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Dave Darrin After The Mine Layers, a novel by H. Irving Hancock

Chapter 18. Striking A Real Surprise

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_ CHAPTER XVIII. STRIKING A REAL SURPRISE

"Leave the steamship to me." The shot across the bow. A shooting game for two. "You're dealing with the United States Navy!" Darrin proves himself. Irons for three. The summons that worked. A tough lot to handle. Juno of the Cabin. A deadly one, too.


"ARE we heading straight course?" was Dave's next question through the air.

"You're going straight," came the cheering information.

"Found out your hurt?"

"Yes; gas-bag intact, and we've withdrawn out of easy range. One motor damaged more than we can repair in air. Can limp home, however."

"Leave the steamship to me," Darrin wirelessed back.

Inside of another minute and a half, Darrin made out the mast-tops of the stranger sticking up from the fringe of haze as the cloudy, reddish curtain shifted.

If Dave had sighted his intended prey, so had the stranger caught sight of the destroyer. The steamship cut a wide circle and turned tail.

"He's going at nineteen knots, we judge," came the radio report from the "blimp."

"That won't do him any good!" was the laconic answer that Darrin returned, this time in plain English instead of code.

The lower masts, the stack and then the hull of the stranger became visible as Darrin gained on him.

Bang! A shell struck the water ahead of the stranger, the war-ship's world-wide signal to halt.

Instead, the stranger appeared to be trying to crowd on more speed.

"Give him one in the stern-post," Darrin ordered.

The shell fell just a few feet short. The third one landed on the after-part of the stranger's deck-house.

And now there went fluttering up the top of the destroyer's mast the international code signal:

"Stop or we'll sink you!"

It took another shell, this one crashing through the stern of the stranger, to convince her skipper that the destroyer was in deadly earnest.

By this time the "Grigsby" was a bare half-mile away, and going fast.

"We're bringing to bear on you to blow you out of the water," Darrin signalled this time. "Will you stop?"

If he had made any plan to die fighting the fleeing skipper must have lost his nerve at that point, for he suddenly swung his bow around, reduced speed and moved ahead at mere steerage-way.

"Call Ensign Peters to clear away a launch with an armed crew," Darrin directed. "I will accompany him, for I must see what reason that craft had for firing on a British dirigible."

On either bow of the strange steamship was painted the national flag of the same neutral nation to which the "Olga" had appeared to belong. She flew no bunting.

"Stand by to receive boarding party," a signalman on the "Grigsby's" bridge wigwagged as the launch started toward the water.

The two craft lay now not more than five hundred yards apart. Across the water sped the fast power launch and came up alongside of the unknown steamship, which displayed no name.

Not a human being was now visible on her deck. An undersized watch officer had appeared on the bridge, but he now vanished.

"Who commands that destroyer?" demanded a voice in English, though it had the broken accent of a German-born speaker.

"I do," Darrin replied.

"Then stay where you are, for you're covered!" ordered the same voice in a frenzied tone. "We're not going to have you aboard. Signal the destroyer to make off at top speed and we'll leave you when she is out of sight. Refuse, and we kill you at once. Refuse, and you lose your life."

"Lower your gangway, and stop your nonsense," Dave ordered, angrily. "You're dealing with the United States Navy, and your orders cannot control our conduct."

"Then you are a dead man, at once!" declared the voice of the unseen speaker.

Unnoticed by others, Darrin had given a hand signal to a petty officer in the bow of the launch.

"If you do not lower your side gangway at once, we shall find our own means for boarding," Dave shouted, wrathfully. "Instantly, sir!"

Thereupon half a dozen heads appeared over a bulwark above. As many rifle muzzles were thrust over the edge of the bulwark and a prompt fire began.

Disdaining to draw his automatic Darrin stood up in the launch, the center of such a hail of bullets that his continued existence seemed incredible. Above the reports of the rifles could be heard the voice of Ensign Peters as he directed the swinging around of the launch.

R-r-r-r-rip! The launch's machine gun came swiftly into play. Bullets rattled against the iron sides of the ship.

Four of the six seamen on her deck were seen to fall back; the remaining two fled as fast as they could go.

Then the muzzle of the machine gun was swung, and a hundred little missiles were driven through the wheel-house.

At an unspoken signal the launch moved in until a sailor in the bow could hurl upward an iron grappling hook. At the first cast it caught on at the top of the rail, while the machine gunners trained their weapon to "get" any one who endeavored to cast off the grapple.

"Up with you!" shouted Darrin. One after another half a dozen sailors raced up the rope, swinging over to the deck.

Dave followed next, then more seamen. All were armed and ready for instant work of the sternest kind.

Two sailors lay dead, rifles beside them. Pools of blood showed that at least two more wounded men had been there, but had fled. No one else belonging to the ship was in sight on deck.

"Boatswain's mate, take the bridge," ordered Dave, as more men came up on board. "Put two men in the wheel-house. Take command of the deck with such men as I do not take with me."

Calling half a dozen seamen, and ordering them to draw their automatic revolvers, Darrin proceeded to the chart-room. He tried the door, but found it locked.

"Break it down," he ordered, and in a jiffy the thing had been done. But the chart-room proved to be empty.

Further aft Darrin went along the deck-house. The cabins of the captain and two mates were found to be empty.

"We'll soon know where the crew have gone to," he remarked.

In the dining-room were found three men in dingy blue uniforms, who appeared to be ship's officers. The oldest, who scowled hardest at the same time, Dave took to be the skipper.

"You command this ship?" Darrin inquired.

"If you say so," replied the man addressed.

"You must, for you are the fellow who ordered me to send my ship away," Darrin smiled grimly. "Are you a German?"

"None of your business. Why have you killed two of our crew and hurt others?"

"Drop that nonsense," Darrin retorted, sternly. "You know why we fired on you. And your men slightly wounded two of mine."

"We had a right to," scowled the other.

"You'll know better, by the time you've reached a British prison," Dave rejoined. "Men, place these three fellows under arrest. Search them."

Only the man who appeared to be the craft's master resisted being searched. He swung at one of the sailors, but Darrin jumped in, knocking him down and holding him to the floor.

"Put irons on this scoundrel," he ordered, sharply, a command so quickly obeyed that almost instantly the defiant one found himself manacled. Then Dave yanked the fellow to his feet.

"You are a bully," growled the prisoner.

"I am," mocked Dave, "when I have fellows of your stripe to handle. Men, you'd better iron that pair, too. They belong to the same outfit."

None of the three proved to have any arms on his person.

"Now, where are the members of your crew?" Dave demanded of the manacled skipper.

"Find them!" came the surly retort.

"In what business is this ship engaged?"

"Find out!"

"Bring these prisoners out on deck," Darrin commanded. Then, as the order was obeyed, Darrin made his way to the bridge.

"Boatswain's mate, pipe all hands on deck," he directed.

Shrilly the whistle sounded at the lips of the petty officer. But no men came to answer.

"We'll try other tactics, then," Darrin smiled.

Stepping to the wheel-house door he pulled it open. Inside was evidence of the havoc that the machine gun fire had worked there. Everything had been riddled, including the helmsman, who lay dead on the floor.

At this moment, however, Dave had no time to do more than glance at the dead man. Reaching for the whistle he blew a long blast, and caused the fire bell to be rung, the signal to stand by to abandon ship.

That brought seamen and stokers trooping to the deck, until more than thirty had so appeared.

"Does any man among you understand English?" Darrin called down as he leaned over the rail in front of the wheel-house.

"I do," came from one of the crew.

"Then inform your mates that this craft has been seized as lawful prize of the United States Navy. Where is your boatswain?"

"That's me," said the same speaker, gruffly.

"Very good. Deliver my message to the crew. Then make sure that all hands are on deck. If you deceive me you will be held sternly to account for trickery."

"All here," reported the boatswain, after a quick count, "except the cook and his helpers."

"Send for them, and tell them to report here at once."

When the ship's force had been summoned, save for the two sailors known to be dead on the starboard side of the ship, Darrin continued:

"There were some wounded men."

"Two," said the boatswain.

"Where are they?"

"Below. One is badly hurt. The other is binding his wounds."

Dave had by this time walked down on to the deck. There was a forecastle large enough to hold the crew, and he ordered all of the men into it, except the boatswain, whom he sent with three of his own men to find the wounded. These latter two were brought to the captain's cabin. The two dead seamen, after Darrin had gained their names from the boatswain, were picked up and thrown overboard into the sea. The boatswain was then sent to join the prisoners.

"Four of you men come with me, and we'll search the rest of the cabin part of the ship," Darrin directed.

Off the dining room were four doors that Dave believed opened into sleeping cabins. The first door that Darrin tried proved to be locked. One of his men carried a sledge-hammer that had been found in the wheel-house.

"Batter down the door!" Dave ordered.

Ere this order could be carried out the door flew open. A tall young woman, barely more than twenty years of age, stood in the doorway, her head thrown back, cheeks flushed, her look proud and disdainful. In her right hand she held a revolver.

"Go away from here!" she ordered. "Else I shall kill you!" _

Read next: Chapter 19. The Good Work Goes On

Read previous: Chapter 17. Trying Out The Big, New Plan

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