Part 3

The mate whipped out a knife and sawed at the rope lashing, but the blade was blunt and the rope tough, and before he was half-way through one strand, a yellow face, with a long, evil-looking knife between its teeth, appeared at the ladder top.

But the stroke never came, for the rope suddenly parted with a crack, and the man disappeared backwards.

There was no time for further talking, for the enemy had now opened a furious fire, while the Europeans, having armed themselves with rifles, were lying on the deck emptying their magazines at their assailants. They succeeded in dropping a good many, but the defenders were outnumbered by more than twenty to one.

The second mate suddenly sat up with a muttered word.

“They’ve got me, the devils!” he remarked, clenching his teeth with pain. “Lucky it’s only through the left arm, so I can still use a rifle.”

He bandaged the injured member with his handkerchief and calmly went on shooting. But the enemy’s fire was becoming more accurate, and at last a bullet went through the mate’s cap and sent it flying.

“We must take cover!” exclaimed the captain, noticing what had happened. “Down on the upper deck, everyone, and take shelter behind the bulwarks!”

They got up one by one and dashed down the ladder leading to the deck, with the bullets flying round them like hail, but they all succeeded in reaching their haven of refuge without being hit.

Once behind the bulwarks they were comparatively safe, for no bullet could penetrate the stout steel, and they only had to expose their heads to fire.

The fight went on for a quarter of an hour without any advantage to either side, when suddenly Jim, happening to glance round, saw a blue-clad figure with a rifle in its hand slinking along underneath the bridge.

The boy wheeled in an instant, brought the weapon to his shoulder, and fired. The shot went wide, but it served its purpose, for the man vanished.

“They’ve boarded us forward, father!” he exclaimed.

As if to prove the truth of his statement, two more pirates suddenly appeared in the direction he pointed out.

“We shall have to barricade ourselves aft,” ejaculated the captain to the others. “Come on, there’s no time to lose!”

No sooner said than done. Within two minutes the defenders had entered the saloon, and after barricading the door with such movable furniture as they could find, they took up their positions with their rifle muzzles pointing through the portholes opening out on to the deck.

For some time nothing happened, and Jim’s eyes grew tired from the glare of the strong sunlight outside. He waited, however, with rifle ready, and at last the head and shoulders of a pirate appeared round the corner of the superstructure.

He watched intently, and was just about to fire, when there came a wild yell, and fully twenty pirates came running along the superstructure deck.

“Bang--bang! Bang, bang, bang!” went the rifles, and several of the blue figures fell headlong. But some of them reached the deck untouched, and taking up a position behind the hatchway coaming, opened a heavy fire.

Their bullets struck the steel bulkhead with a series of loud clangs, while Jim at his porthole had a narrow escape, a bullet whistling past his cheek and shattering a mirror the other end of the saloon. It rather unnerved him, but still he went on loading and firing, loading and firing, like a veteran.

Several more of the enemy had been hit, but before long the second engineer dropped his weapon with a clatter and clutched at his right shoulder, through which a bullet had passed.

His place at the porthole was taken by the second mate, who, though wounded, could use his rifle, and while the captain bandaged the engineer, the firing continued.

The pirates now tried rushing towards the bulkhead, but the defenders’ steady, accurate fire upset their calculations, and time after time they were driven back with loss.

For another hour nothing further happened, and though wild yelling could be heard in the fore part of the ship, there was no more firing.

“I expect they’re trying to loot the foremost hold, sir,” remarked Dowell. “They’ll have a tough job, though,” he remarked, with a grin. “All the cargo’s in big cases, and they won’t shift them in a hurry.”

The captain was just about to reply, when Jim, who happened to be taking a breath of fresh air at one of the portholes in the ship’s side, suddenly gave a yell of delight.

“What’s the matter?” asked his father.

“There’s a ship out at sea,” exclaimed the boy excitedly.

They all crowded round and gazed in the direction in which he pointed, and there, sure enough, was a small white vessel steering a course to round the point of land some distance astern of the steamer.

So far the Chinese had been too intent upon their loot to notice her, for there were no signs of movement on the part of the junks.

“I wonder if she’ll spot us?” queried the skipper anxiously. “Can’t we think of something to attract her attention?”

They all looked at each other anxiously, for this was a difficulty they had not considered.

But Jim came to the rescue.

“Father!” he said suddenly, “from her colour I believe she’s a man-of-war. Why shouldn’t we signal to her?”

The captain looked at his son.

“But how d’you propose to do it?” he asked.

“Signal to ’em by the Morse code,” said Jim.

No sooner said than done. Round the saloon were the cabins of several of the officers, and going to all of them in turn Jim purloined all the walking sticks he could lay his hands upon. He found eight in all, and lashing them together, succeeded in forming a fairly stout pole about ten feet in length. Then, tearing a large piece off a white tablecloth, he secured it to one end, and going to one of the portholes thrust his improvised flag through it, and began to wave it to and fro in a series of longs and shorts.

-- -- -- --,--,-- ---- -- --,-- ---- ---- --

it went, spelling out the word HELP time after time.

But the Chinese had spotted the flag, and before Jim had been at work for two minutes he heard wild yells, and an instant later the rifles of his comrades were once more hard at work.

II

H.M. Sloop _Lucifer_ was proceeding towards the Shantung Promontory at a steady twelve knots.

On her bridge the lieutenant on watch leant listlessly against a stanchion, slowly sweeping his telescope from side to side as he gazed through it at the land on the port bow. He was doing it more from pure force of habit than anything else, but he suddenly gave vent to a low exclamation, and, bracing himself up, held his glass perfectly steady.

“Great Cæsar’s ghost!” he remarked to himself, “there’s a steamer ashore there with some junks alongside her, and someone’s waving something white from one of her ports. Short short short short, short, short long short short, short long long short,” he read out. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed, “the fellow’s spelling out HELP!”

He left his position and went amidships, and, leaning over the bridge, gave an order to the man at the wheel below.

“Starboard, three points!”

The helmsman put the wheel over, and while the _Lucifer_ swung round until her bows were pointing directly towards the stranded vessel, a messenger was sent to the commander to inform him of what had been sighted, and, before a minute had passed, he was on the bridge gazing intently at the stranded ship through his binoculars.

“It’s my opinion,” he remarked at length, and seeing the white flag waving to and fro, “that the Chinamen from those junks are giving the fellows on board that steamer a pretty rotten time. She probably ran ashore in that fog early this morning, and they’re looting her.”

He walked across to the engine-room telegraph, and jammed it on to “Full Speed.”

“Travers,” he resumed, turning to the officer of the watch, “get a gun’s crew up and load one of the foremost 4-inch guns.”

The lieutenant saluted, and a few minutes later the quickfirer had been cleared away, and its lean muzzle was pointing in the direction of the steamer.

It was not until the sloop was within a couple of miles of the wreck that the pirates noticed her, but the minute they did so they were flung into a state of frantic confusion, for they could be seen tumbling over each other in their haste as they clambered down the sides of the steamer and aboard their junks.

By the time the _Lucifer_ was within half a mile the clumsy native craft had hoisted their sails and were speeding back towards the village.

The commander slowed his engines, and at the same moment hailed the officer on the forecastle. The gun muzzle quivered until it was pointing full at the leading junk, now well clear of the _Hoi-Hau_, and a second later there was a sharp report, a sheet of blinding flame, and a four-inch shell screeched its way through the air.

* * * * *

Aboard the _Hoi-Hau_ things had not been progressing very satisfactorily.

Again and again the Chinese had attacked and had been repulsed, but finally the sheer weight of numbers had told, and when at last the ammunition of the defenders had dwindled to an alarming degree, the pirates had succeeded in reaching the bulkhead.

Once in this position, the British could not fire without exposing themselves, and the enemy began to beat down the door to get at those inside.

Captain McCaul and his officers had made up their minds for the worst, when Jim suddenly stopped waving his flag.

“Hurrah!” he yelled. “She’s coming this way!”

The welcome announcement put new heart into the defenders and they nerved themselves for a desperate resistance, for the entry of the Chinese was now a matter of minutes.

A short time later events took quite an unexpected turn. The enemy, seeing the approaching man-of-war for the first time, suddenly abandoned the attack and retreated to their junks, while the defenders, too thankful to speak, made their way out of the saloon and went on deck.

Closer and closer came the little sloop, until, when the junks were all clear of the steamer and had hoisted their sails, she opened fire. The first shell struck up the water a hundred yards short of the leading junk, and flew off into the air with a savage whine.

The pirates redoubled their efforts to escape, shrieking and yelling as they plied the sweeps to assist the sails. But it was too late, and their efforts were in vain, for the four-inch gun barked

[Illustration: “Jim saw the masts of the native craft falling whilst masses of debris were flung skywards by the force of the powerful explosive.”

_To face page 47_ ]

again, and this time the projectile hit the leading junk full in the stern.

Jim had a fleeting glimpse of a sheet of flame; he saw the masts of the native craft falling, whilst masses of debris were flung skywards by the force of the powerful explosive.

When the smoke cleared away the junk was barely recognisable, for she lay low in the water like a derelict, and already the flames were licking at her battered timbers.

Another sharp report came from the sloop, and this time the shot pitched into the water under the bows of a second enemy.

The Chinese then realised that the game was up, for, lowering the sails, most of them jumped overboard and began to swim for the shore, while before very long the _Lucifer’s_ boats, filled with armed bluejackets, were taking possession of the abandoned craft.

Soon afterwards the commander of the sloop came aboard the _Hoi-Hau_.

“Good morning, captain,” he said, advancing towards McCaul, and glancing round the decks in astonishment. “You seem to have been having a pretty bad time.”

“If you hadn’t come,” said the skipper gratefully, wringing his visitor’s hand, “they’d have broken down the door and murdered the lot of us.”

“By the way,” remarked the commander, “Who was that fellow of yours making signals to us?”

“Here he is,” replied McCaul, pushing Jim forward. “He’s my son.”

“It’s lucky you made that signal, youngster,” said the naval officer. “We’d spotted you all right, but if you hadn’t waved your flag we might have been too late. Where did you learn your Morse, by the way?”

“I’m a Scout, sir,” Jim explained, blushing furiously.

“Just as well you are, my boy,” said the officer with a twinkle in his eye. “You ought to be proud of your son, captain,” he resumed, turning to McCaul.

“Proud!” laughed the skipper. “Proud! Of course I am!”

* * * * *

When the tide rose, the _Hoi-Hau_ floated off the rocks with but little damage, and before long was once more on her voyage to Chifu.

The bluejackets of the sloop succeeded in capturing the greater number of the pirates, and it was subsequently found that they belonged to a notorious band who had preyed on the defenceless trading junks for some time past.

Jim, as may well be imagined, has never forgotten his one and only brush with pirates.

III

THE GUNNER’S LUCK

(The following story is not mere fiction, for the events therein described actually occurred during the South African War.)

H.M. Torpedo-boat Number 60 was pursuing her way northward along the western coast of Cape Colony at a steady ten knots. As a matter of fact the exact course was N.N.W., and this took the little craft along parallel to the coast and some fifteen miles off it, while Robben Island, thirty miles to the northward of Capetown, had been abeam at noon, so the ship was well on her way up the coast in the direction of Cape Castle.

It was a beautiful afternoon, with a clear blue sky, unflecked by the least vestige of cloud, while the sun overhead converted the sea into one vast expanse of shimmering light. There was a gentle breeze from the south-east, but it was not sufficient to raise a sea, and the great ocean was only disturbed by a slight swell rolling in from the westward, over which the little torpedo-boat rode with an easy movement.

It was 1901, when the South African War was at its height and the whole of Cape Colony and Natal was one great military camp. The daily arrival of transports had come to be looked upon as a mere matter of routine, for the war had been going on for eighteen months. The Navy, too, was not idle, for many men belonging to the Cape of Good Hope Squadron had been at the front with their guns, fighting side by side with their soldier comrades, while the coasts of Cape Colony and Natal had also to be patrolled.

There were at that time comparatively few ships on the Cape station, and as many hundreds of miles of coast had to be covered, all the torpedo-boats in reserve at the naval base at Simonstown had been requisitioned for this service, and though hardly suitable for the task, they performed their work with a thoroughness which left nothing to be desired. Through lack of lieutenants the greater number of them were commanded by gunners, and No. 60, the little vessel with which we are concerned, was in charge of Mr. Samuel Hyne, a warrant officer of this rank.

Small as she was, he was proud of her, and though her 65 tons displacement, her 127-1/2 feet of length, her 15 men, and her armament of four 14-inch torpedo tubes, besides one three-pounder Hotchkiss and a solitary 45-inch maxim, made her a very puny and insignificant little craft, she was, in Hyne’s eyes, quite the smartest thing afloat flying the White Ensign. He was proud of her, for his pennant flew at her masthead, and though in 1886, when she first saw the light of day, she could do her 20-1/2 knots with her single screw, and now could steam no more than, as he himself would call it, “eighteen and a kick,” he revelled, like many others, in the delights of his first independent command.

Close alongside the after torpedo tubes, and near the hatch leading to the stuffy wardroom, the skipper sat on a camp stool having a friendly yarn with the chief engine-room artificer, Watson, who, though only a chief petty officer, was the engineer of the ship. It was hardly possible to tell the chief E.R.A. from his commanding officer, for both were clad in nothing but trousers and singlets open at the neck. It was noticeable, though, that the engineer never omitted the “Sir” when addressing his senior, even though the two men were close friends.

“It’s all very well for you to say I’m lucky to have this job,” the gunner was saying. “I dare say I am, but lucky or not, I’d far sooner have had a chance of getting to the front!”

“Yes,” nodded the chief E.R.A., reaching for his tobacco pouch, “but if you ’ad, sir, maybe you’d a got a bullet through you, same as Mister McFiggis, o’ the _Doris_, did up at Graspan. ’E was full o’ beans when ’e left the ship, but ’e nearly pegged out in ’orspital. Lor’ bless me ’eart an’ soul, ’e didn’t want no more soldierin’. Lor’ lumme, no!”

“I wouldn’t mind running the risk of that,” answered Hyne, “if only I had the chance of doing something. They’ll get medals and bars, and distinguished service orders, and goodness only knows what, and I’m busted if we’ll get so much as a bloomin’ ‘thank you’ for patrolling this blessed coast. Not so much as a thank you,” he reiterated mournfully, glancing at the dull purple serrated edge of the mountains away on the starboard beam. “I’m sick of it all!”

“Well, it’s not your fault, sir,” went on the chief E.R.A. “You can’t do more’n obey your orders, an’ if you don’t get your chance you don’t, and that’s all about it.”

The gunner laughed, and both men relapsed into a silence which was only broken by the gentle ripple of the water as the torpedo-boat forced her way through it.

The afternoon wore on, and at four o’clock Hyne went forward to relieve the coxswain on watch. The orders were turned over, and the petty officer went aft to his little cupboard of a mess, and was soon busy with his tea, which meal consisted of stale bread, fried eggs of doubtful origin, and well-stewed navy tea with no milk, for in those days condensed milk was not served out by a paternal Government.

It was about one bell in the first dog-watch (4.30 p.m.) that the gunner, who was gazing abstractedly at the distant land, felt a sudden tremor from the after part of the ship. At first he paid no attention to it, for the little ship always vibrated badly, but when there came an awful bump, followed by a jarring grind, and then a fearful clatter from the neighbourhood of the engine-room, he realised something serious had happened, and commenced to run aft.

He was just in time to see the chief E.R.A. disappear down the engine-room hatch like a shot rabbit, while the coxswain, with an anxious face, was climbing up the ladder from his mess.

“What’s happened?” cried Hyne.

“I don’t rightly know, sir,” answered Naylor, the coxswain. “Me an’ th’ chief was sittin’ in th’ mess when we ’ears a bump an’ then a grindin’, an’ then th’ engines start ’eavin’ round fit ter bust!”

Descending the greasy ladder, the gunner went below into the engine-room. Seeing a group of perspiring men in the after part of the little compartment, he went up to them.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Shaft’s gone clean in half, sir,” said Watson, looking up.

“Lord help us!” gasped the skipper. “Is it possible to do anything to it?”

“No, sir,” replied Watson, wiping his perspiring face with a bit of dirty oily waste until it was streaked with black. “It’s a proper dockyard job I’m afraid, it’s gone clean across!”

“Are we making any water?”

“Don’t think so, sir,” said the other. “If we had a’ been it ’ud found its way for’ard by this time. It’ll have strained the stern gland a bit, but the broken part of the shaft’s still there, and I expect I can keep the flow under with the ejectors.”

“I hope you can,” remarked Hyne, “but let’s go aft and have a look.”

They left the engine-room, and going aft along the upper deck visited all the stern compartments in turn.

“There’s no damage to speak of,” said Watson, when the survey was completed. “Th’ gland’s weeping a bit more’n usual, an’ one or two rivet heads are sheared off an’ one or two plates a bit buckled. We can keep the water under all right, an’ I’ll get th’ ejectors workin’ at once. But we can’t steam another inch, of course.”

He vanished below, and while he set the pumps to work Hyne thought over the situation. He was placed in a most unenviable position, for No. 60, having, like the majority of the older torpedo-boats, only one screw, was absolutely helpless with her tail shaft fractured. Even if they had a spare length of shafting it could not be placed in position. He grew pale as he thought of what might happen. The mighty Agulhas current would carry the disabled ship to the northward, and though he had food and water sufficient for perhaps a week’s consumption if he put the men on half rations, affairs still looked pretty desperate, unless some passing steamer gave the torpedo-boat a tow into harbour. She was, however, out of the track of steamers running to Capetown, and her size did not make her a very conspicuous object.

The one small dinghy the little vessel carried would not accommodate more than eight of her men at the very outside, and if the ship had to be abandoned the other men would have to be towed astern in life-buoys, while their progress would naturally be slow, and their chance of reaching the coast, twenty miles distant, doubtful in the extreme. Even allowing that it was possible, the sea was infested with sharks, so Hyne dismissed the idea as impossible almost as soon as he thought of it.

Going aft he was met by the coxswain.

“Get the ship’s company aft, Naylor,” he ordered.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Soon afterwards the little crew had been collected, and, stepping forward, the petty officer reported, “Ship’s company present, sir,” in his best battleship manner.

“Men,” began Hyne, getting on to the after torpedo tube, “I’ve not brought you up here to spin a long yarn. You all know what’s happened, and that we’re practically helpless twenty miles from land, and out of the track of shipping. We’ve got three days’ grub on board, say four with what we’ve got in the wardroom, so, in case of accidents, we’ll pool the lot and put everyone on half whack!

“It’s a poor look out, I don’t mind telling you,” he went on to say, “but still we’ve a chance. The weather’s fine, and though we can’t steam, we can sail....