he asked, taken completely aback.
"Yes, the game's up," assented the chief officer, who, although equally astonished, had the presence of mind to entirely conceal his feelings.
"Then I may as well make the best of things. It won't be for long," declared the prisoner nonchalantly. "Our cruisers will soon make short work of the 'Saraband,' and then the boot will be on the other foot."
"Your cruisers?" exclaimed Lymore.
"Yes; I'm a German subject, Mr. Chief Officer, and don't you forget it. I demand to receive proper treatment as a prisoner of war."
"You'd get it, my man, if I had my way," retorted Lymore grimly.
"Von Eckenhardt!" exclaimed Captain Ramshaw when his subordinate reported the result of their interview. "Then that is the real name of the so-called Duncan McDonald. It was a cute move of yours, Mr. Lymore."
The chief officer flushed with pleasure.
"I presume, sir, we can now arrest him, without waiting till this evening?"
"No, we'll stick to our original plan, Mr. Lymore. I have good reasons."
During the day the passengers were restricted to a limited portion of the decks allotted to the various classes. None were permitted to approach the 4.7-in. guns. The sight of the ammunition and the gun's crew standing by would occasion comment. A simple excuse was given for this restriction, and the passengers accepted it without demur.
For several hours the wireless was still "jammed." Occasionally messages were received, but none could be sent. Those that did get through were of slight importance and had no reference to the war.
At noon McBride's strenuous efforts were crowned with success. The engines were once more in working, order and speed was soon worked up to sixteen knots. A course was immediately shaped for Las Palmas, where the "Saraband" would have to coal before resuming her homeward voyage.
Just after four bells (2 p.m.) the wireless resumed uninterrupted activity. A message asking the name and position of the ship was recorded and referred to the bridge. "Ask them what ship is calling," ordered Captain Ramshaw.
"H.M.S. 'Padstow,' lat. 5°0'30" N., long. 30°1'15" W. Shape a course towards me. Enemy cruisers are about," was the reply.
Captain Ramshaw called for a Navy List. H.M.S. "Padstow" was found to be a light cruiser of 4600 tons.
"Very good; I am acting according to your directions," was his answer by wireless, but in reality it was very different. He ordered the course to be altered until the "Saraband" would pass three hundred miles to the eastward of the position given by the supposed British cruiser. In addition he gave instructions that no wireless messages were to be sent from the ship, in order that she might not betray her presence, for he felt convinced that the call was a decoy sent by one of the German commerce destroyers.
During the afternoon the chief steward reported the result of his observations upon the pseudo Duncan McDonald. The man, he declared, was a regular "hanger-on" to his fellow-passengers. He seemed to have plenty of money and squandered it at card-playing. Yet he did not associate with the German passengers, nor could the steward discover who was the woman that had conferred with McDonald on the night when Aubyn and Raeburn had him under observation.
Just before seven bells the arrangements were completed for von Eckenhardt's arrest. Terence and the fourth engineer took up their positions in the empty storeroom; two burly quartermasters were hiding just inside the engine-room door, while Tretheway, in the guise of the now detained Stone, was idling in the alley-way.
Presently von Eckenhardt appeared. Tretheway, keeping his face from the light, turned his back upon the approaching German.
Twice the fellow walked softly past the supposed Stone, then tapping him on the shoulder said something in German. What it was Tretheway did not understand, but acting upon instructions he turned and grasped the Teuton by the wrists. Aubyn and Raeburn dashed from their place of concealment and the two quartermasters ran towards the spot.
Taken wholly at a disadvantage von Eckenhardt at first offered no resistance. He sullenly regarded his captors, without uttering a word. Then, with a sudden effort, he almost wrenched himself clear.
Raeburn, doubled up by a knee-punch in the wind, subsided heavily against the metal wall of the alley-way. The two quartermasters cannoned into each other in attempting to regain their grip upon the captive. Tretheway, hit upon the point of the chin, tripped over the coaming of the engine-room doorway; while Terence, in spite of a vicious kick on the shin, managed to retain his hold upon von Eckenhardt's collar.
To and fro they swayed, now locked in a deathly embrace. Before the quartermasters could recover their wits, Aubyn and the German toppled over the coaming, and on top of the body of the prostrate Tretheway.
Inside the door was a slippery steel platform, barely three feet in width and protected by a light handrail. To the right and left iron ladders led to the floor of the engine-room. Seven feet below the edge of the platform was the piston-head of one of the cylinders—a vision of gleaming metal partly veiled by wreathes of eddying steam.
In an instant Terence realized his adversary's plan. Rather than submit to being made a prisoner von Eckenhardt was striving to throw himself into the midst of the moving machinery. And not only that: he meant to take one at least of his antagonists with him. He, Terence, was the one singled out for this wholly unwelcome attention.
In vain Aubyn tried to get a foothold. The slippery iron plate afforded no grip. His arms, locked about the body of the German, were imprisoned by the fellow's powerful grasp, for although small in stature and sparely built, frenzy had given the German the strength of a Hercules. Suddenly von Eckenhardt planted his feet against the inside sill of the door. With a terrific jerk he hurled himself under the handrail. Aubyn had just time to bend his partially held wrist and grasp the stanchion; then both men dropped over the edge immediately above the ponderous machinery.
There they hung, swaying with the result of the sudden jerk. Aubyn's hand retained his grasp upon the oiled metal stanchion in spite of the fact that he was sustaining the weight of himself and another, and that the edge of the platform was pressing cruelly against his arm. All the while von Eckenhardt, clinging to his antagonist like a monkey, was punching blindly with his disengaged left hand in the hope of making the fourth officer relax his hold.
It was now that the quartermasters were able to come to the aid of their young officer. During the struggle on the platform there was no opportunity for them to intervene—no foothold on that slippery surface. Raeburn, too, was temporarily "out of action," but by this time was beginning to take a renewed interest in life.
One of the quartermasters grasped Aubyn by the collar of his white drill uniform coat. Even in his dire peril Terence wondered whether his tailor had put good stitches into his work. He fully expected to find the collar being torn from the rest of the garment.
Then the second quartermaster helped. Lying at full length on the metal platform he seized the still struggling Eckenhardt by the waist. Then with a powerful blow with his disengaged fist the man struck the Teuton full on the temple.
Stunned by the force of the blow the German relaxed his hold. Were it not for the quartermaster's iron grasp he would have fallen into the maze of machinery.
"Now's your chance, Tom," exclaimed the man breathlessly. "I'll hold this chap while you haul up Mr. Aubyn."
Assisted by Raeburn the first quartermaster succeeded in raising Terence on the platform and thence into the alley-way. Well-nigh exhausted Aubyn was glad to sit down while the others proceeded to secure the senseless von Eckenhardt.
While von Eckenhardt was recovering consciousness and the two young officers were pulling themselves together after their trying ordeal, Captain Ramshaw, who had been informed of the successful issue of the affair, proceeded to the cabin taken by the German under the name of Duncan McDonald.
It was a single berth cabin, furnished in the luxuriant style that the Red Band Line provided for their first-class passengers.
The "old man" first directed his attention to an unlocked portmanteau. It was filled with clothes. Methodically the chief steward, under Captain Ramshaw's supervision, went through the pockets. He found nothing incriminating. There was some correspondence in English of a commonplace order, which gave no rise to suspicion.
A second portmanteau was doubly locked. The steward cut the Gordian knot by ripping the cowhide with his pocket-knife. Inside the case were more clothes, but between the folds was a metal case half filled with phosphor-bronze filings. There were also a revolver and two hundred rounds of ammunition, the presence of which in a passenger's possession was in itself a breach of the Company's regulations.
"Now, that cabin trunk, Saunders," exclaimed Captain Ramshaw, pointing to a large, strongly made box. "You won't open that with your penknife, my man."
"One minute, sir," said the steward.
He left the cabin, returning in a very short space of time with a heavy hammer and a cold chisel.
He was about to attack the lock when the "old man" interposed.
"Avast there, Saunders!" he ejaculated. "We'll have the job tackled a little more quietly. Go and ask the doctor for a small bottle of the strongest acid he has."
"That's good, Saunders," he remarked when the man returned. "Now lay on the acid all round the lock. Mind your eyes: it will splash a bit. We'll ruin the carpet, I fancy; but there'll be more serious damage done to the Company's property before long, unless I'm much mistaken."
Rapidly the powerful acid ate its way into the metal. The cabin reeked with the pungent fumes.
Captain Ramshaw waited until he considered that the corrosive fluid had sufficiently weakened the metal, then he soused the side of the trunk with water.
A gentle pressure of his boot brought the lock clean away. He raised the lid. The portmanteau was apparently full of clothes. Von Eckenhardt evidently had an extensive wardrobe.
"There's a double bottom, sir," announced the steward.
"I thought so," replied the captain quietly. "Be careful, Saunders. You will find a secret spring. Don't use unnecessary force."
Wondering why the skipper harped upon the necessity for caution the steward continued his investigations. At length he discovered an invisible push, close to the bottom of the trunk. As he pressed it, the false bottom opened upon a pair of hinges. The space contained several sealed envelopes and a tin case measuring about ten inches by six, and two inches in depth.
"You might hand over those papers," said the captain. "Now, open that tin."
"It's full of gummy string, sir ."
"Powerful explosive, Saunders, enough to blow a big hole in the old 'Saraband.' There are fuses and detonators, too. I wonder the fool hadn't more sense than to stow this stuff in a cabin trunk."
"What shall I do with it, sir?" asked the steward, eyeing the box of latent death and destruction with undisguised apprehension.
"Overboard with it," decided the "old man" promptly.
Before Captain Ramshaw could proceed further with his investigations a messenger brought the news that a strange vessel, apparently a warship, was bearing down in the direction of the "Saraband."
The skipper broke all records in his dash for the bridge. Bringing his binoculars to bear in the direction indicated by the chief officer he saw that a large grey-painted cruiser was shaping a course to cut him off.
"If she's a German we're nabbed, Lymore," said the captain. "She's heavily armed, and we are within range of her guns. Unless I'm much mistaken, she can give us points in speed."
"Will you alter our course and run for it, sir?" asked the chief officer.
"Useless," decided Captain Ramshaw, with a shrug of his shoulders. "If she were a hostile armed merchantman I'd engage her in a running fight, but she'd blow us out of the water in two minutes. There are the passengers to consider."
Rapidly the cruiser approached. She made no attempt to communicate with wireless, but when within signalling distance she hoisted the letters E.C. meaning, in the International Code, "What ship is that?"
The "Saraband" immediately "made her number" and hoisted her ensign. By this time the approach of the cruiser had been noticed by the passengers, whose interest became intense, although they were still in ignorance of the fact that a state of war existed between Great Britain and Germany.
"Thank Heaven!" ejaculated Lymore fervently, as the White Ensign was hoisted to the masthead of the cruiser, which was, it was remarked, fully cleared for action.
"Don't be too cocksure," remonstrated the "old man."
"She's a British cruiser, sir," protested the chief officer. "One of the 'Town' class, that I'll swear. There she goes: code flag over 'H,' sir."
The signal to stop was quickly complied with. Orders were telegraphed to the engine-room for half-speed astern until the "Saraband" lost way. The cruiser swung round in a semi-circle and likewise stopped within two cables' length. A boat was lowered, manned, and rowed towards the "Saraband."
"Clear the promenade deck, Mr. Lymore," ordered the captain. "Request the passengers to go below. Don't give them any reason—let them think what they jolly well like. Mr. Aubyn, see that the accommodation ladder is shipped. You will receive the naval officer and pay him the proper compliments."
The boarding officer proved to be a youthful lieutenant. Terence escorted him to the bridge, where he immediately subjected Captain Ramshaw to a close examination.
"Have you sighted any German armed merchantmen?" asked the officer, whose ship, it transpired, was the light cruiser "Padstow."
"The 'Hertzolf:' that was before war was declared."
"Have you communicated by wireless with any craft?"
"Only your ship," replied Captain Ramshaw. "You may remember you requested us to alter our course and fall in with you in a certain latitude and longitude."
"Rather lucky for you that you didn't, then," rejoined the lieutenant. "We sent out no wireless message. We had good reason to keep the knowledge of our presence south of Las Palmas a secret. Do you remember the position?"
Captain Ramshaw gave the desired information, Chief Officer Lymore corroborating the statement by a reference to the log-book.
"It's a decoy message from the 'Hertzolf,'" announced the naval officer, "she's been particularly active. Sunk the 'Walrus' and 'The Star of Hope,' and captured two colliers. We're on her track now. If I were you, Captain Ramshaw, I'd give Las Palmas a wide berth. Coal at Gib., if you can fetch there with what coal you've on board."
"Very good, I will," answered the master of the "Saraband."
Courteously declining an offer of refreshments the lieutenant went over the side and was rowed back to the "Padstow." Almost before the boat was hoisted up the cruiser pelted off at twenty-five knots to attempt to intercept the already too active "Hertzolf."
It was now no longer necessary in the interests of the ship to withhold the momentous news of the outbreak of war from the passengers. Notices were posted on the various saloons, their appearance being hailed by rousing cheers. Instructions were also given that in the event of the "Saraband" being chased, the passengers were to assemble for'ard in such places as would be pointed out, in order to be as safe as possible from shells from the pursuing vessel.
At two bells in the second dog watch the ship's doctor reported to the captain that von Eckenhardt was sufficiently recovered to be interrogated. Accordingly Captain Ramshaw, Aubyn, Raeburn, and the two quartermasters proceeded to the cabin in which the German had been kept a prisoner.
"Now, von Eckenhardt, what have you to say in answer to the charge of conspiring to cripple the vessel?" demanded Captain Ramshaw.
At the name von Eckenhardt the Teuton started wildly. He had, like his companion in the outrageous attempt, been completely taken aback.
"So Slieber has given me away," he exclaimed passionately. "I am not surprised. Slieber is not a true German. He worked for money. I did what I could for the sake of the Fatherland. Remember I demand to be treated as a prisoner of war."
Captain Ramshaw did not immediately reply. He, too, was taken by surprise. Von Eckenhardt had blundered badly. He had revealed the fact that the real name of the greaser who passed under the name of Stone was Slieber. Also von Eckenhardt was fully aware that a state of war existed between Great Britain and Germany. He claimed a similar privilege to that demanded by Slieber, yet the passengers had been kept in ignorance of the news until half an hour ago. In the captain's mind there was no doubt that both Germans had received information from official sources that a rupture was planned to occur on or about the 4th day of August; and that, even had Great Britain not delivered her ultimatum, the German Empire would have taken the initiative almost at the same time as she threw down the gauntlet to France and Russia.
"The pair of you have quaint notions concerning the rights of prisoners of war," remarked Captain Ramshaw. "No doubt they are perfectly in accord with the views of the German Government, but unfortunately for you, you are not in uniform. In that case you are liable to be placed upon your trial as a spy."
Von Eckenhardt shrugged his shoulders. Although at the moment of detection he had attempted to put an end to his existence by throwing himself into the engine-room, it was because he feared summary vengeance on the part of the officers and men of the "Saraband." Now that that immediate danger was over he took a calm view of the situation. Previous experience told him that German spies brought to trial in England were treated lightly as compared with the severe punishment meted out in the Fatherland to Englishmen accused of espionage.
"I am not a spy," he declared vehemently.
"That remains to be proved, Major von Eckenhardt," rejoined the "old man," in his cool, deliberate manner. "At the same time I may as well express my opinion that, with these documents in the hands of the public prosecutor, you will have some difficulty to prove to the contrary," and he held up the bundle of papers he had removed from the German's cabin.
Von Eckenhardt's jaw dropped, but only for a moment. Then his teeth closed together with a snap like those of a rat-trap. He seemed to be on the point of hurling himself upon the skipper. Then, controlling himself with an effort:—
"There is nothing more for me to say at present," he remarked with a slight inclination of his head.
"Very well. You will be under close arrest till we arrive at Southampton."
The German smiled sarcastically. Under his breath, just loud enough for his captor to hear, he muttered "Perhaps."
Captain Ramshaw resisted the inclination to answer. Obviously the taunt was meant as an insult. More, it suggested the possibility that hostile commerce destroyers had marked the "Saraband" with her precious cargo as a most desirable prey. Without another word he left the cabin, signing to the quartermasters to double-lock the steel door.
The captain was convinced that he had made an important capture. From the documents found in von Eckenhardt's cabin it was clear that the prisoner was a major in the Prussian Guards, and that he had been detailed for secret service to report upon the military and political situation in South Africa. Von Eckenhardt's instructions were written in guarded language and signed by the initial X. Captain Ramshaw had yet to learn who the mysterious X was, and the most important part he played in the extensive and highly active espionage system fostered by the Government of the German Empire.
The new course taken by the "Saraband" was in accordance with the instructions given by the lieutenant of H.M.S. "Padstow." Avoiding Las Palmas the vessel made for the African coast, making a landfall in the neighbourhood of Cape Verd. Thence by a judicious use of his coal, and by hugging the shore as close as possible without risk of grounding on the outlying shoals, Captain Ramshaw hoped to bring his command safely into Gibraltar.
At nights all lights were screened. Board of Trade regulations in the matter of the use of navigation lamps were deliberately ignored. The "Saraband," at a steady seventeen knots, forged blindly ahead through the black waters.
During this anxious period Captain Ramshaw rarely quitted the bridge. If he did so it was only for a few minutes. When compelled by the demands of nature to rest, he slept on a deck-chair in the chart-room, ready at an instant's notice to give orders for the safety of the ship.
On the second night after the meeting of the "Padstow" the quartermaster had just reported four bells—the actual ringing had been dispensed with as a matter of precaution—when a wireless S.O.S. call was received.
It was Terence Aubyn's watch. Promptly the young officer informed the skipper of the call—a summons for aid that is never ignored by the vessels that are within range of wireless.
"S.O.S. call, sir; H.Q.C.P. reports being in collision with a derelict—lat. 22°5'10" N., long. 15°50'20" W."
The thought flashed through the "old man's" mind that the message might be a decoy; yet the claims of humanity urged him to alter course and steam at full speed to the rescue.
Meanwhile Aubyn had referred to the "British Code List," in which he found that the signal letters H.Q.C.P. denoted the SS. "Corona," of West Hartlepool, of 2576 registered tonnage and of 720 horse-power. The "Corona," he knew, was a tramp engaged in running between the Tyne Ports and the Gold Coast.
Captain Ramshaw gave no inkling of the doubt that existed in his mind. He immediately ordered the "Saraband" to be steered towards the position indicated, although he would not allow the wireless to be made use of in order to acquaint the distressed vessel that help was forthcoming. This was one of the steps he took to guard against the base misuse of the hitherto inviolate S.O.S. call. In addition, as previously, the guns' crews stood by their two powerful weapons.
Hour after hour passed as the "Saraband" sped on her errand of mercy. Fitfully the S.O.S. was received as if the ill-fated crew of the "Corona," despairing at not having news that their message had been picked up, were still calling for aid from passing vessels.
Down below McBride's staff was working heroically. The firemen, stripped to the waist, were shovelling coal with rapid yet dexterous haste. Stoking is an art: it requires more than merely piling fuel into the furnaces; but there was no lack of capability on the part of the "Saraband's" stokehold staff. Quickly the old boat worked up to her maximum speed.
"Light on the port bow, sir," sung out the mastheadman. "Red flame throwing out red stars."
"That's the 'Corona' then," declared the "old man." "Starboard your helm, quartermaster: keep her at that. Mr. Lymore, see that the cutter is cleared away."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the chief officer.
The signal of distress flare was calculated to be seen from twelve to fourteen miles off In three-quarters of an hour the "Saraband" would be on the spot, by which time daylight would have dawned.
As the distance decreased the frequent flares could be observed from the bridge of the "Saraband." Anxiously the officers brought their night-glasses to bear upon the scene, as the dull patch of ruddy light rose higher and higher above the horizon.
"It's a four-masted vessel, sir!" exclaimed Terence. "The 'Corona' has only two. She looks to be about six thousand tons displacement."
"By Jove, you're, right Mr. Aubyn!" said the "old man." "Hard a-port, quartermaster. It's a ruse."
The steam steering-gear snorted as the helm flew hard over. Listing heavily outwards as she swung round the "Saraband" sought to avoid the danger. Alarmed by the sudden heel several of the passengers rushed from below.
"Reassure these people and send them to their cabins," ordered Captain Ramshaw, addressing his third officer. "Stand by——"
A vivid flash burst from the supposed disabled ship, and a shell, hurtling a cable's length astern on the now fleeing "Saraband" announced the stranger in her true colours. She was a German armed liner. Her keen lookout had detected the phosphorescent swirl from the bows of the British vessel as she swung to starboard.
The peremptory greeting was quickly followed by a wireless order:—
"Heave-to, or I'll sink you. Disconnect your wireless. Stand by to receive a boat."
To this demand Captain Ramshaw paid no attention. His true British blood was up. As long as he could run and fight he would keep the Old Flag flying.
With the whole of her fabric trembling under the vibrations of her powerful engines the "Saraband" began her bid for safety. The passengers, according to previous instructions, were ordered forward, while the stewards calmly went about distributing life-belts, at the same time assuring the more timorous of their charges that the procedure was merely a matter of precaution.
From her wireless-room messages were sent for aid from any British cruisers likely to be in the vicinity, while at the same time warnings were issued for all merchantmen to avoid the danger that now threatened the hard-pressed "Saraband."
For hard-pressed she certainly was. When day broke the German liner, identified as the 25-knot "Osnabruck," was now five miles astern. In spite of her supposed superior speed she was not doing her best, although her two huge funnels were belching out enormous clouds of black smoke.
That she was prepared for the work of destruction there was no doubt. Her black hull, white deck houses, and lofty yellow funnels had been repainted a neutral grey. For'ard she mounted two guns, while the muzzles of several others could be discovered trained abeam.
She was steadily gaining. Shells from her guns were ricochetting on either side of the fleeing "Saraband," throwing up columns of spray fifty feet into the air.
"You'll have to do better than that, my friend," said the "old man" grimly. The spirit of fight—the old Bersark strain in his blood—was strong within him. But for his passengers he would have risked an engagement. As it was, he had to run for it, but he meant to show that even a British merchantman could show her teeth.
Meanwhile, Terence Aubyn had made his way aft to take charge of the starboard quarter 4.7-in. gun, the other one being under the orders of the third officer, a hot-blooded Irishman, named O'Reilly, who could hardly prevent himself from giving a premature order to open fire.
"Let her have it: at six thousand yards," came the order from the bridge.
Both guns spoke simultaneously. Almost before the powerful weapons had recovered from the recoil, which was taken up by the hydraulic mountings, the breech blocks were thrown open and another shell in a gleaming brass cylinder was thrust into each gun.
"A hit, sir!" shouted one of the gun's crews, for even with the naked eye a dense haze of yellow smoke was seen to be enveloping the fore part of the "Osnabruck."
Whatever the damage it did not compel the German vessel to cease pursuit. Soon her grey outlines were observed to be emerging from the mist of smoke that partly hid her from view. Spurts of yellow flame, stabbing the early morning air, showed that her bow guns were still in action.
An appalling crash, outvoicing the simultaneous barks of the British guns, denoted the disconcerting fact that one, at least, of the hostile projectiles had "got home."
Pungent fumes drifted aft; splinters, hurled high in the air, began to fall all around the gun's crews.
"Steady, men, steady!" shouted Aubyn encouragingly, for some of the crew were attracted by the sound and were endeavouring to ascertain the result of the havoc. "Never mind that. Keep at it."
Even as he spoke the "Saraband" swung round quite fifteen degrees to port, thus exposing her length and lofty freeboard to the German vessel. The gunners of the latter were not slow to take advantage. One shell crashed through the side amidships, just above the water-line, and completely wrecked the passengers' third-class dining-room. Fortunately, owing to Captain Ramshaw's precautions, this part of the ship was unoccupied.
A second shell, ricochetting a hundred yards off, leapt up and wrecked the after-funnel, causing dense volumes of smoke to eddy along the alleyways.
The first projectile that hit the "Saraband" was responsible for the damage done by the other two. Bursting underneath the bridge it demolished that structure, sending the breastwork of sacks of flour far and wide like an avalanche.
Captain Ramshaw and Chief Officer Lymore were both flung from the crumbling structure on to the cargo hatch abaft the foremost. Fortunately beyond being considerably shaken, they were not seriously hurt, but with the destruction of the bridge the steam steering-gear was affected, and this caused the "Saraband" to begin to circle to port.
Although partly dazed by the fall, the "old man," with a true seaman's instinctive sense, knew that the ship was fairly off her course. Staggering to his feet he made his way across the chaotic pile of flour-sacks, many of which had been ripped open by fragments of shell, and ordered the hand steering-gear to be manned. In five minutes the "Saraband" was once more under control, although the demolition of one of her funnels and the consequent reduction of draft caused an appreciable diminution in speed.
While the ship was broadside on to the enemy the gun under Aubyn's orders was temporarily out of action. It could not be trained upon the "Osnabruck" without a serious risk of injury to the second gun's crew by the blast from the weapon.
It was indeed fortunate that while in this position she was not sent to the bottom. According to the rules of naval strategy and tactics she ought to have been, were it not for the indifferent aim of the German gun-layers.
On the other hand, the British 4.7-in. guns were getting in hit after hit with admirable precision. Already the "Osnabruck's" upper works appeared to be a mass of scrap iron. Fires had broken out in several places, yet she held grimly in pursuit, under the erroneous impression that the few shells she did get home would terrorise the "Saraband" into surrendering.
Presently the fourth officer's gun made a splendid hit. Striking the German vessel's bows almost on the water-line the shell made a clean hole before exploding. When it did the damage in the confined space was terrific. Her thin bow plates were burst outwards, while the for'ard watertight bulkhead was strained till it admitted the sea like a mill sluice.
A cheer broke from the parched lips of the "Saraband's" crew. Her antagonist was settling down by the head. Her speed slackened rapidly. Her engines were going half-speed astern in the hope of checking the inrush of water.
"She's done for, sir!" exclaimed Terence excitedly, as Chief Officer Lymore, his face and clothes mottled with flour and smoke, came aft.
"Ay, she's settled with," agreed Lymore grimly. "Cease firing. It's no use wasting ammunition."
"If only we would slow down and pepper her till she surrenders," declared Terence, the lust of battle in his heart.
"She will, right enough," said the chief officer consolingly. "We've our passengers to consider. The 'old man' is going to take the ship out of range and wait. We'll have to pick up the survivors somehow, but there isn't a boat that won't leak like a sieve."
Such, indeed, was the case. Those of the boats that were not shattered by direct hits or holed by flying fragments of shell, were so utterly strained by the concussion as to be unfit for use. Already the carpenter's crew were setting to work, caulking the gaping seams of the boats which seemed likely to be used for the forthcoming work of rescue.
When well out of range, the "Saraband" swung round and stopped, her bows pointing in the direction of the foundering "Osnabruck," that appeared to be little more than a dot upon the horizon. By the aid of glasses brought to bear upon the scene, the German vessel was observed to be listing slightly to starboard and very much down by the head. All her upper works were hidden by a thick cloud of smoke.
Meanwhile, Captain Ramshaw took up his position on the boat-deck, owing to the demolition of the bridge. Here receiving reports from various officers concerning the amount of damage done to the ship and giving brief and concise orders as to what was to be done, he was as busy as ever he had been in the whole course of his thirty-odd years at sea.
Now that the danger was over the passengers were allowed to leave their cramped quarters, and, subject to certain restrictions, allowed to make use of most of the decks. One, a short, pompouslooking individual, holding a camera, boldly approached the skipper.
"I say, Captain Ramshaw," he began in a high, affected voice, "don't you think you could take us a little nearer, so as to get a view of the object of our triumph? The sinking ship would be a unique object to snapshot, don't you think?"
The "old man" showed not the slightest sign of annoyance or surprise at the interruption.
"My dear sir," he replied affably, "would you put your fingers within snapping range of a mad dog, even if the animal were chained up and dying? I think not. Yonder vessel will bark as long as the muzzles of her guns are above water. Remember, sir, that this is the real thing, and that we are up against an enemy that we cannot afford to underestimate. I am sorry that I cannot comply with your request."
The passenger went away. Captain Ramshaw and the chief officer exchanged glances. The latter uttered a short laugh.
"I think if I'd been in your place, sir, I would have booted him out of it," declared Lymore.
"So I should have done," rejoined the skipper, "if I had been in my own place—but I'm not. I'm an employee of the Company, and have to study their interests. By Jove, Lymore, we do look a pair of ragamuffins! Talk about the dignity of the Company's uniform! But I wouldn't have missed the fun for a thousand pounds."
Captain Ramshaw was as elated as a young subaltern who had donned uniform for the first time. He had reason to be so. He had fought against considerable odds, and had come out "top dog." It was but one of many instances where the peaceful British mercantile marine officer shows that the training he has had amid the perils of the sea can be utilized as a powerful asset to the armed strength of the Empire upon whose banner the sun never sets.
"She's surrendered, sir; she's hoisted the white flag," shouted the crow's-nest man.
Ordering full speed ahead, Captain Ramshaw directed a course to be steered for the sinking "Osnabruck." While the carpenter and his men were still working feverishly in the boats, others of the crew were preparing lifelines and getting life-buoys ready to throw to the luckless wretches who, up till half an hour ago, had done their utmost to send the "Saraband" and her passengers and crew to "Davy Jones' Locker."
Rapidly the foundering vessel came clearer and clearer into view. Already her fo'c'sle was awash. Her crew had mustered aft, waiting for the final plunge; there was not one of her boats that was not rendered useless by the straight firing of the two 4.7-in. guns of her antagonist.
"By Jove, those fellows are brave and disciplined!" remarked Lymore, who was standing close to Terence. "Germany has a comparatively new navy, without any of the glorious traditions that ours has; yet——"
"They copy us, as much as possible, in that respect," added Aubyn. "I believe the Kaiser had the story of our 'Birkenhead' printed and distributed amongst his fleet as an example of what they ought to do in the face of death. Look, there she goes."
Quietly, without any suspicion of a swirl, the sea closed over the ill-fated "Osnabruck." She did not turn turtle. In fact, she partly righted herself as she disappeared, leaving a pall of smoke that obscured the awful vision of two hundred human beings struggling for life, to mark the spot where she took her last plunge.
Fortunately the sea was calm and the water warm. The cannonading had frightened away the tigers of the deep, so that the terrible danger of being seized by sharks was not added to the horrors of the scene. All around the surface was dotted with the heads of men swimming for dear life. Many of the German sailors were supporting their wounded comrades. They swam in silence, neither indulging in careless jest nor appealing for aid. They were too stolid to meet danger with the light-hearted bravery of the British tars; they were too confident in their belief that their enemies would do their utmost to save them to waste their breath in shouting for help.
The three boats were lowered almost simultaneously, and urged by the powerful strokes of the oarsmen as they bent to the ash blades, were quickly upon the scene. Men were hauled into the boats with all possible despatch, the officers in charge giving their crews special orders to pick up those who were wounded and exhausted.
Other Germans were saved by lifelines, while in several instances members of the "Saraband's" crew dived overboard from a height of thirty feet to rescue hapless Teutons who were on the point of sinking.
In all, eleven officers and one hundred and sixteen men, most of them partly dazed by the ordeal through which they had passed, were saved. F Provided with dry clothing by their captors, the officers were marched aft and placed under lock and key in the second-class passengers' smoking-room, while the men, save those whose state required medical or surgical attention, were secured in the fore part of the ship.
The German officers took their defeat badly. They had been informed of the "Saraband's" approximate position by wireless from their consort, the armed liner "Hertzolf," and had hoped to make an easy capture. Nor could they credit that the casualties on the British vessel numbered only eight men slightly wounded. They scoffed openly at the statement, till Captain Ramshaw, indignant that his word should be doubted, invited the German commander to witness a muster of the crew and compare the numbers with those on the ship's papers.
Without further incident the "Saraband" arrived at the Rock. Here, escorted by a naval vessel, since Gibraltar was under war conditions, she went inside the Mole and coaled. Temporary repairs, beyond the resources of the ship, were also carried out. The authorities, however, declined to take off the German prisoners, nor would they allow any of the passengers to land.
Four days later the "Saraband" brought up in Sandown Bay, off the Isle of Wight—the recognized "Examination Ground" for all merchant vessels making for either Portsmouth or Southampton. Here she was boarded by a naval officer who was detailed to pilot her through the intricate channel between the submarine defences of Spithead. In war-time nothing was left to chance in the safeguarding of the kingdom's greatest naval port. No vessels were permitted to enter by the Needles Channel. All movements of craft other than naval were forbidden to take place after dark, while at night the approaches to the historic anchorage were swept by dozens of powerful searchlights.
Terence Aubyn was naturally curious to know in what capacity he was to be employed by the Admiralty. He knew that with the calling up of the naval reserve he would for the time being sever his connexion with the Red Band Line. He hoped he would be appointed to a battleship or cruiser.
He was not long left in suspense. As the ship rounded the Nab Lightship her orders were received:—
"Make for Southampton and disembark passengers: then proceed to Portsmouth. 'Saraband' is to be converted with all due haste into an armed merchant cruiser."
No patriotic demonstrations, no outbursts of cheering greeted the badly battered vessel as, under reduced speed, she glided up the land-locked Southampton Water and made fast alongside the dock-wall. Save for a gang of stevedores and the mooring-party the docks were absolutely devoid of the civilian element. Khaki and naval uniforms were strongly in evidence, for the great commercial port had been given over entirely for warlike purposes, chiefly in connexion with the secret departure of the British Expeditionary Force.
Almost five hundred years previously an English army had embarked at that self-same town to wage a glorious campaign on French soil. Fifteen hundred small vessels, bedecked with banners, their lofty bulwarks lined with the shields of the flower of English chivalry, carried the array commanded by Henry V in person. With shouts and fanfares of trumpets and amid the acclamations of the worthy townsfolk, the fleet dropped down Southampton Water, bearing the knights, men-at-arms, and archers who were destined to win immortal glory on the field of Agincourt.
And now history was repeating itself—but with a difference. The forces of the Mighty Empire were once more leaving Southampton for the land of France: not as enemies of that country but as sworn allies against a common, powerful, and unscrupulous foe. These forces were working silently. There were no boisterous farewells, no braying of brass bands, no flamboyant speeches. The silent armies meant business.
Berthed in a secluded portion of the docks the "Saraband" immediately began to disembark her passengers. A train was waiting to take them away from the scene of military activity, for the sooner they were out of the way the quicker was the Embarkation Officer pleased. Then came the turn of the survivors of the "Osnabruck."
At the dock-side a strong body of khaki troops with fixed bayonets was drawn up, ready to form an escort to the prisoners. Two closed cabs were waiting for Major Karl von Eckenhardt and his confederate, Hans Slieber, who were to be indicted on several counts before a civil court.
The German sailors, finding that they were well treated, gave no trouble. In a quiet, orderly manner they trooped down the gangway and formed up in fours. In spite of their nondescript garments they presented a military bearing that characterizes the German seaman whether he be a member of the Imperial Navy or of the Mercantile Marine. One and all were permeated by the cast-iron discipline that is one of the results of a rigid system of conscription.
Surrounded by their guards they were marched off to cool their heels in a concentration camp.
"Now, Mr. Aubyn," said Captain Ramshaw, after the captive seamen had departed, "take the quartermaster with you and accompany these gentlemen."
He pointed to the four police officers who had been detailed to conduct the German spies to prison.
"We'll soon relieve you of further responsibility, sir," remarked one of the police. "According to information these gentlemen have caused a lot of trouble: I reckon they won't do so again, once we've laid hold of them."
"I won't be sorry to see the last of them," agreed Terence. "I only hope I shan't be kept about in connexion with the trial. I want to be afloat again."
The quartermaster unlocked the door of the cell in which Hans Slieber, alias Stone, was confined. The man sullenly submitted to be handcuffed; then, escorted by two of the police, was taken on deck.
"You didn't keep your two birds together, I see," commented one of the remaining officers.
"Rather not," replied Aubyn. "The two of them might put their heads together and do mischief. Alone, each can be kept in perfect safety. Now, quartermaster."
The quartermaster unlocked the door of the cabin in which Major von Eckenhardt had been placed. Then he gave a gasp of astonishment. The room was empty.
Unable to disguise his chagrin Terence dashed into the cabin, followed by the two police officers.
"It's as clear as daylight how he managed it," announced one of the representatives of the law, pointing to a portion of the steel bulkhead that lay on the floor. An oval section, wide enough for a man to crawl through, had been filed out of the partition. The aperture communicated with the second-class passengers' smoking-room in which the surviving officers of the "Osnabruck" had been quartered. Von Eckenhardt had been released from his place of confinement by them. Once in their company he shaved off his moustache and donned a naval uniform. Since some of the prisoners wore civilian garb, it was a comparatively easy matter for the spy to march out of the ship with the others.
"Anyway, we'll nab him at the concentration camp," declared one of the policemen confidently. "I'm afraid, sir, you'll be one of those who will have to identify him."
"If you can manage to stop the train you'll save me a lot of bother," declared Terence. "I must inform Captain Ramshaw at once."
Acting upon the fourth officer's suggestion the police succeeded in intercepting the train before it got clear of the docks. The German officers were closely inspected, but without result. By means of an astounding sang-froid the redoubtable spy, von Eckenhardt, had slipped past the guards while the prisoners were entraining, and was no doubt well on his way to liberty, and, what was worse, to renew his activities against the British Government.