CHAPTER XXI.
THE LAST OF THE "SYNTAX."
"YOU'RE a troublesome card, Mr. Aubyn; delaying the march of justiceby taking French leave."
This was the greeting of Lieutenant Gilroy, after Terence hadreported himself on board the "Livingstone."
The sub. looked inquiringly at the speaker.
"Fact," continued Gilroy. "You are under notice to appear asprincipal witness at the trial of Major von Eckenhardt. The businesswas to have come off to-day, but in consequence of your tumblingoverboard (we had the wireless report of your rescue) the trial ispostponed till to-morrow. Congrats, old man, on your escape.Apparently you've had a lively time on board 'E Something'?"
"Fairly," admitted Aubyn, modestly. "But I wish to goodness I couldcut this trial business. Why couldn't they push on with the showwithout me?"
"Ask me another," replied the lieutenant, shrugging his broadshoulders. "So buck up and make the best of a bad job. You'll be ingood company, my lad, for I'm warned as a witness."
But the trial, which was to be held behind closed doors under thesummary authority of the Defence of the Realm Act, never came off.
Von Eckenhardt succeeded in escaping from Edinburgh Castle during adark, tempestuous night. Although searched when received intocustody, he had contrived to secrete a small bottle filled withcorrosive acid. This liquid applied to the bars of his cell madeshort work of those barriers. His knowledge of his environments musthave been remarkably accurate, for after dropping a height oftwenty-five feet from the window to the floor of the dry moat withoutsustaining any injury sufficient to impede his movements, he foundhis way down the precipitous sides of the Castle rock and got cleanaway.
The authorities left no stone unturned to attempt the recapture ofthe dangerous and daring spy, but their efforts were in vain. Thedisquieting thought remained that von Eckenhardt was still within thelimits of Great Britain. His activity, amounting almost torecklessness, made it pretty certain that he would not return to theContinent while there was scope for work amongst his enemies; and,although it was unlikely that he would carry on his secret servicework either in the vicinity of Rosyth or Great Yarmouth, it wassurmisable that he would recommence operations in the neighbourhoodof another important naval or military centre.
Shortly after the escape of von Eckenhardt the various units of thetorpedo-boat-destroyer flotilla to which the "Livingstone" belongedwere sent out on detached service. Since the repetition of theluckless German raid seemed unlikely, at least until the extensiverepairs to the "Derfflinger" and "Moltke" were carried out, thenecessity for keeping the full complement of flotillas ceased toexist. Hence the "Livingstone" was ordered to proceed to a certainrendezvous off the Lizard, in the vicinity of which one of vonTirpitz's pirate submarines was making itself a considerable nuisanceto British merchantmen bound up and down Channel.
Twenty-four hours after leaving the Firth of Forth the destroyerarrived at her appointed station, where she had the mortification ofhearing that a large tramp steamer, the "Quickstep," had been held upand sunk only two hours previously.
All the destroyer could do was to tow the ship's boats with thesurvivors within an easy distance of Falmouth; then back the"Livingstone" doubled, her officers and crew filled with the utmostkeenness to meet and destroy the skulking terror of the deep.
About three bells in the First Dog Watch the lookout reported a sailin sight, which quickly proved to be a large two-masted cargo vesselbound down Channel.
As she came within signalling distance she made her number,announcing that she was the SS. "Syntax" of London, and inquired ifthe destroyer had seen any of the enemy's submarines.
"Tell them 'yes'," ordered Gilroy, who was the officer of the watch."And inform them that we will escort her as far as the Wolf Rock.Beyond that she ought to be fairly safe."
"Tough old skipper of that packet," remarked Terence, pointing to the"Syntax." "He doesn't deign to sail under false colours--there's thegood old 'red' flying as proudly as any merchant skipper could wish.And I wouldn't mind betting that there isn't a firearm on board,except the signal gun and perhaps the old man's revolver."
"We'll mother him all right," declared Gilroy optimistically. "Itwould go hard with any German submarine that dared to show herperiscope now," and he indicated the man standing by the for'ard4-in. gun, ready at the first alarm to shoot and shoot straight--forthe No. 1 was one of the best gunlayers of the flotilla.
With her speed reduced to a modest twelve knots, in order to keepstation with her convoy, the destroyer turned and followed the"Syntax" at a distance of one seamile astern and slightly on her portquarter.
Just as the sun was setting, the lofty needle-like pinnacle of theWolf Lighthouse was observed, rising above the horizon and backed bythe vivid crimson of the disappearing orb of day.
There was little or no wind. The surface of the sea was as placid asa mill-pond, broken only by the bow-wave of the two vessels. So calmwas the air that the savoury smell from the galley of the merchantvessel was wafted to the nostrils of the officers on the bridge ofthe destroyer. On the lofty fore-deck a seaman was about to hoist thesteaming-lamp. His figure silhouetted against the ruddy light was,when viewed from the destroyer, just clear of one end of the bridge.
For no apparent reason Terence kept his glasses focussed on the man,who, awaiting the order to send the light aloft, was taking afarewell view of the rapidly-receding coast-line of Old England, forthe Cornish hills were just visible abaft on the starboard quarter.
Suddenly the fellow put the lamp on deck and shouted. Although Aubynheard no sound, he could distinctly see the seaman's mouth working ashe pointed to something on the starboard hand. Then heeling heavilyto port the "Syntax" circled in the direction indicated.
"A submarine, by Jove!" ejaculated Terence. "On the tramp's starboardbow--and the old man's trying to ram her."
Gilroy, too, levelled his glass, but owing to the glare on the waterhe could pick up no sign of the submarine. But Terence was right inhis surmise. A periscope had emerged from beneath the surface at lessthan a cable's length from the "Syntax." The courageous old skipperhad put his helm hard a-port, with the laudable intention of rammingand sending the submarine to the bottom.
He missed; more, the hull of the cargo steamer screened the submarinefrom the destroyer's bow-gun.
"That's done it!" ejaculated Gilroy, as a column of water toreskywards on the far side of the luckless vessel. The merchantmanheeled violently, recovered herself with a corresponding roll, as hermain-mast buckled, burst its shrouds and toppled across the deck.
"Full speed ahead!"
The engine-room telegraph gong had scarce ceased vibrating ere the"Livingstone" leapt ahead like a greyhound released from its leash.With the oil-fired engines running at their utmost capacity thedestroyer quickly circled round the doomed vessel, but not a sign ofthe modern pirate was to be seen. Having shot the cowardly bolt, thesubmarine had quickly dived, and perhaps was lying _en perdu_ eightyfeet beneath the surface.
Even in the midst of peril the heart of the stout old merchantskipper never failed him. Immediately his ship had been torpedoed, hesteered towards the distant shore, hoping against hope to beach hisvessel on the iron-bound Cornish coast.
In less than ten minutes it was obvious that the attempt was in vain.The "Syntax" was settling rapidly by the bows. Already the stern wasso high out of the water that the boss of the swiftly-revolvingpropeller was visible amidst the cascades of spray churned up by theblades.
Presently the propeller ceased to revolve. Not until the water wasover the level of the engine-bed did the skipper give orders for theengine-room staff to save themselves. Up on deck they poured,hurriedly yet without undue confusion. The boats were already swungout and made ready to lower.
So sluggish was the partly-flooded vessel that she lost way rapidly.One by one the boats were lowered, and the disengaging gear of thefalls cast off without a hitch. The old skipper was the last toleave. With the ship's papers thrust insid
e his buttoned,weather-beaten coat, he waved a salute to the destroyer that hadattended the "Syntax" in vain, then slid down into one of the boats.
Before the boat had rowed a dozen lengths from the ship, the "Syntax"all but disappeared from view, boisterously, amid a series of veiledexplosions as the compressed air burst from her seams. Amidst aminiature maelstrom the stern hung irresolute for a brief instant,with the red ensign still fluttering in the calm air. Then, with aquick dive, the emblem of the Mercantile Marine vanished from view.
"Shall I take you in tow?" shouted the lieutenant-commander of the"Livingstone."
"Better not, sir," replied the "old man." "That skulking submarinemay be showing her snout again. Another couple of yards and I wouldhave given her a bump. No, sir, we're all right. Sea's calm. Allbeing well we'll land at Sennen Cove before another couple of hours.
"There's pluck," commented Gilroy. "I always had a certain respectfor the Mercantile Marine, and after this, by Jove----"
Terence made no reply. He was thinking regretfully of thatmagnificent specimen of British construction lying fathoms deep, avictim to the brutal violation of all conventions and compacts ofmodern civilization.