Читать книгу Wilmshurst of the Frontier Force - Percy Francis Westerman - Страница 7

Accompanied by five other transports and escorted by the light cruiser Tompion, the Zungeru ploughed her way at a modest fifteen knots through the tropical waters of the Atlantic. Although there was little to fear from the attacks of U-boats, for up to the present these craft had not appeared south of the Equator, mines had been laid by disguised German ships right in the area where numerous trade routes converge in the neighbourhood of the Cape of Good Hope, while there were rumours, hitherto unconfirmed, that an armed raider was at large in the South Atlantic.

Provided the convoy kept together there was little danger in daytime in that direction, but the possibilities of the raider making a sudden dash during the hours of darkness and using gun and torpedo with disastrous results could not be overlooked.

The issue of lifebelts to the native troops puzzled them greatly. They could not understand the precaution, for they were ignorant of the danger of making voyages in war-time. Their faith in the "big canoes" of King George was so firm that, sea-sickness notwithstanding, they had no doubts or fears concerning their safe arrival in the land where Briton, Boer, Indian and African were doing their level best to stamp out the blight of German kultur.

At four bells (2 a.m.) on the fifth day of the voyage Wilmshurst was roused from his sleep by a commotion on deck. Men were running hither and thither carrying out a series of orders shouted in stentorian tones. The Zungeru was altering course without slackening speed, listing noticeably to starboard as the helm was put hard over.

Almost at the same time Laxdale awoke.

"What's up?" he enquired drowsily.

"I don't know," replied his companion. "I can hear Spofforth and Danvers going on deck. Let's see what's doing."

Acting upon this suggestion the two officers hastily donned their great coats over their pyjamas, slipped their feet into their canvas slices and went on deck.

It was a calm night. The crescent moon was low down in the western sky, but its brilliance was sufficient to enable objects to be seen distinctly. Silhouetted against the slanting beams was the escorting cruiser, which was pelting along at full speed and overhauling the Zungeru hand over fist. Although the cruiser and her convoy were without steaming lights the former's yard-arm lamp was blinking out a message in Morse.

The transports were in "double column line ahead," steaming due west instead of following the course that would bring them within sight of Table Bay. Less than a cable's length on the starboard column's beam was the cruiser. She had already overtaken two of the transports, and was now lapping the Zungeru's quarter.

The object of this nocturnal display of activity was now apparent. Less than a mile away was a large steamer, which had just steadied on her helm and was now on a parallel course to that of the convoy.

"Anything startling?" enquired a major of one of the Zungeru's officers who was passing.

"Oh, no," was the reply. "A tramp was trying to cut across our bows. The Tompion has signalled to know what's her little game. She's just replied that she's the steamship Ponto, and wants to know whether there have been any signs of a supposed raider."

The ship's officer continued on his way. The two subalterns, in no hurry to return to their bunks, for the night air was warm and fragrant, remained on deck, watching the manoeuvres of the cruiser and the Ponto.

The exchange of signals continued for about ten minutes, then the Tompion resumed her station at the head of the convoy, while the Ponto took up her position on the beam of the starboard line. Presently in obedience to a signal the ships altered helm and settled down on their former course, the large steamer following suit, although dropping steadily astern, for her speed was considerably less than that of the transports.

Presently the ship's officer returned. As he passed Wilmshurst stopped him, enquiring whether anything had developed.

"The Ponto has cold feet," explained the Zungeru's officer. "Her Old Man seems to be under the impression that there is a Hun scuttling around, so he's signalled for permission to tail on to us. The cruiser offered no objection, provided the speed of the convoy is unaffected, so by daylight the tramp will be hull-down, I expect."

"Much ado about nothing," remarked Laxdale. "I say, old man, let's turn in again. What's the matter with you?"

He grasped Wilmshurst by the arm. The subaltern, apparently heedless of the touch, was gazing fixedly at the tramp. The mercantile officer and Laxdale both followed the direction of his look, the former giving vent to a low whistle.

From above the gunwale of a boat stowed amidships on the Ponto a feeble light glimmered.

"Help—German raider," it signalled.

"You read it?" enquired the sailor hurriedly, as if to confirm the evidence of his own eyes.

"Yes," replied Wilmshurst, and repeated the signal.

Without another word the Zungeru's officer turned and raced to the bridge. In a few moments the signal was passed on to the Tompion by means of a flashlamp, the rays of which were invisible save from the direction of the receiver.

"Very good," was the cruiser's reply. "Carry on."

A little later the general order was flashed in to the convoy. "Increase speed to seventeen knots."

The instructions were promptly carried out as far as the transports were concerned, but from the Ponto came a signal: "Am doing my maximum speed. Must drop astern if speed of convoy is not reduced."

"The blighter has got hold of the code all right," remarked Laxdale. "We'll wait and see the fun. Wonder why we are whacking up speed?"

"The cruiser wants to get the transports out of harm's way, I should imagine," replied Wilmshurst. "By Jove, it's rummy how news spreads. The whole mess is coming on deck."

The arrival of the colonel and almost all the other officers in various "fancy rig" proved the truth of Dudley's remark. Armed with field glasses, marine-glasses, and telescopes the officers gathered aft, dividing their attention between the labouring Ponto and the greyhound Tompion.

In about an hour the tramp had dropped astern to the distance of a little over five miles, but was still maintaining a course parallel to that of the convoy, while the escorting cruiser was still zig-zagging across the bows of the leading transports.

Presently the Tompion turned sharply to starboard, steering westward for quite two miles before she shaped a course exactly opposite to that of the convoy, signalling the while to the Ponto, asking various, almost commonplace questions regarding her speed and coal-consumption.

It was merely a ruse to lull suspicion. With every gun manned and torpedoes launched home the cruiser flung about until she was bows on to the stern of the tramp. Then came the decided mandate: "Heave-to and send a boat."

Unable to bring more than three guns to bear astern the Hun raider—for such the so-called Ponto was—ported helm, her speed increasing rapidly. Almost at the same time a six-inch gun sent a shell perilously close to the weather side of the cruiser's fore-bridge.

Before the raider could fire a second time three shells struck her close to the stern-post, literally pulverising the whole of the poop. The after six-inch gun, which had been concealed under a dummy deck-house, was blown from its mountings, the heavy weapon crashing through the shattered decks to the accompaniment of a shower of splinters and a dense pall of flame-tinged smoke.

It was more than the Huns bargained for. Knowing that the British cruiser was already aware of the presence of a number of prisoners on board the raider counted on the Tompion withholding her fire. The Ponto would then "crack on speed," for in spite of her alleged maximum of eleven knots she was capable of working up to twenty-eight, or a knot more than the speed of the cruiser under forced draught. These hopes were nipped in the bud by the Tompion blowing away the Ponto's stern and putting both propellers out of action.

Of subsequent events immediately following the brief action Wilmshurst and his brother officers saw little. Their whole attention was directed towards their men, for the Haussas, on hearing the gun-fire, impetuously made a rush on deck—not by reason of panic but out of the deep curiosity that is ever to the fore in the minds of West African natives to a far greater extent than in the case of Europeans.

Next morning the Ponto was nowhere to be seen. She had foundered within two hours of the engagement, while two hundred of her officers and crew were prisoners of war on board the Tompion, and a hundred and twenty British subjects, mostly the crews of vessels taken and sunk by the raider, found themselves once more under the banner of liberty—the White Ensign.

During the course of the day Wilmshurst heard the salient facts in connection with the raider's career. She was the Hamburg-Amerika intermediate liner Porfurst, who, after being armed and camouflaged, had contrived to escape the cordon of patrol-boats in the North Atlantic. For three months she had followed her piratical occupation, re-provisioning and re-coaling from the vessels she captured. Whenever her prisoners grew in number sufficiently to cause inconvenience the Porfurst spared one of her prizes for the purpose of landing the captives in some remote port.

It was by a pure fluke that the raider ran almost blindly under the guns of the Tompion. Under the impression that the convoy consisted of unescorted merchantmen the Porfurst steamed athwart their track, and slowing down to eleven or twelve knots, awaited the arrival of a likely prey.

Finding too late that the convoy was not so impotent as at first appearance the kapitan of the Porfurst attempted a daring ruse. Upon being challenged by the cruiser he gave the vessel's name as Ponto, the real craft having been sunk by the raider only two days previously. The Hun stood a chance of dropping astern and slipping away but for the furtive and timely warning signalled by a young apprentice, who, contriving to creep unobserved into one of the boats, made good use of a small electric torch which he had managed to retain.

Enquiries of the released prisoners resulted in the information that they had been treated by their captors in a far better manner than the Huns generally deal with those unfortunate individuals who fall into their hands. The kapitan of the Porfurst was no exception to the usual run of Germans. It was the possibility of capture—which had developed into a certainty—that had influenced him in his treatment of the crews of the sunk ships. Only the fear of just reprisals kept him within the bounds of civilized warfare, and having behaved in an ostentatiously proper manner towards the prisoners he received in return honourable treatment on board the Tompion.

When the convoy was within two days' sail of Table Bay another convoy was sighted steering north, while wireless orders were received for the Tompion to escort the homeward bound ships and let the transports "carry on" under the protection of two destroyers sent from Simon's Town.

Upon receipt of these orders the captain of the cruiser signalled the Zungeru, asking her to receive on board the released crews of the sunk ships and to land them at Table Bay. Although wondering why the men should be set ashore at the Cape instead of being taken back to England the master of the transport offered no objection, and preparations were made to tranship the ex-prisoners.

Knowing several officers of the mercantile marine, Wilmshurst strolled into the Zungeru's ship's office and asked the purser's clerk to let him have a look at the list of supernumeraries. There was a chance that some of his acquaintances might be amongst the released prisoners now on board the transport.

As far as the officers' names were concerned Dudley "drew blank." He was on the point of handing the type-written list back to the purser's clerk when he noticed a few names written in red ink—three civilians who had been taking passages in ships that had fallen victims to the raider Porfurst.

"MacGregor—Robert; of Umfuli, Rhodesia—that's remarkable," thought Wilmshurst. "That's the name of Rupert's chum. Wonder if it's the same man? There may be dozens of MacGregors in Rhodesia; I'll see if I can get in touch with this MacGregor."

That same afternoon the Rhodesian was pointed out to Dudley by the third mate as he strolled into the smoking-room.

Robert MacGregor was a man of about thirty-eight or forty, tall, raw-boned and with curling hair that had a decided auburn hue. In the absence of any description of Rupert's chum, Dudley had no idea of what he was like, and until he approached this MacGregor his curiosity was not likely to be satisfied.

"Excuse me," began Wilmshurst. "I believe your name is Robert MacGregor?"

The Rhodesian, without showing any surprise at the subaltern's question, merely nodded. A man who has lived practically alone for years in the wilds is not usually ready with his tongue.

"Did you ever run across a man called Wilmshurst—Rupert Wilmshurst?" continued Dudley. "He's my brother, you know," he added by way of explanation.

"Yes," replied MacGregor slowly. "He was a chum of mine."