Fighting Byng Part 23

About dusk Scotty came in for food, and said he would be willing to stay out on the _Sprite_ patrolling until midnight, and then, if relieved for four hours, would resume.

Just before dark Howard did transfer the pump to the after hold, the engine-room and crew's quarters and it began throwing a merry stream, every throb bringing us nearer the end of our task and goal.

I tried to get Howard to sleep some, but he only laughed.

"When we are through I will have months to sleep."

I did not tell him what a filthy condition existed in Mexico, and how long it would be before we would be compelled to put the cleaner on her. She was pro-Hun to the core and somehow I did not like the fact that Ramund was there now and only a day or two sail from us.

Darkness had set in with a cloudy sky. Everything went well until about time for Scotty to report at midnight when the marine on guard saw something over the port bow; it looked like a vessel coming, without lights.

"What do you think it is?" Howard asked anxiously.

"I can't make out but it's something and it's getting plainer. I wonder where Scotty is with the _Sprite_?" The marine stood at attention by the side of the one-pounder in the bow. The submarine was riding easy just clear of the _Anti-Kaiser's_ sides.

We finally recognized the outlines of a vessel advancing, and apparently a big one, too. It was not moving fast but was surely approaching, bearing directly down on us. Our port and starboard lights were surely visible to them and they could certainly see them in time to clear us.

"What can we do but fire on her? She will be on top of us in another minute!" shouted Howard, fully alive to the danger.

I called to the marine to let a shot go directly at her, which he did instantly, then another and another, but the little one-pound shots apparently made as much impression on her iron bow as water on a duck's back, and she did not veer a fraction of a point, coming dead on us. When she got closer I could make out she was undoubtedly a big merchantman, perhaps eight or ten thousand tons. How I prayed for Scotty to be here and give her a dose of a five-pound gun. But seconds counted now, our danger was extreme, and we were wholly helpless. On she came, moving perhaps at the rate of twelve knots. She could not possibly keep such a course by mistake for the one-pound gun made enough noise in the silent midnight Gulf to awaken the dead.

Howard was not excited. He made a step toward the marine waiting for another order to fire, then stopped and seemed to measure our chances.

He appeared to be taking inventory of the damage the great blunt bow would do during the few seconds before she struck the _Anti-Kaiser_ wrecking boat a glancing blow forward that brought her over on her beam's end, snapping the hawsers that fastened us to the submarine, as through cotton strings or cobwebs.

Howard and the marine grasped the one-pounder to keep from sliding down the now vertical decks of the _Anti-Kaiser_ into the sea, I being just as fortunate in getting my arm through a hawser eye.

Her dull black iron sides seemed an age getting out of the way, leaving the _Anti-Kaiser_ trembling and rocking like a chip on the white caps.

Both Howard and I rushed to the side to ascertain if possible what was undoubtedly a deliberate attempt to run us down, murder us and steal the prize we had labored so long and arduously to raise from the floor of the sea.

Where was Scotty with the _Sprite_ and five-pound gun? Had he turned traitor and played into their hands?

CHAPTER XXVII

We did not have long to wait to learn where Scotty was. The murderous, devil s.h.i.+p had just disappeared into the night when in the silent midnight waters of the Gulf an ear-splitting report of a cannon came like a shout from heaven. I was sure now Scotty would follow all night to get them, sink them or get sunk. Howard and I turned our attention to actual damages. The lanterns by which we worked had all slid into the sea. By the wonderful phosph.o.r.escent effect of agitated Gulf waters we could see that the submarine still rolled violently and was taking water in the after-hold out of which we had been pumping for six hours. Of course, with hawsers parted, it began to drift away from us in the tide, accelerated by the tail wake of the big s.h.i.+p.

We heard two more shots from the five-pounder and my confidence in Scotty and the marine aboard the _Sprite_ increased. I knew the little Scot was working to do his bit.

Both Howard and I turned together to the little _t.i.tian_ tied with liberal swinging room to the stern of the _Anti-Kaiser_. We pulled her alongside and Howard jumped in. "She is half full of water!" he shouted. "She had keeled over on her beam as the colliding s.h.i.+p shoved her out of the way!"

The loosened submarine had drifted out of sight. Howard finally found a lantern and lit it. We went to the lifeboat of the _Anti-Kaiser_, so securely lashed it would take minutes to free it, and the minutes now were more than hours at another time, and Howard knew it.

As though pre-arranged he plunged into the sea in the direction of the drifting prize, his life, his hope, his patriotic endeavor, his duty to little Jim, all in the balance.

I felt safer now as I knew he would get to her quicker that way even if she went to the bottom. Fifteen years of sponging had made water almost a natural element to him.

The _Anti-Kaiser's_ three anchors were let out during the storm and had evidently held. After a rapid examination no damage was evidenced; she did not leak.

With the lantern I rushed into the hold. I must have kicked the old darkey Don pretty hard; he had disgustingly slept through it all. I then relit the red and green signal light the collision had put out. I stopped to listen, but the only sound was the faint lapping of the water against the sides of the _Anti-Kaiser_.

Straining my eyes to get some sign of the prize, I was haunted by the thought that Howard might not find it and perish. Don came up; I ordered him to help the marine man the lifeboat, and rushed to the boat's charts to make sure which way the tidal currents ran there and estimate in what direction the submarine would drift.

As a naked steel thrust, came the knowledge that it flowed about three miles per hour through a channel between coral islands less than three miles away, not navigable because of coral formation close to the surface, the tide that had been ebbing three hours making it still more dangerous.

I stood on the stern of the _Anti-Kaiser_ and halloed, again and again, loud enough, it seemed, to reach the infernal regions. But no response came forth from the silent Gulf waters. Howard was lost or had drifted out of my voice's range.

I ordered the marine and Don to bail out the little _t.i.tian_ and see if he could start its motor. I then jumped into the lowered lifeboat, determined to find Howard. Scotty, I was sure, would take care of himself and the h.e.l.l-bound s.h.i.+p that would run us down with murderous, destructive intent.

I would row, then get up and shout for Howard to answer, more rowing and yelling again at the top of my voice, without receiving a sound in response.

I came back to the _Anti-Kaiser_ hoping Don and the marine had the _t.i.tian_ bailed out and the motor started; with that I could make more speed.

They had the water out, but, being flooded so long, the motor would not start. Again I went out to row, this time in a larger circle, shouting at regular intervals. I recalled that I had done the same thing for Howard twenty years ago on Alligator Island in Georgia.

Obsessed by the anxiety and strain the past day's h.e.l.lish influence suggested and haunted me with the thought that this time he was lost, the prize lost, and little Jim fatherless! I tell you it was torture any man would escape if he could. I recalled waiting for the break of day as I did on Alligator Island, and prayed that things would turn out the way they did that time. In this instance it was different, however. The prize submarine may have been injured and sunk so far away that Howard was unable to swim back.

Before dawn, after long and hard work, I cleared the _t.i.tian's_ motor of water and had her running. I knew then I could swiftly search in daylight, and when the first rays were showing in the horizon Don made coffee.

As I ate and drank I walked about scanning the water as far as the slowly advancing light would allow, with no results. At first a light fog obscured the coral islands, the direction in which I knew he must drift. The marine and I cursed it. But I stopped suddenly as I heard old Don in the cabin praying earnestly for the safety of his master.

The sincere supplication moved and comforted.

He was right. It was no time to curse. He put plenty of food and water in the _t.i.tian_ before I started and looked to see if the rifle in the holster before me was all right, little Jim's rifle that always went with the _t.i.tian_; then said as I was leaving that he would continue to pray for little Jim's father and me until we both returned, and, say what you will, it gave me a quiet strength.

"I know you gwine to find him," he called to me as the little propeller began to lash the water viciously as if it, too, knew what was at stake and gathered express speed like a greyhound with its quarry in sight.

It wasn't yet broad daylight and patches of fog hung in places, which I recall annoyed me to irritation, as the _t.i.tian_ shot out in the direction I thought the prize would drift. I had gone perhaps three miles before I saw a dark spot that I first thought was a denser fog, but as I drew near it I could discern the high stern of a merchant vessel. Yes, it was a vessel, and the _t.i.tian_ seemed to know and tightened its grip on the water until I came close enough to read on its stern, _Monserat_ of Vera Cruz. I could recall an old English-built vessel by that name that sailed under the Mexican flag between Mexico and California ports, and bore a doubtful reputation with the custom-house officials on the Pacific Coast. As this flashed through my mind I changed my course to avoid coming too close. I saw she was at anchor, the same dirty black sides that seemed to rush by in their evident intent to run us down. She needed paint and was so old that she had been built of iron, before steel began to be used in s.h.i.+p construction.

Scotty wanted to explain why he didn't see her coming and head her off before she struck, and how he forced her to anchor by two shots into her upper works. As soon as he stopped I came alongside with him giving a broadside view of the _Monserat_.

"Have you seen anything of the submarine? This fellow cut us apart and it has been drifting."

"No--been sailing close around this fellow all night, so that he didn't play any more tricks until you go aboard," he replied, looking very haggard and hungry from his all-night patrol, eating the food I gave him ravenously.

"You did right, Scotty. Hold him at anchor until I return. I've got to locate the submarine first for she may be still floating into some dangerous position."

"I think this fellow has a gun aft, and may try something after it gets full daylight," said Scotty, viewing her with his gla.s.ses, and then, like any good sailor, swept the sea on each side and beyond.

"Circle him at a safe distance and if he tries any tricks give him the iron--sink the s.h.i.+p rather than allow him to get away," I ordered, quickly preparing to resume my search in an improved light, much hastened by Scotty's work.

Scotty did not reply, but continued with his binoculars to the left of the _Monserat_.

"What is it, Scotty?"

"The light is still bad, but unless the fog fools me I can make out something to the left of the Mexican. No--no; it's nothing----" he said, disappointedly and slow. "Yes, it is--surely it is something; look yourself!" he said excitedly, handing me the gla.s.ses.