It now became clear that the submarine commander had decided to gain his ends by swift manoeuvring. Crouch himself was the first to recognize that the "Harlech" stood no chance of overhauling its enemy. The U93 could apparently travel on the surface at the rate of not less than fifteen knots; and even had the "Harlech" not been so sadly disabled, she could hardly have overtaken her quarry.
The submarine drew away some distance ahead, and then made a half circle to the left, returning on a parallel course, until she was level with the steamer. The "Harlech" was then not more than a mile away from the Cornish coast, where the dark, rugged outline of the hills was clearly visible in the moonlight.
Suddenly the hatch in the conning-tower of the U93 was seen to open, and two men made their appearance, one of whom shouted through a megaphone.
He spoke good English. In the stillness of the night every word he said was audible.
"Ahoy, there!" he cried. "Slow down at once, and stop; or we send you to the bottom."
"Who are you?" asked Crouch, more with the idea of wasting time than of gleaning any definite information.
"His Imperial Majesty"s submarine U93," came the answer. "Heave to, at once!"
Crouch saw that he had no alternative but to surrender. The "Harlech"
was now broadside on to the submarine, which was not a hundred and fifty yards away. A torpedo, if discharged, could no more fail to strike its target than send the merchant ship to the bottom in the s.p.a.ce of a few moments. It was a bitter pill to swallow; and as he paced to and fro upon the bridge, the little wizened master-mariner thought of Jason, Junior, sitting in his s.p.a.cious offices in the midst of the hurry and commotion of New York.
He looked again at the submarine, which had now turned round and was following its victim as a cat plays with a mouse--except that, in this case, the mouse was huge and c.u.mbrous, the cat quite small and fragile.
In something that was very like a fit of rage Crouch grasped the handle of the telegraph, and rang down to the engine-room to "Stop."
The submarine drew even closer, until at last the German commander was able to make himself heard without the use of his megaphone.
"Are you the "Harlech"?" he demanded.
"How do you know that?" said Crouch.
This seemed to anger the German, for he shouted even louder than before.
"I am not here to answer questions, but to ask them. Please understand that I am master of the situation: I have but to give the order, and a torpedo puts an end to you all."
"Do what you like," said Crouch. "We"ve no means of self-defence, as you can see."
"You have contraband goods on board," said the other.
"That may, or may not, be."
The German laughed.
"I know it," said he. "And now, I give you fair warning: you and your men have precisely five minutes in which to leave the ship. If you are not gone by the end of that time, you will pay the penalty of death, for the ship goes to the bottom."
Captain Crouch knit his brows in a frown. This was the first time in the life of the little man that he had met with anything in the shape of failure. As we have already pointed out, he was one who had made a success of most things. He had risen from extreme poverty and small beginnings to be a man of note--one whose name was well known in the four quarters of the globe. Just now, he felt as if he would never be able to hold up his head again, to look in the face the old friends who had followed him through thick and thin, who had always thought so highly of their leader.
Still, if he felt all this, he showed it neither in the expression of his face nor in the tones of his voice. In much the same manner as he would have given an everyday and simple order, he raised a hand to his mouth, and shouted at the full power of his lungs--
"All hands to the boats!"
CHAPTER XIV--The Doomed Ship
"All hands to the boats!"
There was no need for the order to be repeated a second time. The men, who knew quite well what was coming, were only waiting for the word.
Indeed, in one part of the ship, the captain"s orders had been antic.i.p.ated by no less a person than Rudolf Stork.
There is little doubt that--had the submarine not appeared when it did--the days of Rudolf Stork had been numbered, then and there. Had Captain Crouch found Stork upon the p.o.o.p, signalling to the enemy, he would have shot him like a dog, without a moment"s hesitation. But, during the brief s.p.a.ce of time whilst Jimmy was in the captain"s cabin, the submarine had drawn quite close to the "Harlech"; and in the immediate presence of this new and more certain peril Crouch--and Jimmy also--forgot all about the ship"s carpenter who had betrayed all on board.
There is every reason to suppose that Stork knew well enough the plans of the German commander. Possibly, he had known all along that the "Harlech" was doomed. He understood that the so-called submarine blockade was to be carried out with ruthless energy and perseverance, and that the lives of neutrals, even of women and children, were not likely to be held of much account.
He was therefore in the greater haste to get quit of the ship; and for this his position on the p.o.o.p--the stern part of the vessel--offered him an opportunity which he was not likely to refuse.
Hoisted alongside the demolished round-house, where most of the ship"s stores were kept, was a small gig, not much larger than a dinghy, used as a rule for harbour work. It so happened that when all hands were called on deck by the shrill note of the boatswain"s whistle, the cook and the cook"s mate had hastened from the galley to the p.o.o.p; and it was these two men that Stork summoned to his a.s.sistance.
Without much difficulty, they lowered the dinghy, and had even launched it in the water, before Crouch had given the order for the boats to be manned. To lower a rope was the work of a minute; and before any one was aware that the ship"s carpenter had left the ship, Stork and the two cooks were rowing frantically for the sh.o.r.e. There was no question but that they would reach the coast in safety. The dinghy was quite seaworthy; the damage done to the ship"s boats during the bombardment from the "Dresden" had been repaired upon the voyage. The night was clear, the sea perfectly calm, and the sh.o.r.e--as we have said--not far away.
In the meantime, the German commander continued to issue his orders.
Crouch still remained upon the bridge.
"Lower a gangway!" cried the German.
"A gangway!" echoed Crouch in open derision. "Do you think that we"re a pack of school-girls that can"t swarm down a rope? For why should we want a gangway?"
For some reason or other this seemed to infuriate the German.
"Do as you are told," he roared; "and don"t argue the point with me.
Lower a gangway at once. Do you imagine I intend to waste one of our finest Krupp torpedoes on a cargo ship of not five thousand tons! No, sir, we are not such fools in Germany. As soon as you and your crew are off, it will be short work, with such a cargo as you carry, to send her sky high with a bomb."
Crouch said nothing more, but came down from the bridge like a beaten man. It was when he gained the main-deck that he remembered Rudolf Stork, and went aft, with a set look upon his face and a loaded revolver in his hand.
When he reached the p.o.o.p, he was furious when he saw what had happened.
Not only was the dinghy gone, but the rope--by means of which Stork and the two cooks had managed to escape--was dangling at the ship"s side.
"The rascal!" Crouch hissed between his teeth. Then, thrusting his revolver into a coat pocket, he clenched his fist, and shook it at the stars.
"If ever I get the chance," he muttered, "I"ll be even with that rogue.
I"ve been a blind fool, all along."
He returned to the main-deck, and supervised the lowering of the boats, in which there was ample accommodation for the crew. This work was carried out in the utmost haste; all on board knew well enough that the submarine commander would hold to his word, that they had five minutes--and not a second longer--in which to make good their escape.
Still, there was not much time to spare when the four boats were rowed round to the foot of the gangway steps, down which filed the crew, the ship"s officers and engineers, each one with a bundle under his arm, in which he carried his most prized possessions.
Grim resolution, smothered anger, and deep sullen dejection--these were the sentiments that were imprinted on the face of every man. They were helpless, and they knew it. The German had spoken truly; the submarine, fragile, slender and evil-looking, was the absolute master of the situation. The will of the submarine commander was the law, immutable and rigid. They had no option but to obey, without question and in haste.
Crouch remained on deck until--as he thought--every man had descended to the boats. Then he himself took his place on the stern seat of the last boat to leave the ship. One after the other, they rowed away in the darkness, the rhythmic plashing of the oars growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and seeming to strike upon the silence of the night a note of sadness that was not out of keeping with the scene: the gentle moonshine on the water, the distant, rugged hills, and the ship--forsaken, listless, doomed. Some such thought may have entered into the mind of the German officer himself, standing on the conning-tower of the boat that he commanded, miles away from the Fatherland he loved and the lighted cafes of Berlin.
However that may be, he had evidently no intention of failing in what he conceived to be his duty. The submarine drew slowly alongside the gangway steps. The commander ascended to the main-deck, followed by a seaman who carried in his hand a great egg-shaped thing, from the top of which protruded the head of a fuse. It was a bomb, timed to explode precisely two minutes after the lighting of the fuse. Of a certainty, the "Harlech," of the house of Jason, Stileman and May, was doomed, sentenced to be destroyed.
None the less, the German officer was in no haste. Leaving the sailor at the head of the companion-ladder, he entered the captain"s cabin, overhauled the ship"s papers, and even helped himself to a box of cigars which had been given to Crouch by Mr. Jason, Junior, on the day he left New York.