Part 12
We now got an explanation of the queer behaviour of his ship that had so puzzled us after our first shot. Captain Chewn, an old-timer at sea, simply thought we were trying to compare time in the old traditional way, by firing a blank mortar. He had raised his flag to serve as the mortar shot on his side. He would afterward lower it to give the exact moment. That is the way in vogue to-day. But when our second shot was fired, the cook on the _Gladys Royal_ saw the shell strike the water and thought we had sighted a submarine and were firing at it. He gave the alarm, and the captain started to zigzag. It was only after the third shot that they saw our cannon pointed at them and the German battle flag at our masthead.
"By Joe," and the captain pounded the rail with open admiration, "you fooled me bloody well. It was the damnedest trap I ever saw."
I sent a prize crew aboard the _Gladys Royal_ with orders to have her follow the _Seeadler_. I wanted to wait and blow her up after nightfall. Cruisers might be roaming somewhere in these parts, and it would be unwise to run the risk of attracting their attention with the sound of an explosion.
We photographed our capture carefully. At dusk we transferred the steamer's twenty-six men, white and black, to our ship. The captain brought his belongings aboard. I also sent Lieutenant Preiss to pack up everything aboard the captured vessel that he thought we might need and ferry it over. He displayed excellent judgment, too, and turned up with a welcome store of excellent provisions. We sailors could be content with a sailor's fare whenever need be, but we wanted our guests to dine well at all times to help make up for the sorrow of losing their ships.
Preiss and his men planted a bomb in her hold, lit the time fuse, and took to the boats. Fifteen minutes passed. Then the _Gladys Royal_ trembled fore and aft.
She went down stern first, and in ten minutes her forward quarter stuck straight out of the sea. Her bow remained above water for a long time. A steamer hove into sight. She carried side lights, and from that we judged her to be a neutral. Suddenly a second explosion, from the accumulation of air pressure, burst the bow of the _Gladys Royal_. With a final quiver, she took her last plunge into the depths and slid out of sight, while we scurried away into the night with all sails set.
We wanted nothing of neutral ships. We would not bother them even if we thought their neutrality a pretense. If we stopped one and searched her and found her really to be a neutral, we could only release her, and she would spread the news about us. We had a trump card in our hand--nobody imagined that an old sailing ship could be out buccaneering in this age of fast battle cruisers. It was our plan also to molest only those ships that we were fairly certain did not carry wireless sets and therefore could not broadcast our attack before we had boarded them.
Captain Chewn was agreeably surprised to find himself assigned to a cozy cabin. His only complaint was that he had no one to enjoy it with him. This sociable mariner liked company. So we promised to supply him with companions as soon as possible.
Much as we wanted to please Captain Chewn and show him that we were accommodating hosts, we allowed the next ship to sail by in peace. She was a British passenger steamer bound through Gibraltar. We had room enough for all her passengers, but we did not want to be bothered with women and children. Having lived at sea among men nearly all my life, I regarded all women as flowerlike creatures sent to beautify and soften the harshness of this world. In my opinion, women should see nothing of war. Their lovely eyes should only gaze on the beautiful, the pleasant things of life. Women are too graceful and delicate for the sights of war, with men shot down, wounds and blood, and men dead and dying. I had resolved to carry out my raiding cruise without any killing, if I could help it, but in my nautical career I had found many a thing I couldn't help. Anyway, to me women were synonymous with romance and love--not with war.
At noon, with a heavy sea running, we sighted a steamer cutting diagonally across our course. No flag, no name. We signalled her for information, but there was no response. Surely she must be an Englishman with a hard-boiled efficient skipper. You know how a British captain often is, with his nose right down on his job, with no thought except his cargo and his lookout for submarines and cruisers? Well, evidently this chap couldn't be bothered with a funny old Norwegian windjammer. Sails set and motor running, we held across his course and got in front of him. Now, at sea, a sailing vessel always has the right of way over a steamship because the latter can manœuvre more rapidly. But that meant nothing to this steamship. She swerved not an inch, and seemed quite content to run us down.
"This businesslike skipper must have an important cargo, since he doesn't care a rap, by Joe, about ploughing into a clumsy old Norwegian bumboat," said I to myself. And I could imagine how he was swearing there on his bridge.
"Stupid blighter, by Joe," no doubt he was saying, "get out of my way or I'll ram you!"
We had to jib and let him go in the wind, or there would have been a collision. The Englishman passed us at three hundred yards.
The German flag was climbing swiftly to our masthead.
"Fire," I commanded, "let's see if that will make him change his mind."
The gun boomed and a shell went screaming over the steamer.
"By Joe," I said, "he sticks to his opinions."
The steamer's stacks belched fresh clouds of smoke. Her course changed not at all. Another shot, this one, by way of emphasis, just over the smokestack. The steamer turned into the wind.
"A wise baby, that skipper," commented Leudemann sarcastically. "He knows a windjammer can't sail against the wind."
We, of course, couldn't catch him in a chase, but our range was still point-blank. A shot through the smokestack and a couple into the hull. We could see the crew running around wildly. A siren was screaming. A shell exploded on deck. The propeller stopped, and the steamer slowed down and lay rolling in the trough of the sea.
"This new invention of war without killing, what do you think of it now?" Leudemann looked up at me satirically. "I guess you'll find there are a couple of casualties over there."
The Englishman must have known that he hadn't a ghost of a chance to escape under fire at such close range. First of all, he had been discourteous in ignoring our friendly signals. Then he had violated the rules of ocean traffic in not giving our clipper the right of way. And now in cold blood he had endangered the life of his crew. According to the unwritten rules of etiquette among pirates and raiders, it was up to us to put out a boat and board a prize. But instead I signalled the steamer:
"Captain, come aboard!" Let him come over to us. If he's such a tough guy, we'll show him who rules the waves in this part of the Atlantic.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: A strange encounter. The old _Pinmore_, on which "Phelax Leudige" had served, appears on the horizon.
The modern buccaneer sends his old ship to her last port.]
---------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: The latter day corsair in a poetic setting.]
---------------------------------------------------------------------
It was funny. Finally, I had to laugh. The ship was the _Lundy Island_ bound for France with a cargo of Madagascar sugar. An important cargo, sure enough. Sugar was scarce in all the countries at war, and we Germans, whose supply of sugar consisted mostly of a great longing for it, could sympathize with the captain's eagerness to get his precious merchandise to port. When the first shot struck the _Lundy Island_, the crew, black, brown, and yellow, fell into a panic. With shells falling, running the ship or staying with it meant nothing to them. The captain roared and stormed, but that was all the good it did. So he seized the helm, himself. Just then a shot hit the rudder chain, and when he turned the wheel nothing happened. The crew started taking to the boats, and the tough old salt was left alone on deck. Our signal for him to come on board left him helpless. His boats were out there with the crew floundering at the oars. The sea was pitching and rolling, and they were so frightened they could hardly row. He paced the bridge with his handbag in his hand, a solitary, woebegone figure. We finally had to send a boat for him.
On our deck he got a stern, formal reception.
"Any casualties among your men, Captain?"
"No, worse luck. Not a man scratched, by Joe, and the blighters scurried around like rabbits at a dog show. Look at them in the boats out there. They haven't got here yet, the beggars. Let me at that gun, by Joe, and I'll sink them."
It was hard not to sympathize with him, but still his conduct had apparently been inexcusable.
"Why did you endanger your men's lives like that, Captain? It not only was the height of folly, but it was inhuman!"
Just then our ship's surgeon, Dr. Pietsch, came along.
"Hello, Captain."
"Hello, Doctor."
They greeted each other like long-lost friends, save that there was a shadow of uneasiness in the captain's fraternal demonstrations.
Dr. Pietsch had gone out with our armoured cruiser _Moewe_ on one of her freebooting expeditions. Among the captured captains of that cruise was our present guest, who, while aboard the _Moewe_, had struck up a pleasant comradeship with the doctor. Now he, along with the other captains, had been released on parole. They had signed written promises that they would engage in no further war activity. Believing he had broken his parole, he thought the Germans would hang him from a yardarm if they ever caught him. When he saw we were an auxiliary cruiser, he already felt a rope tightening around his neck. That was why he had tried so desperately to get away.
We amused ourselves with a formal discussion, after which I addressed our guest with suitable gravity.
"We are of the opinion, Captain, that your parole did not cover your calling as a merchant captain. Only direct combatant service was included under the heading of war activity. Therefore, we feel ourselves under no unhappy necessity of hanging you."
Well, the smile on that hard, weather-beaten face was like a sunrise. We now understood the all-too-human motives behind his actions, and we respected his plucky attempt to get away in the face of point-blank gunfire. Sailors ourselves, we could only salute this skipper who, with a worthless, spineless crew, had to take the wheel himself, and then only to find his rudder chain smashed.
"All right, Captain," I said, "it's the way things go at sea when there's war on. God help us sailor chaps."
After he had roundly cursed his crew when finally they came aboard, we took him below and introduced him to his new quarters with Captain Chewn. The two skippers found themselves mutually agreeable and became great old sidekicks. Some of the crew found old friends among the sailors we had already captured, and none of them appeared particularly grieved over the loss of their ship. We now had fifty-odd guests, apparently representing half the races on earth. The _Seeadler_ was becoming populous and quite convivial.
The sea was so rough now that we did not send a bombing party to board the _Lundy Island_, but sank her by direct gunfire.
That night Leudemann and I sat over bottles of beer and talked about our prospects.
"Well, old chap," said I, "everything has begun well. It's a fine cruise. But when will they sink us?"
"Not, at any rate," he replied, "until our hotel is full."
You see our buccaneering raid was pretty certain to remain a secret until the time came when lack of space would compel us to release our prisoners and send them to port. Then the news of our freebooting jaunt would be out, and cruisers would be hot after us in every part of the world.
"And if we don't capture any more ships," I reflected, "we can go on cruising indefinitely."
"Then let's catch some more quickly," laughed Leudemann. "It will be great sport to play hide and seek with cruisers."
That mate of mine was always itching for trouble. But then that was what we had all come through the blockade in hope of finding, so if we wanted plenty of excitement, then the sooner we sent the crews of eight or ten ships into some port the sooner would the alarm go out--"German raider in the Atlantic!" Then, too, Lloyd's insurance rates would start to soar when the news got out, and ships with supplies that the Allies needed badly would be held in port. Also, a number of cruisers would no doubt be detached from blockade patrol duty across the North Sea. That was the interesting part of it--those cruisers and how to elude them.
"Leudemann," I said, "the better the lookout, the more ships we will catch. We already have a good lookout, but I've thought of a way to have a better one. A hundred pair of eyes are better than two pair."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, from now on, I'm going to change that offer of ten pounds and a bottle of champagne that we promised to the first of our two lookouts to spy a ship. I'm going to open it to everyone on board!"
"To all of our crew?"
"Yes, to our crew, and to all of our prisoners, too! Ten pounds sterling and a bottle of champagne! I'll bet that'll send everybody into the rigging, including the captains."
"By Joe, you're right," said my mate, slapping his knee, "particularly since they know that, as soon as we are full up with prisoners, they will all be sent into some port."
"Exactly," I responded. "It won't be long before we have several hundred aboard. That will make a fine flock of birds perched in the rigging, forces of the Allies on the lookout for Allied ships to sink!"
Leudemann and I roared with laughter the longer we thought of it. I at once had notices posted up:
"Ten pounds and a bottle of champagne to the first man who sights a ship. Offer open to all."
You should have seen the rigging crowded with crew and prisoners from then on. Every man who had any kind of glass brought it out. There were up-to-date binoculars, old-fashioned spyglasses, and cheap opera glasses. Even those without any glasses took their places on the yardarms, trusting to luck and the power of the naked eye. The two captains, with the dignity and poise that became their exalted rank, climbed aloft and sat next to each other on a yard, sweeping the horizon with their excellent binoculars.
Never had a ship such a lookout. I often stood and watched the curious flock perched in the rigging, all colours, sizes, and styles of beauty. And, believe me, they were wonders at spotting ships. Sometimes two or three would spot the same ship at the same moment. Then there would be an argument, a riddle for Solomon himself to answer. Once or twice the argument got so hot that I had to pay two rewards for a ship, and then the champagne flowed freely. That night, if the weather was balmy and a gentle breeze was blowing from the Gulf Stream, the deck of the _Seeadler_ became a veritable beer garden, and our guests frolicked like tourists on a Mediterranean cruise.
XV
RAIDING ALONG THE EQUATOR, AND AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON
There are some memories that are painful to recall. To this day I can see the _Charles Gounod_ going down, her bowsprit plunging first and her tall masts sinking slowly, first one spar disappearing and then another. It fills me with sadness, for she had behaved like a gallant craft, and she was a large barque with all the air of an argosy, and as we bore toward her, she proudly saluted our Norwegian flag by raising the tricolour of France.
"What news of the war?" she signalled.
We steered close to her, unmasked our gun, and raised the German battle flag.
"Heave to," was our reply.
Incredulity, consternation! The officers and sailors on deck stood paralyzed for a long moment. Then the barque hove to.
Our prize crew went aboard and commandeered a batch of fine red wine from among the ship's provisions, and three fine fat hogs. The Frenchmen packed their belongings, and came aboard the _Seeadler_. They were a glum-looking, disgusted lot.
The French sailor bitterly hates to leave his ship. He is almost as attached to it as the average Frenchman is attached to his native land. No French sailor willingly serves on a foreign ship. The crews of other nations are made up of men from every corner of the world, from Chittagong and Malacca to Senegal and Jamaica, from Hull to Helsingfors, but no foreigner is taken on a French ship. The French sea laws are more severe than those of other nations. Desertion from a French ship is a very serious offense, while on most German ships it is punished by a mere fine of twenty marks.
The captain was painfully correct in his manner toward us. He was a tall, impressive fellow with deep voice and black beard. A man of fine education and studious mind, he was scrupulously polite, but knew how to make the hostility he felt toward us clearly and rather amusingly evident. He was our prisoner. Very well, he conceded that. But we were the enemies of his country and the destroyers of his ship. Therefore he preserved a demeanour appropriate to that attitude of mind throughout his entire voyage with us. For our part, we could not but admire him for his superb, unbending spirit.
His barque was loaded with a cargo of corn and bound for Bordeaux. Now, I don't know much music, and I don't care for this modern jazz school at all. Faust I enjoy. Give me the duet in the Garden scene, and, since I am called the "Sea Devil," I don't mind admitting a secret fondness for old Mephisto and his serenade beneath the window. Now I had to sink my favourite composer. The thought of it made me hum a phrase of Valentine's dying lament.
But the sinking of the _Charles Gounod_ meant much more than any such superficial melancholy. One shouldn't ever have to sink a sailing ship. They are the last survivors of the golden days at sea, crueler days and finer days. Take any old salt who has sailed before the mast, and ask him. The shipyards are not building many of them any more, and the day of the schooner, the barque, the clipper, and the barquentine is fast passing. Every one that goes down to Davy Jones is a loss that will not be replaced. I have an old-time seaman's love for sailships. A steamer? Train the guns and light the fuses. I could sink a steamer and laugh as she takes her last dive. But I never did get used to sinking sailing ships, although we had to send many of them on their last voyage before our own final adventure in the South Seas.
Our bombs exploded in the hold of the _Charles Gounod_. She lurched like a living thing. Her tall masts trembled. The majestic ship seemed to bow her head as she nosed down into the sea. The last we saw of her was a glimpse of her tallest mast and waving from it the tricolour of France. With her departure, I somehow thought I saw the passing of the whole age of sailing ships.
Three days later, a tremendous commotion in the rigging. Six men were reporting "Sail ho!"
"Hold there," I roared, "let's have done with the argument until we've settled with the ship."
She was a fine three-masted schooner. We thought she might be an American. The Americans favour that type of ship. And the United States was not yet in the war. However, the Canadians also have a weakness for the three-masted schooner. We raised our flag, hoping to induce the skipper to raise his flag, which would be the polite response for him to make. But her skipper didn't seem to be in any mood for returning compliments that day. Perhaps he had had a bad night and was saying to himself:
"What do I care for that old Norwegian tub?"
We backed our main-topsail and dipped our flag three times as a salute, hoping that this exceptional courtesy would induce the schooner to follow the amenities of the sea.
It happened now that our freebooting led us to intrude unwittingly into the rose-covered field of romance, where our rough pirate's boots were not adapted to walk among the delicate plants. However, buccaneers that we were, we were not without a high regard for the tender sentiment. Aboard the schooner, the captain had his newly married bride. The voyage was their honeymoon. He saw no reason why he should bother to raise his flag in response to ours. She, however, inspired by the enchantment of a honeymoon voyage, was full of romance and the spirit of the sea. She remonstrated with her bridegroom for his impoliteness toward the Norwegian ship.
"Oh, to blazes with the ---- old Norwegian," grumbled the bridegroom, and she thought him a very cruel and hard-bitten husband, and told him so.
When we dipped our flag three times and he still proposed not to answer the salutation, she felt it was an outrage. I don't know whether she broke into tears, as brides always do in books, but, at any rate, she talked a lot. He got angry, and they had a real row--their first quarrel, we afterward learned.
Leudemann and I stood on the bridge.
"Better leave the lubber alone," I said.
Just then the ensign in the lookout on the mainmast sang out:
"That's no American. They're raising the British flag."
Sure enough, there were the British colours. Up went our battle flag! Across her bows went a shot from our gun. But it required a second shot before she hove to.
"Hey!" cried Leudemann, "there's a woman."
The captain's bride was running around the deck in a tailspin, as aviators say. I don't know whether she was afraid of shot and shell or the righteous ire of her husband. Maybe he was chasing her.
Prize Officer Preiss had an added dignity as he climbed into the boat with his boarding crew. He was always a great hand at quieting excited people--especially the ladies. With his six feet four, his deep voice, and his imperturbable manner, he was the kind of man to raise his hand and calm the tumult of the howling mob. He had a certain streak of gallantry, too, which made him a second Siegfried when it came to the task of quieting an excited young woman.