Part 8 (1/2)
”You didn't help me when I was strung across that d.a.m.ned spar and I'm not going to help you,” he said. ”Still,” he added, ”I'll give you a bit of advice. When the time comes for you to man the guns and start blazing away at some s.h.i.+p or other, stand fast. Let the swivel-eyed blighter do his own murdering.”
”That's all right,” growled a voice, ”but 'e'll start doin' it on us.”
”Yes, and you'll ask his kind permission to take off your jumpers so's he can cut your throats easier,” sneered Skelt.
”No, by G.o.d, we won't!” exclaimed someone truculently.
The new note of defiance was taken up. It was one thing to face the terrible skipper in his cabin, but quite another to swear to disobey his orders, when there was no immediate prospect of those orders being given. Their courage went up by leaps and bounds, and they discussed plans for defying the Captain's commands--in whispers.
”That's the right spirit,” said Skelt encouragingly. ”This skipper may be a holy terror, but he can't murder us all if we stick together. Just show him that you don't mean to put your necks in the hangman's rope for his sake, and he'll soon calm down, I'll swear. I know them bucko skippers: all froth and fury so long as they think you're afraid of 'em; but once they see you don't care a Dago's d.a.m.n for all their bullying, they become as meek as lambs. Oh, I know 'em! Sailed with one----”
The ex-boatswain's reminiscence was cut short by the sound of a whistle on deck. Next moment the foc'sle door was flung open and the second-mate put his head in.
”To your stations, every man!” he shouted. ”Uncover the guns and stand by for orders!”
There was a rush from the foc'sle, and the first man to take his station and start peeling the tarpaulins off the machine-gun, was the fiery and defiant Jasper Skelt.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PRIZE
A slight haze hung over the water, so that sea and sky were merged in a film of brooding grey. Through this, looking strangely flimsy and unreal by reason of the mist, could be seen a large cargo-steamer of about five thousand tons. She was steaming in the opposite direction to the _Hawk_ at something like ten knots, and from her triatic stay fluttered a hoist of signal-flags indicating the question: ”What s.h.i.+p are you?”
”What shall I answer, sir?” inquired Mr. d.y.k.es of Calamity.
”'British steamer _Hawk_. Singapore for London.'”
The signal was hoisted and the reply came: ”British steamer _Ann_, Rio for Hongkong.” At the same time the red ensign was hoisted at the stern.
”You say that when you first saw her she was flying the German flag?”
Calamity inquired of Mr. d.y.k.es.
”Yes, sir. I think she must have just pa.s.sed another German s.h.i.+p, for the ensign was being hauled down when I sighted her.”
”H'm, she was German a few minutes ago; now she's British. Signal her to stop, Mr. d.y.k.es.”
The signal was duly hoisted, but the steamer paid no attention and proceeded on her course, while from her funnel arose a thick cloud of black smoke, showing that the stokers were firing up. Although the skipper of the _Ann_ might resent being called upon to stop by what looked like another merchant vessel, this sudden attempt to accelerate speed, coupled with an unusual freedom in the use of national flags, was suspicious to say the least of it.
”Put a shot through her funnel, Mr. d.y.k.es,” said Calamity.
With his own hands, the mate sighted the quick-firer on the bridge and then nodded to the boatswain, who was also chief gunner. Next moment a sheet of flame leapt from the muzzle, there was a terrific roar, and a sh.e.l.l struck, not the _Ann's_ funnel, but the supporting guys and pa.s.sed through a ventilating cowl above the engine-room. Despite this unequivocal hint, the steamer did not stop, and the foam under her stern showed that she was putting on speed.
”Aim for the chart-room and make a better shot of it,” said Calamity.
Mr. d.y.k.es, greatly chagrined at his first shot having gone wide of its mark, again sighted the gun. Meanwhile the Captain was bringing round the _Hawk_ in the arc of a circle to get her in the wake of the retreating steamer.
Bang!