"up aloft, one of you!" shouted marchant. "see if the swine's in sight."
the alerte was pitching as she faced the long atlantic swell after crossing the bar in pursuit of the bronx city. a few—a very few—of the crew were sober; the majority were befuddled in the transition stage between drunkenness and sobriety; while four or five, helplessly intoxicated, lay rolling in the scuppers.
one of the hands, pot-valiant, made an attempt to go aloft. before he had ascended half a dozen ratlines he slipped. luckily for him, the alerte was at the limit of her roll. instead of dropping into the sea he slithered helplessly round the aftershroud and subsided heavily upon the gunner. the pair fell in a heap on deck. the drunken seaman, none the worse for his involuntary descent, sat up and looked around as if seeking applause. marchant staggered to his feet, his right shoulder dislocated.
pengelly, from the bridge, saw the incident. it cheered him considerably, for with marchant rendered hors de combat he was able to reassert his lax authority on the undisciplined crew.
a seaman, less drunk than his predecessor, went aloft. before he reached the cross-trees he shouted, "there she lies—a point on our port bow.
"sure she's the bronx city?" inquired pengelly anxiously.
"do you call me a liar?" shouted the lookout man in reply. "if i says she's the bronx, then she is. that's all about it."
with the oil-engines running "all out," the alerte stood in pursuit of the fugitive. a couple of hours enabled her to gain on the bronx city to such an extent that the latter was barely six miles ahead. at that rate, another hour and a half would enable the pirate submarine to overhaul her prey.
although pengelly had no liking for marchant, he was forced to admit that the gunner's proposal to abandon the alerte and take the bronx city over to some obscure south american port was a sound one. the question of fuel largely influenced his decision. the alerte's tanks were seriously depleted; the bronx city's coal bunkers were three-quarters full. it was on that account that pengelly refrained from opening fire upon the yankee vessel, otherwise he could have ended the chase half an hour ago.
at intervals, pengelly raised his binoculars and watched the chase. it was on one of these occasions that he noticed a faint blur of smoke on the horizon at less than a degree to the left of the bronx city.
cursing under his breath, the pirate called to the gunner to come on the bridge. marchant, his right shoulder swathed in bandages, complied, grumbling and wincing as every step shot a sharp pain through the injured part.
"there's another vessel," announced pengelly. "she's coming this way, i think. what's to be done?"
"done?" repeated the gunner. "why, collar the pair of 'em. we'll make a fine haul, i'll swear."
"but if she's a warship?" objected the other.
"is it likely?" rejoined marchant. "what would a warship be doing on this part of the coast? seein' as cain reported us sunk—say what you like, that chap's got a head on 'im—there'll be none lookin' for us. where's that glass of yours?"
steadying the telescope on the bridge-rail, the gunner, groaning with the effort, bent his head and applied his eye to the instrument.
"tramp of sorts," he announced. "she's flying no colours. odds are the bronx city'll tip her the wink. that being so, we'll have to send her to the bottom.... yes, hang me, if she ain't closing."
for the next minute or so the gunner kept his eye glued to the telescope. suddenly he dropped the glass and sprang to his feet.
"she's a british cruiser, blast her!" he shouted. "put about and leg it, pengelly. if she spots us, it's all up!"
without waiting for pengelly to give the order, the quartermaster put the wheel hard down. round swept the alerte, listing heavily to port as she swung to starboard.
the hands on deck, surprised by the sudden change of course, were clamouring to know why the pursuit had been abandoned.
"why?" shouted the gunner. "'cause we're being chased. no blessed dago destroyer this time, but a british cruiser. we'll have to be mighty smart to dodge the white ensign."
"she's spotted us!" exclaimed pengelly, in a high-pitched voice. "the bronx city is slewing round, too. confound cain! if he'd crippled the bronx city instead of just running her gently on the mud, there'd have been none of this business."
"we'll be glad to have cain on board before long," said the bo'sun, who had joined pengelly and the gunner on the bridge. "i reckon our only chance is to submerge. without cain, how's it to be done? you couldn't take her down, nor can i."
"soundings are too deep for diving in any case," declared pengelly. "seems to me we're holding her, even if we aren't gaining. what's the time?"
"close on one bell," replied the bo'sun.
"time to make bahia arenas well before dark then," continued pengelly. "see here, mr. barnard, go aft and sound that swine cain. don't tell him i sent you, but ask him if he'll take charge of the ship for submerging."
the bo'sun departed on his errand. presently he returned.
"cap'n cain says he'll consider the matter if you go and ask him yourself," he announced.
"then you'd better go," added marchant.
"not i," said pengelly.
while the alerte held her own, pengelly adhered to his resolution not to eat humble pie. but when, in the course of the afternoon, the pursuing vessel began to gain rapidly, he yielded to the importunities of the gunner, the bo'sun, and the majority of the crew.
"look here, trevorrick," he began, addressing his former partner and skipper by the name by which he was known at polkyll creek; "'spose we let bygones be bygones? will you take charge of the ship and submerge her when we make bahia arenas?"
cain looked him straight in the face. pengelly could not bear the other's gaze. unsteadily he averted his eves.
"i'll submerge when i'm captain of the alerte again, not before," replied cain.
"three cheers for cap'n cain!" shouted one of the hands, several of whom had followed the deputation aft.
at that moment a plugged shell shrieked past the pirate submarine, throwing up a huge column of spray as it ricochetted to strike the surface of the water a good five hundred yards ahead of the ship.
pengelly made no protest to the demonstration in favour of the ex-captain. followed by marchant he returned to the bridge.
"carry on, sir!" shouted half a dozen of the pirates.
some one cast off the lashings that secured cain's wrists. the bo'sun slipped an automatic into his hand. with a grim smile, cain went forward and ascended the bridge ladder.
"now then!" he exclaimed, sternly addressing the trembling pengelly. "who's skipper now!"
"you are," admitted the thoroughly scared man. "for heaven's sake, don't shoot!"
"good lead is too precious to waste on rats," retorted cain, thrusting the automatic into his pocket. "get down, you treacherous swab!"
pengelly began to descend the bridge-ladder, his progress materially assisted by the application of the reinstated captain's boot. the crew, notwithstanding their imminent peril, applauded lustily.
"avast there!" shouted captain cain. "shout when you're out of the wood—not before. strike and secure masts! look lively, there!"
while most of the crew were engaged upon this task, cain beckoned to the bo'sun.
"look here, barnard!" he exclaimed in a low voice; "remove the rapid-flooding valves from all the boats. take one below; heave the others overboard."
this the bo'sun did, unshipping a hinged plate that when secured by two butterfly nuts rendered each boat watertight. when open, the valves allowed the boats to take in water rapidly, so that their natural buoyancy was destroyed and did not hinder the submergence of the submarine. the solitary valve that was not thrown overboard was placed below, under the conning-tower hatchway ladder.
"well done, mr. barnard!" said cain approvingly. "now, tell cross and davidge to go below and secure both the for'ard and after hatches on the inside. also tell cross to inform the engine-room staff from me that as soon as i ring down for 'stop' they are to come on deck through the conning-tower hatchway with all possible speed. is that clear?"
the bo'sun repeated his instructions and went off to see that they were carried out. by the time he returned the crew had lowered and secured the masts and funnel for diving and were standing by, anxiously dividing their attention between the pursuing canvey and their reinstated skipper's next order.
"all hands fall in in the waist!" shouted cain.
the deck hands trooped to the place indicated, with the exception of davidge and cross, who, acting under orders, were standing by the valve actuating gear of the ballast tanks.
deliberately, cain thrust the telegraph indicators to stop, gave one quick glance at the vessel in pursuit and descended from the bridge.
by this time the alerte was over the bar and about half a mile from the land-locked shore. the canvey, none too sure of the entrance, had slowed down, the leadsman sounding as she cautiously smelt her way in.
as soon as the men whose duty lay in the engine-room came on deck, cain made a slight imperceptible movement with his hand. unconcernedly, the bo'sun stepped to the wake of the conning-tower and took three steps down the ladder. there he waited.
"now, you treacherous, mutineering swine!" thundered cain. "i'll give you one minute to get your lifebelts. you're to choose between being eaten by sharks or hanging by your necks in a british prison."
before the astounded men could realise the significance of their captain's words, cain made for the only open hatchway. there he stopped, his eyes roving whimsically over the dumbfounded men, a supercilious smile lurking in his heavy bulldog features.
marchant fumbled for his automatic. but for his injured shoulder he might have achieved his object. the pistol cracked, the bullet mushrooming on the armour-plated conning tower.
"forty-five seconds more!" announced cain, in cold, level tones.
the next instant captain cain disappeared from view. the conning-tower hatch descended with a metallic clang.
with the closing of the last means of entering the hull of the submarine the spell was broken. the crew, realising the fate that awaited them, were seized with panic. some began to struggle into their cork lifebelts, others made a mad rush for the davit-boats, to find to their consternation that they were no longer capable of floating.
a shell, evidently of light calibre, struck the alerte a few feet abaft the bows, demolishing the dummy fo'c'sle like a pack of cards. it was fortunate for the men that they were either in the waist or on the poop, for no one was hit; but the exploding missile warned them that their pursuer was getting to work in earnest.
"lower that cursed rag!" shrieked pengelly, pointing to the skull and cross-bones which, on the masts being lowered, the gunner in reckless bravado had hoisted at the end of a boathook. "has anybody got anything that'll do for a white flag? no? then, for heaven's sake, some of you in the poop hold your hands up, or she'll blow us to bits."
several of the hands did so, while the signalman, clambering on the bridge, frantically semaphored that the ship had surrendered.
even as the message was being signalled, the alerte began to settle. in less than half a minute she disappeared beneath the surface, leaving the agitated water of the bahia arenas dotted with the heads of her mutinous crew.
the pirate submarine alerte had made her final plunge.
