VII THE GUN-RUNNERS

I

There was no doubt that Jim Watson was in a very bad way. For three long, weary weeks he had wandered round the London docks on the look-out for a berth as cabin-boy. He had interviewed many masters and mates, but without success, for the first question he was invariably asked was: “Have you been to sea before?”

“No,” was all he could say; and, sick at heart, he had been turned away again and again. The family had migrated to England some four years previous to the time of which I write, and Jim’s mother had died a year afterwards. Mr. Watson had managed to secure a subordinate position in a shipping office in the City, but the loss of his wife had preyed on his mind, and three years afterwards he too had died.

So Jim had found himself an orphan at the age of fifteen, and, with two sovereigns and a few silver coins in his pocket, was cast out into the world to earn his own living. Relatives in England to whom he could apply for assistance he had none, and although his father’s old friend gave him a position as office boy, the meagre wages he received barely sufficed to pay for his food, let alone lodging. He had relations and friends in Australia, and determined to throw up his position at the office and endeavour to work his way out there as a cabin-boy in a ship; but in spite of tramping the docks every day for three long weeks, he had not yet succeeded in obtaining a berth. His small amount of money was vanishing rapidly; for although he cut his food down to the smallest possible limit, he found he could not live on less than 9d. a day, while his bed in a doss-house cost him another 6d. a night. He had no professional training, and although he was painstaking and plodding, his schooling had not fitted him for any employment ashore which would bring him in a living wage.

While tramping the docks he had known what hunger was—that awful, gnawing feeling of absolute emptiness which will turn even the strongest man into a living wreck—and as he pursued his weary way along the dock-side at Limehouse, he wondered how long it would last.

Walking along, he came to a small grey-painted steamer called the Sea Foam, made fast alongside the wharf. She was being loaded, and case after case was lowered into her hold, while a swarm of stevedores were hard at work amidst the rattling of steam winches and the shouts of the foremen. He stood and watched the busy scene for a while, and then noticing someone whose uniform cap showed him to be an officer of the ship, he formed a sudden resolve to go on board and ask for a berth. Walking up the gangway, he made his way forward and accosted the mate, for he it was.

“Please, sir,” he commenced, “could you——?”

“What is it, boy?” shouted the officer, turning round; “what do you want?”

Jim trembled; but in spite of the ferocity of the officer’s voice, there was a gleam of kindness in his eyes, and taking courage again he said:

“Please, sir, could you give me a berth? I want to go to Australia.”

“Australia, boy?” thundered the mate. “Australia? We’re not going there—going up the Straits. General cargo.”

The boy thought for a minute, and then came to the conclusion that if there was a chance of a berth he would give up the idea of joining his relations.

“I’m not very keen about Australia, sir,” he said. “I’m strong, and I could do any work.”

“Humph! On your beam ends, eh?” grunted the officer more kindly. “Well, I did hear the old man say he wanted a boy to help the steward, and I know he hasn’t shipped one yet. It’s a dog’s life, though,” he added, looking at Jim. “Been to sea before?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I don’t know that that matters; you won’t have much sailoring to do. Best wait and see the old man, he’ll be down along in an hour. Had your breakfast?”

“No, sir.”

For answer the mate walked aft, and putting his head through the door leading to the officers’ quarters under the bridge, bawled for the steward, who presently emerged.

“Look here, steward; take this youngster down below and give him something to eat. He looks as if he wanted it, poor little chap!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jim gratefully, and following the steward, he was soon gobbling up an enormous meal in the little cubby-hole which did duty as a pantry.

“Well, my son, you’re a rare ’un on the victuals!” gasped the steward, as he watched the food disappear. “Hungry? Ain’t had nothing to eat for a fortnight, I should think! What did you come here for?”

“The officer said I might be taken on as a cabin-boy,” said Jim, between his mouthfuls.

“Oh, yes, I did hear the old man say something about having a boy to help me,” replied the steward. “Ye’ll have to mind your eye if he does take you on, though; the old man’s a fair caution when he gets his rag out.”

“I don’t mind that, sir,” said Jim. “Can you tell me where the ship’s going?”

“I dunno exactly,” replied the man; “I believe it’s somewhere up the Straits—Mediterranean, you know. This is her first trip; she’s a brand-new ship—just been built on the Tyne.”

“Do you know how long she will be away, sir?”

“No, sonny, I don’t know for certain. The crew’s only signed on for the voyage. The old man told them he thought ’twould be about three months; but I don’t think he knows for certain. She’s a good ship, though. Not like some of them ordinary tramps you see knocking around. She can do her fifteen knots easy—most of them can’t do more than ten.”

The conversation was here interrupted by shouts of “Steward!” And answering, “Coming, sir!” the man said, as he left the pantry, “That’s the old man. I expect he’ll want to see you in a minute.”

Jim waited in anxiety, and when the steward reappeared and said, “Come this way—he wants you,” he got up and followed the man to the officers’ berth.

“Are you the boy who wants a berth?” inquired a short, thick-set, bearded man, who was sitting in front of the stove. He looked ferocious, but his tone was not unkindly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Any experience?”

“No, sir,” said the boy, his heart failing him as he was asked the inevitable question.

“Well, we’ll knock some into you; and so long as you do your work you won’t fall foul of me. What about wages, now?”

“I’m ready to take anything, sir.”

“Five shillings a week I’ll give you. You get your food with the steward, of course,” said the captain.

“Thank you, sir,” gratefully replied Jim, for the amount, though small, was more than he had expected.

“Well, get your clothes aboard and the steward will show you your work. We sail on the evening tide, about four o’clock.” He waved his hand to show that the interview was at an end.

Jim left the cabin delighted at the prospect of getting away so soon, and, after asking his new master’s permission, went ashore to fetch his scanty belongings and to purchase a few more necessary articles with the remainder of his money.

Returning towards noon, he found the cargo stowed and the men busy preparing the ship for sea. He was not idle long, however, for the steward soon pounced upon him and initiated him into his new duties. These consisted in fetching the officers’ food from the galley, laying and clearing away the table before and after meals, waiting on the officers, washing up the plates, knives and forks, cleaning out, making the beds, and being generally responsible for the chief and second mates’ berths. There was plenty of work to be done, and the whole afternoon he was hard at it.

Towards half-past three steam was up and ready, and soon afterwards the dock gates opened and the Sea Foam was warped out through a basin crowded with shipping, until she finally passed into the muddy Thames. With a pilot on board she steamed slowly down the sinuous reaches of the river, past the Rotherhithe, East India, and Victoria and Albert Docks, and, off Gravesend, the pilot was dropped into his boat alongside, and the ship increased her speed and shaped her course towards the open sea.

It was all entirely novel to Jim, and he stood just below the bridge ladder looking at the ever-changing panorama of ships and land as the ship steamed along. All sorts and conditions of vessels there were: great passenger liners, tramp steamers, large four-masted ocean-going sailing ships, barges, etc., all claimed his attention in turn. He was, however, interrupted; for the mate, who had been aft, suddenly rushed forward, and, pushing Jim aside, dashed up the ladder on to the bridge, taking the steps two at a time. From where the boy stood the skipper could not be seen, but Jim could distinctly hear what was said.

“There’s a Customs launch following us, sir!” the mate shouted. “She’s cracking on all she knows, and will be alongside us in ten minutes!”

“They must have spotted those cases of rifles and ammunition,” said the skipper. “Look here, Barter, tell the engineer to go on all he knows. If he can give us fifteen knots, we should give them the slip all right. I hope they haven’t thought of wiring to Sheerness. They’ll have torpedo-boats out looking for us if they have.”

The mate did not wait to reply, but, running down the bridge ladder, rushed to the engine-room hatch, down which he disappeared. The vibration increased, and the Sea Foam was soon travelling at full speed, with the foam dashing from her bows and clouds of black smoke pouring from her funnel.

“Rifles?” thought Jim. “What on earth are they up to?” Moreover, there was something suspicious in the fact of the Customs boat’s following them and the captain’s taking steps to prevent her overhauling his ship. Glancing aft, he could see the little black-painted launch travelling at full speed, while a man in the bows was waving his arms and motioning to the steamer to stop. It was obvious, however, that the Sea Foam was gaining, and going to the end of the bridge the captain derisively waved his hand in reply, but made no effort to reduce speed.

The pursuit was still kept up, and the steamer dashed along at a rate which was entirely against all rules and regulations governing the speed of vessels navigating the Thames. Try as she might, the Customs launch could not overhaul her. From four hundred yards astern she had dropped to half a mile, and at last, when darkness crept on and the sea got choppy as the Sea Foam left the river and entered the estuary, her pursuer turned tail and abandoned the chase.

By 5:30 it was practically dark, and dashing along at her best speed the steamer rapidly neared the open water. In another half-hour the short, choppy waves had given way to heavier seas, and soon afterwards the little vessel was pitching and rolling more; as her bows were turned to the south-eastward towards the open sea.

It was blowing hard from the south-west, and the heavy masses of cloud were flying down from windward on the strong breeze. Occasional heavy rain-squalls all but blotted out the lights round about, and it was obvious that they were in for a dirty night. But in spite of the risk the captain had ordered all lights to be obscured, for he was anxious lest torpedo-boats from Sheerness might have been sent out to intercept him, and these he naturally wished to avoid.

Jim was still standing at the foot of the bridge ladder when he heard someone come to the top of it.

“Is that you, boy?” said the captain’s voice.

“Yes, sir,” answered Jim.

“Go to the steward and tell him to send up some hot coffee for me and the mate.”

Jim departed on his errand, and presently returned on deck and went to the bridge with two cups of the steaming fluid balanced on a tray. It was pitch dark and blowing hard, while the violent movement of the ship made climbing the bridge ladder rather a difficult matter. The captain and mate took the cups; and, left to himself, Jim had a chance to look about him. Far away to starboard twinkled the lights of Margate, while nearer there were the red, white and green lights of a number of steamers. Going to the end of the bridge, the boy peered over the canvas weather-screen, noticing as he did so that the lights were still unlit; and, as he watched the foaming white caps of the waves go seething past the side of the ship, he heard the skipper make a sudden exclamation:

“What’s that right ahead there, with no lights, Barter?” he gasped, pointing out over the bows.

“Destroyer or torpedo-boat!” said the mate, seizing his night glasses and levelling them.

Jim looked in the direction indicated, and there, barely a quarter of a mile ahead, wallowing in the sea, was a long black shape whose four funnels proclaimed her to be a torpedo-boat destroyer.

“Hard-a-port!” shouted the captain, dropping his coffee cup on to the deck with a crash; “we shall be into her!”

The Sea Foam swung round and cleared the stern of the destroyer by barely twenty yards, and as she did so, shouting could be heard from the latter’s bridge.

“What are you knocking about for without lights, you pirate?” yelled an angry voice; “what ship is that?”

“The Caledonia, London to Barcelona. Sea’s put our lights out!” shouted back the skipper on the spur of the moment.

The mate laughed; but an instant later he exclaimed:

“She smells a rat, sir—she’s after us!”

It was true; for the destroyer, now right astern, was turning into the wake of the steamer, and, as the latter was steadied on her original course, volumes of sparks pouring from the funnels showed that she was being driven for all she was worth.

“They’ll have us, Barter,” gasped the skipper; “we can’t get away from her; she’ll go twenty-five knots at least!”

The man-of-war, however, had to turn, and by the time she was following the Sea Foam she was fully half a mile astern. At that moment a dense, blinding shower of rain drove down from the windward, shutting out all lights and making it impossible to see more than one hundred yards ahead. The skipper was not long in taking advantage of it, and on his shouting “Hard-a-starboard!” to the man at the wheel, the steamer’s bows were turned until she was pointing at right angles to her old course.

“She’ll think we’ve gone straight on,” said the captain in an anxious tone, “and if this squall lasts she may not spot us!”

The mate looked anxiously astern and to windward, but there were no signs of the warship, and it was still raining heavily. “I think we shall do it, sir!” he said, as he walked to the compass to give a direction to the man at the wheel.

A quarter of an hour passed, the minutes seeming like hours to those on the bridge, but still the Sea Foam forged ahead. At the end of this time the squall was beginning to clear—and the destroyer was nowhere visible.

“Have the lamps lit, Barter, and bring her back to south-east,” ordered the captain. “We’ve given her the slip.”

They had.

II

“That was a narrow squeak,” cried the captain, as he mopped his streaming face; “if it hadn’t been for that squall we’d have been collared! If she does sight us now, I expect she’ll take us for someone else, as we’ve got our lights burning.”

“Yes, sir, I thought she’d have us,” exclaimed Barter, “and I don’t fancy a spell in gaol. I suppose we’d get that for gun-running! It’s a pretty serious offence to be collared smuggling arms out of a country for another country at war!”

“Yes, it’d be prison and a fine, Barter. But it’s a paying game. We stand to get something pretty considerable between us if we can dump this lot in the Gulf of Sidra without being collared!”

Jim, seeing that the conversation was evidently not intended for his ears, and not wishing to be caught eavesdropping, slipped quietly down the bridge ladder and went below to the pantry, where the steward set him to prepare the table for the officers’ supper. Soon afterwards, leaving the second mate on deck, the captain and Barter came below and had their meal, and this being concluded Jim went to the cabins to tidy up for the night. Whilst turning down the second mate’s bed, he saw in a little bookshelf over the head of the bunk a small, thin book labelled “Atlas,” and knowing that the officer was on the bridge, and that he would not be disturbed, he abstracted the book from its resting-place and turned to the index at the end.

“Sidra, Gulf of (Africa), 31° O′ N. 19° O′ E.,” he read, and, having some slight knowledge of geography, he turned to the map of Africa to ascertain exactly where the place was. It did not take him long, for he soon found out that the place was on the north coast of Africa, in Tripoli, and that it lay just to the southward of a town marked on the map as Bengazi.

He knew that Italy and Turkey were at war, and he had read, on the rare occasions when he had looked at a newspaper in the public library, that fighting was going on in Tripoli. Putting two and two together, therefore, he came to the conclusion that the Sea Foam had on board a cargo of rifles and ammunition destined for the Turks, and in this he was quite correct. Putting the book back in its place, he left the cabin; and that night, as he lay in his bunk, he pondered over what he had discovered. The mate’s expression “gun-running” made him feel rather frightened; for he knew that it was a serious offence for the ships of a neutral State to supply arms to a belligerent country. If he had known the true state of affairs he would never have asked for a berth, but as he had, there was no way out of it, and he meant to see the thing through. After all, he thought, they could not very well put him in prison, and the idea of an adventure rather attracted him; so he determined to make the best of it. While thinking over the situation, he fell into a dreamless sleep which the violent movement of the ship did not disturb, and the next morning, when routed out by the steward to prepare the officers’ breakfast, he felt a very different being to the miserable youth who had joined the ship twenty-four hours before.

As the ship proceeded down Channel and out into the open Atlantic the weather steadily improved, and by the time Ushant had been rounded and the Bay of Biscay reached, there was nothing but a slight north-easterly swell, which, accompanied as it was by a clear blue sky and a brilliant sun, caused no inconvenience.

Nothing beyond the usual round of daily duties occurred to relieve the monotony of the voyage, and Jim found that, although he had to work hard while he was at it, he had plenty of leisure. He was having quite a good time; for, though the captain was inclined to be grumpy occasionally, neither he nor the officers abused or ill-treated Jim, so, on the whole, his lot was a happy one. The mate, seeing that he was far above the ordinary run of boys usually found in small steamers, took a liking to him from the very outset, and many a time Mr. Barter would go out of his way to explain things. In this way Jim soon picked up a smattering of sea-faring knowledge.

The old steward himself was a walking nautical encyclopædia, for he had been a seaman before a permanent lameness had forced him to undertake the lighter duties of steward. He was never tired of spinning yarns, and Jim never wearied of listening to them.

The ship steamed southward at ten knots along the coasts of Spain and Portugal, visible as a blue chain of hills far away to port. The weather was perfect, and Jim felt that life was well worth living.

One day, while clearing the table after the officers’ midday meal, he overheard a conversation between the captain and the mate.

“Barter,” the former said, “I’ve been thinking about that Customs boat. Do you think they had any notion of where we were going?”

“They must have had,” replied the other; “they wouldn’t have been so keen on stopping us, otherwise.”

“Well,” continued the skipper, “it’s quite possible that if they know we’re going through the Straits they’ll have wired to Gibraltar to send out a couple of cruisers or torpedo craft to stop us. How would it be to paint the ship another colour? This grey’s rather a ‘give away,’ it’s so uncommon.”

“Yes, we can do that all right, captain. I’ll get the hands on to it the first thing to-morrow morning; I’ve got plenty of black paint, and we can slap that over the hull and give her a black funnel with a red band, or something of the kind.”

“Yes, that’ll do. And paint the name out, too; but put in another, though; it would never do to have none at all.”

“All right, sir; will Caledonia do?” queried the mate, with a grin.

“Yes, that’s all right. We shall be passing through the Straits by daylight, so make a good job of it.”

The next morning all the available men were slung over the side with paint-pots and brushes, and in a short time the grey Sea Foam had been transformed into the Caledonia, a black ship with a black funnel with red band.

Early the next morning Cape Trafalgar was in sight, and a few hours later the ship had entered the Straits of Gibraltar, keeping well towards the African shore. She was about half-way through, when right ahead, and apparently stopped, were sighted two large cruisers, one with four funnels, lying directly in the steamer’s track.

“They’re both Britishers,” exclaimed the mate, who was on watch; “that four-funnelled chap’s one of the Aboukir class.”

“I wonder if they’re after us?” asked the skipper, feeling rather nervous; “lucky we gave her a lick of paint yesterday. Perhaps they won’t recognise us.”

“I don’t know so much about that!” answered Barter; “these Royal Navy chaps are pretty spry; I was in the Reserve myself once, and I know ’em.”

“Well, if they heave us to we’ll hoist the yellow flag and tell them we’re from Lisbon to Port Said. There’s plague at Lisbon, and they’d hardly dare board us, the regulations are so strict.”

The Sea Foam steamed on, and was soon close to the great man-of-war. No notice had apparently been taken of her, and the skipper and mate were congratulating themselves that they were not going to be stopped when the cruiser suddenly fired a blank gun to leeward, and at the same time a string of signal flags fluttered out from her fore masthead.

“Hang it,” growled the captain, “there’s no mistaking that!” And as he spoke he walked to the engine-room telegraph and rang down “Stop!”

“O.S.C., I.O.X.,” muttered the mate, rapidly turning over the papers of the signal box to find out the meaning of the flags.

“Heave to. I wish to communicate,” he said to the captain, when he had found the place.

“Hoist the yellow flag at the fore!” shouted the latter; and even as he spoke a boat from the man-of-war was half-way across the stretch of water dividing the two ships.

“What ship is that?” shouted a midshipman, as the cutter approached.

“Caledonia; Lisbon to Port Said; general cargo,” answered the captain in reply.

As if to verify his statement, the boat pulled under the stern, and there the officer read the name and port of registry, which, luckily, had been altered the day previous to “Caledonia, London.”

“Hope he doesn’t spot our new paint!” ejaculated Barter nervously, as the boat pulled forward again.

“All right, sir, I’ll go and report,” shouted the officer, whose suspicions had apparently not been aroused. “You haven’t by any chance seen a grey steamer called the Sea Foam, have you?”

“No, haven’t seen anything of her,” replied the captain, turning his face to hide his smiles.

“All right, you can proceed on your voyage,” came the reply.

“Thank heaven!” exclaimed the skipper, as he put the engine-room telegraph to full speed ahead, and motioned to the helmsman to resume his original course; “that’s our third escape! I wonder how many more we shall have.”

“You’ve got the whole Italian fleet to dodge yet, sir,” remarked Barter.

Soon afterwards the speed of the Sea Foam was increased to fifteen knots, for this would bring the ship to her destination about 11 p.m. on the fourth night after leaving the Straits.

The time passed without incident, and the last day of the voyage broke fine and clear. From daylight the captain and mate were on the bridge gazing anxiously ahead for the columns of smoke that would betoken the presence of men-of-war. They had their meals brought up to them by Jim, and the boy himself could not help feeling his spirits rise as the ship forged ahead and no warships were seen. The hours passed rapidly, and at length the sun set in the western horizon in a blaze of scarlet and orange, but still the Sea Foam steamed along at fifteen knots. All her lights were extinguished, and there was nothing to proclaim her whereabouts except the phosphorescent welter churned up by the screw, and a ruddy glow at the funnel-top.

The captain and Barter were still keeping their weary vigil on the bridge, looking ahead through the darkness, when suddenly Jim, who was on deck, saw a rapidly-moving light about a mile away on the starboard side of the ship. It was moving fast in an opposite direction to the steamer. Rushing on to the bridge, he seized Mr. Barter by the arm and drew his attention to it.

The mate snatched the binoculars, and after gazing at the light for a second or two he exclaimed to the captain:

“There’s a destroyer out there, sir. No, there’s more than one—two, four; I can count six, sir—steaming very fast in single file.”

“I wonder if they’ve spotted us?” gasped the captain.

“I don’t think so,” replied the other, “they’re moving away.”

“Lucky there’s no moon and it’s a dark night!”

“They must have been keeping a pretty rotten look out, though,” rejoined Barter; “Watson, here, spotted them all right.”

The destroyers vanished in the gloom astern, and the Sea Foam steamed rapidly on towards her destination. Ten o’clock came, but no more men-of-war were sighted, and about half an hour later the skipper, pointing ahead, suddenly exclaimed:

“We’re getting close, Barter; I can see the land ahead and on both bows. Get the anchor ready, and get a man along with a lead.”

The dark shadow of the land was now distinctly visible, and, with the engines eased to “dead slow,” the steamer crept cautiously ahead.

“And a quarter-nine!” came the long-drawn-out cry from the man with the lead. “A quarter less eight!” came the next sounding, a minute later.

The water was shoaling rapidly, and as the land was evidently getting close the ship was stopped, and the captain hailed the forecastle to let go the anchor. The rusty monster fell with a splash and a rattle of cable—the journey was over.

Going to the end of the bridge, the captain then fired a blue light, and its appearance was the signal for a chorus of yells a short distance off on the starboard beam.

“They’re there all right, then!” he ejaculated; “I arranged with the fellow in London to be here at eleven o’clock to-night, and we’ve just done it! Hark at ’em shouting!”

The howling drew closer, and before long three large Arab dhows stole into the circle of light and made fast alongside. An officer in Turkish uniform clambered on board, and going to the bridge he wrung the captain by the hand.

“You haf arrived, my friend!” he exclaimed in broken English, “with many good rifles? Aha! Haf you seen those Italian ships?”

“Yes, we saw ’em all right,” said the skipper, “but they didn’t see us!”

“That is good!” replied the other. “I haf brought tree dhow, an’ plenty men. Are you ready to unload now?”

“Yes, quite ready.” The hatch covers had been removed and the derricks topped during the afternoon; and, even as he spoke, the winches started their rattle as the unloading commenced.

There was no need of concealment now, and every soul in the ship, Jim and the steward included, worked with a will. Case after case containing rifles and ammunition was slung over the side into the dhows alongside, and at length, at three o’clock the following morning, the steamer’s holds were cleared of her cargo.

Just as the first signs of dawn appeared in the east the Sea Foam weighed her anchor and steamed seawards, and soon afterwards the coast was out of sight, and the vessel was steaming placidly homewards through a calm sea with no vessels in sight.

. . . . . .

Nothing more remains to be said, except that in due course the ship arrived in London, where the captain drew the money due to him for the successful enterprise. Each member of the crew received a substantial bonus, and Jim, to his surprise, was included in the award.

“Here you are, my boy,” said the skipper, as he handed him the money. “You’ve been a good lad, and you deserve it. I’m chucking the sea now, but if you are ever stranded, come to me.”

“Thank you, sir!” answered Jim, with tears of gratitude in his eyes; and after saying good-bye to the mate and steward, he left the ship for good. He could not help feeling a pang of regret, for in the short time he had been on board he had grown fond of the ship and her officers; but shouldering the bag containing his scanty belongings, he trudged citywards.

The money he had received so unexpectedly enabled him to buy a third-class passage to Australia, where in due time he joined his uncle. He is now employed on a sheep farm, and is in a fair way to doing well for himself, but he will never forget his one and only experience of gun-running in the Mediterranean.