The Golden Rock Part 8

"She has s.h.i.+fted her course in answer to our increased speed, and instead of being stem on, you can now see almost the length of her broadside."

"She's got her bow chaser cleared, sir," said Webster, in a tone of pleasurable excitement.

A grand and formidable object the wars.h.i.+p appeared now, sending before her terrible bows a white avalanche of water, her white decks lined with men, and the dark muzzles of her guns threatening destruction. And no less deadly in aspect, though on a lesser scale, was the low and swifter craft sullenly plunging on like some stealthy panther retreating, snarling and half reluctant, before the advance of a royal tiger.

"It is strange she does not signal," muttered the Captain, "unless she means to speak us."

The cruiser was so near now that every man on board the port side could be distinctly seen, and it was clear that where the two lines met the s.h.i.+ps would be within less than a cable's length.

"She made another point to starboard," said Webster. "If she doesn't give way she'll be on top of us."

"She won't give way an inch," said the Captain bitterly; "and she's in her rights as a Queen's s.h.i.+p. Stand by, below!" he shouted.

The two s.h.i.+ps tore along, the cruiser terrible and silent, except for the foaming of the waves, and every soul on the smaller vessel held his breath.

"Reverse the starboard screw!" shouted Captain Pardoe; "bring her round two points on the starboard!"

The long craft trembled as the one screw revolved in opposition to the other, then she bore away and darted under the stern of the great s.h.i.+p, heeling over from the waves that swelled up in the wake.

The cruiser came round with a stately sweep, bringing up on the port side on a parallel course; and they all waited for the summons from the commander. It came, ringing, sharp and peremptory:

"Lay-to, there!"

Miss Laura looked at Captain Pardoe, with her hand to her heart, and he signalled to the engineer for more speed. The little vessel darted forward, her stem settling down like the tail of a duck taking to flight, a huge wave rising up right above the rails.

The cruiser sank astern; but from her bows there leapt a great ball of smoke, followed by a deafening report.

"We know what that means," said Webster, with a smile, "and she'll play skittles with us presently."

But the cruiser held on without further notice, sinking further astern with each minute.

The distance between widened to a mile, and still she gave no other sign, and those on the bridge looked at each other in wonder.

"You see, Captain," said Miss Laura, betwixt a sob and a laugh, "I was right. She did not know us, and we are safe."

"Steamers ahead!" came the hoa.r.s.e cry from the look-out, like a croak of ill-omen.

Gla.s.ses were quickly raised for a long scrutiny of two small steamers low down in the water.

"Well?" said the Captain, with a look at Webster.

"Pilot boats mayhap," said that officer, with a queer grimace and a swift glance at the young lady, whose face had paled again to the lips at this new anxiety.

"Oh, are they?" she asked, with a troubled look at the Captain.

"No, Miss Laura," he said sadly; "they're torpedo boats. That's why the cruiser let us slip. They mean to take this boat without injury to her or us, and they've got us in a trap."

CHAPTER SIX.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

Torpedo boats! Two insignificant smudges of black, lifting and bowing like a couple of dingy sea-birds in a waste of waters, wretched little things that could be stowed away on the promenade deck of a mail steamer, and yet the appearance of one of them among a fleet of heavy ironclads would create as much consternation as a gadfly among a mob of cattle.

On came these mosquitoes of the navy, with nothing to distinguish one from the other but a white number on the black funnel, and the honest merchant seamen on the bridge of the _Swift_ almost shuddered at the sight, recognising in them the incarnation of stealth and mischief. The torpedo-catcher, however, abated nothing of her speed. Was she not, after all, built to destroy these venomous midgets of the ocean? They were her game, and a brawny-armed seaman growled out his opinion of the relative fighting values of the crafts.

"Sink the little brutes," he said, shooting a squirt of tobacco juice; "run over 'em, blow 'em up, send them to--"

His deep voice swelled from a murmur to a shout, and a melancholy seaman at the wheel nodded his head vigorously in hearty approval.

The first officer winked at Frank and pushed his big oilskin cap over his head.

"What an almighty smash there would be if the Captain gave the word.

We'd sink the torpedo boats and the cruiser would sink us."

Frank began tugging at his small moustache as the unreasoning fighting impulse seized hold of him. He forgot that his own countrymen were the objects of his increasing animosity. Underneath his feet he felt the quiver of the deck as the long vessel darted along, and the speed affected him with the same exaltation that boils through the blood of a cavalry-man when his horse has got into the desperate swing of the charge.

"Clear the gun for action," shouted the Captain; and Webster, at the order, sprang over the bridge to the deck. Four men were at his side, the tarpaulin flew off, and the long black gun emerged.

Frank drew closer to the young lady. "Won't you come below?" he said.

She did not hear, and he touched her with his hand.

She turned her eyes on him, magnificent and wild.

"Had you not better come below?"

She shook off his hand with an impatient gesture.

The long gun was already charged, and Webster stood by whistling, his hand ready to touch her off.

"Send the shot over that boat on the port side. Make it a close call, and she'll shear off."

Webster climbed up on the b.u.t.t of his gun, took a long glance over the grey waters at the black funnel that alone showed, and without troubling himself about the reckonings for range finding, ventured an opinion:

"Is she a mile?"

"About that, sir," growled the big Quartermaster, Black Henderson.

Webster jumped down, and, with a smile on his face, fired the gun.

There was a deafening report, which s.h.i.+vered the gla.s.s in the chart-room, and when they drove through the smoke, and steadied themselves after the shock, they caught faintly the scream of the sh.e.l.l, and saw it stream high above the black boat.

"That'll scare the life out of them," growled a sailor, with a chuckle.

He forgot that there were men after his own metal on board, and the little boat paid not the least attention to the warning.

A little patch of red instead streamed out from her bare pole of a mast, the meteor flag of Old England, which no British seaman can see without a glow of pride, and a look of consternation came into their faces.