Johnstone of the Border

Two handcuffed men were put on board and the boat dropped back as the launch leaped ahead. The water rose about her bows in a white, curling wave, her stern sank down in a hollow ridged with foam, and she shook with the fierce throb of hard-driven machinery. Dark hills slid past to starboard, bold cliffs that stood out from their dim background rolled by, and after a time a flash from a lantern was answered by a gleam of light ahead. Then the blurred outline of a steamer grew into distinct form. In another minute the launch was alongside and the winches strained and clanked as she was hoisted in.

"Everything went as we expected, and I've brought you the two prisoners," the lieutenant reported to Rankine, who sat in his room before a big chart.

"Send them in, one at a time. And clear the guns and get under way. The course is west by south."

Rankine spent some time examining his prisoners. One preserved an obstinate silence, but when he had been taken away, the other seemed to see the force of Rankine's arguments. When the second prisoner had been dismissed, Rankine went up to the bridge and changed the course a few points.

"The fellow bears out what we have been told," he said to the young officer on watch. "I rather think he'll deal straight with us in order to save his skin. Anyhow, he has given me their supply-boat signal. The craft we're after is the latest and biggest thing of her kind."

"We ought to bag her," the officer replied thoughtfully. "I've got the searchlight rigged, and Wilson's the best shot we had on the battleship. Still, the little guns are awkwardly mounted and we haven't a clear field of fire."

"It won't need more than one shot. A perforated submarine isn't much use under water, and the game's ours if she stays on top. I'll give you the call-up signal and you can get things ready."

An hour later, Rankine pressed a button and the engines stopped. The clang of a steamer's bridge-telegraph can be heard some distance off, but Rankine had substituted an electric signal. Having undertaken a dangerous piece of work, he had carefully made his plans so that he need not announce his movements to the enemy. Two guns had been put on board the vessel, but as it was thought advisable to conceal them, and the deckhouse and the masts were in the way, their fire commanded only a limited strip of horizon.

Rankine searched the water with his night-glasses.

The coast was out of sight, mist drifted across the sea, and the night was dark. On the whole, this was an advantage, for his antagonist was expecting a trawler, and the darkness would prevent him from noticing the vessel's size and rig until they were close together. There was some swell, though the surface of the water was smooth, and the vessel rolled languidly. A feather of steam eddied about her funnel, and there was a soft splashing as her slanted side sank into the sea. No gleam of light pierced the darkness; everything was still; and Rankine stood waiting eagerly.

Presently he gave an order and one of the prisoners was brought to the bridge; then the steamer slowly moved ahead while a petty officer, standing behind a canvas wind-screen, alternately held up and lowered red and green pyrotechnic flares. The streams of colored light showed shadowy figures waiting motionless at their stations and drove a radiant track across the water. Then they died away and men whose eyes had been held by the glitter felt relief. Now they could see about the ship, and they knew watchfulness was needed.

For five minutes nothing happened, and Rankine, conscious of keen tension, began to wonder whether he should signal again. It was possible that he had overshot or fallen short of his distance. Then a sharp hail came from a lookout and he saw the sea break not far ahead. A confused white ripple spread away from something that moved amidst it, and drew out in a long, wavering line. A lantern flashed between regular intervals of darkness, and presently a low, black object grew out of the advancing foam. Rankine pressed the button and the throb of engines slackened; then he gave an order to his prisoner.

The man hailed in German; the submarine swerved and slowed; and the two vessels drew abreast, perhaps fifty yards apart, while Rankine's quarter boat swung out from the davits.

"Tell them to jump into the water and I'll pick them up!" he ordered the prisoner.

As the man called out, a dazzling beam from the searchlight played upon the submarine's hull and her wet steel skin glittered like silver. The next moment there was another flash, streaked with a vein of red; and a cloud of thin, acrid smoke whirled up. The steamer quivered with the heavy concussion; the submarine reeled and listed over. Indistinct figures plunged into the foam that lapped about her side; and then the bright beam showed an empty stretch of seething water: Rankine was watching his boat, which moved into the lighted track on her work of rescue, when a lookout shouted a hoarse warning.

Swinging round, Rankine saw a feathery streak of foam on the opposite side of the vessel. It was heading toward her at tremendous speed, and he knew the wash of a torpedo.

"Starboard, hard!" he called to the helmsman; and set his lips as he pressed the button for full speed.

Two submarines had answered his signal, instead of one, and the last had crept up to attack him while he was sinking her consort.

The steamer, however, answered her helm, slowly, but enough. The swift white streak drove past her stern with a few feet to spare, and she began to shake as her engines quickened.

"Port!" Rankine shouted in a harsh voice. "Steady that!"

A flash blazed out of the darkness, a panel of the wheelhouse was shattered, and the canvas bridge-screen fell apart in rags; but Rankine had seen a long, dark shape on the water close ahead. It might vanish in a moment, before his guns could be swung and trained. Indeed, he doubted if the submarine were within their field of fire, and he meant to use a surer means. One end of the black hull tilted up and the other began to sink. His enemy was going under. But would she be quick enough? The steamer's sharp steel stem was only a dozen yards away now.

Shouting an order to the crew, Rankine gripped the bridge-rails hard.

The water ahead boiled and rose in a tumbling ridge; there was a heavy shock, and the steamer trembled violently. One could feel her forge through something that crumpled up beneath her bows; but the jarring and grinding passed aft, and she leaped forward when she was once over the obstacle. Rankine saw a curious disturbance down the screw-torn wake, but it subsided and he stopped the engines.

"Sound the forward well! Swing your light aft and lower the gig!" he ordered.

The stream of radiance flashed astern and spread about the vessel; but there was nothing on the water except their own boat, which made toward them. Then a man came up to report that the well was nearly dry.

"She's a strong old ship," Rankine remarked, and turned to another man: "Where's that prisoner, Evans?"

"I haven't seen him, sir, since the torpedo missed us."

"Ask on deck," said Rankine. "Why isn't the gig away?"

As the man went down the ladder, a splash of oars began, and the searchlight's moving beam swept the sea. It picked out the larger boat and then passed on, leaving black darkness, and followed the gig. Ten minutes later, the boats returned and Rankine received the young lieutenant in his cabin.

"We have six men; all from the first craft, so far as we can make out," the lieutenant reported, with rather strained quietness.

"Then the rest have gone," Rankine said. "We have lost one prisoner, too. It's pretty obvious that he jumped over. He must have known there were two submarines and expected the last to sink us."

"He was not in the boats. Do you want to see the men we picked up?"

"Not just yet. Let them have dry clothes and anything else they need. I wish we'd got some of the others; I don't know that one ought to think they deserved their fate. But, after all, when one remembers the torpedoed merchant ships – However, we'll land them in Loch Ryan. Let her go west by north until you make the Mull of Galloway light."

The lieutenant went out, and Rankine, lying back on the locker, lighted his pipe. It was his first battle, and he wanted to recover his normal calm. He had won, but he did not quite feel the exhilarating flush of victory he had expected. Instead, he rather shrank from dwelling upon the fight.

CHAPTER XXXI

UNEXPECTED HAPPINESS

Elsie, lying half awake, raised herself on her pillow as she heard a clock strike. The anxiety she had half forgotten returned to her with double force. Although she had not been quite asleep, she had lost count of the time, and it was now nearly three hours after low-water. The danger that had threatened Andrew must be past, but she did not know how long she must wait for news of him. Besides, some mischance might have befallen Dick. He had looked ill when she sent him on an errand that would severely try his strength.

After a long time she heard a sharp throbbing coming up the valley. It sounded like a motorcycle and she jumped out of bed and began to dress, wondering whether Dick had borrowed the machine at Annan and was returning. The sound grew louder; the motorcycle had passed the lodge and was nearing the house when Elsie quietly entered Madge's room.

"I heard it," Madge said. "I haven't been asleep. Shall I get up?"

"No." Elsie touched her in warning as a door opened.

There were steps in the passage, and they waited until the sound died away.

"Are you going down?" Madge asked.

"Yes; I feel that I must. But it might be better if you didn't come."

She heard the hall door open as she descended the stairs, but she kept on and waited at the bottom. The machine had stopped and she thought it significant that its driver had boldly ridden up to the house. If Dick had done so, he would have come in; but nobody had entered and Staffer had gone out. After a few minutes, she heard the sliding door of the garage run back. Elsie knew the sound of the small wheels as they grated upon the iron carrier.

The motorcycle sped away noisily down the drive, and soon afterward Staffer came in carrying a lantern. He did not see Elsie as he put the light on a table and locked a traveling bag. She thought it curious that the bag was ready packed; and since he had taken no precautions against being heard, it looked as if speed were more important than secrecy. The message that had been brought him must deal with some urgent matter. Still, Dick had not returned and she was horribly anxious. She could not wait to learn what had happened at the wreck.

As she moved forward to speak to Staffer, he looked up. His expression was tense, but she thought he was calm.

"So you have spied on me again!" he said.

"Where's Dick?"

"Dick?" repeated Staffer. "Ah! Now I begin to understand! You sent him down the Firth!"

"Yes; I did. And where is he?"