Drowned Gold/Chapter 11

S if deathly tired after a strain that had lasted for years, Twisted Jimmy Martin reported himself off duty to me on the following forenoon, confessed that he had been unable to sleep and had devoted the entire night to some adjustments, proved them, and added the improvements to his rough plans. I gave him a sedative from the medicine chest and sent him away to sleep. And sleep he did, through nearly twenty-four hours; for when, drowsily, he reappeared on deck, he had the look of a man who has made up a vast amount of lost time. We were ploughing steadily through a sea as smooth as an inland lake, with the morning sun shining flawlessly upon us from a clear, soft blue sky, and but a few minutes before had raised land, presumably the head of Martinique. It was a peaceful sea, a peaceful sky, and the ship herself seemed peaceably inclined. I heard Rogers, as he paced to and fro from wing to wing of the bridge, humming an overly-sentimental ballad from a music-hall, and then in an instant all was changed. From the crow's nest, where we kept a man constantly stationed, came a hail to the bridge:

"Something just come up off the port bow, sir, that looks to me like a submarine."

I jumped to my feet, seized my glasses, and ran out to the bridge, where the mate was focusing the long glass on a distant object. There was no doubt about it. To an experienced eye the two thin tubes that were slowly coming upward could be nothing else than the twin periscopes common to the latest type of U-boat. I had given the general alarm before her periscopes and superstructure had reared themselves above the lazy, rippling water. From the stoke-hole came the clang of shovels, and from the Esperanza's funnel a cloud of black smoke. Men aroused from sleep off-watch came running to the deck. The boatswain's whistle shrilled in quick, staccato treble, and the whole ship seemed suddenly aware of menace, yet bravely resolute in her determination to meet any odds. Her screw began to turn to its utmost speedy and men ran to the quarters I had previously assigned, all with as much precision, I flatter myself, as if we were a man-o'-war. The submarine appeared to pause for a moment, and then displayed German colors and signaled us to heave to. I was astonished at an odd hesitancy on the part of the U-boat; but suddenly from a gun that was hoisted up from her back forward, a shot was fired across our bows.

I waited no longer, but ran down the bridge steps to the heavy gun aft, and as the Esperanza swung on a port helm that brought her stern in line with the submarine, myself aimed the gun, and fired. The shell leapt away, struck short, ricocheted, rebounded completely over the submarine, and exploded on the far side, raising a column of water. The Esperanza twisted on a starboard helm, like a fish, and I listened for the discharge of the smaller gun in the bow. Something was wrong forward, and I heard curses, exclamations, and then a shot. The shell, well aimed, took the water but a yard or two in front of the U-boat's bow, and did not explode! I waited, expecting it to be followed by a torrent of others, for the man at that gun knew his business, and with such a fair mark could not fail to score hits; but instead I heard his voice above all the tiny turmoil, roaring objurgations, and now he came running to meet me, for I had started forward to learn the cause of his failure.

"The charges are all dead, sir," he shouted. "Somebody has done for us fair! And even the shot I fired, with the shell that was in the chamber, didn't blow!"

I shouted to the chief mate on the bridge to swing to port and give me another chance with the eighteen-pounder, which was now our only hope. The Esperanza yawed sharply, and we swung the gun to catch the submarine, now submerging rapidly, and again fired. There was a splash so close to the forward periscope that the men cheered; but there came no spout of water announcing an explosion that would have finished our enemy for that combat at least, and possibly forever. This shell also had proven to be a dud, and failed. We thrust another shell into the breech, the men around me, including the veteran gunner, voicing their disappointment with deep-chested shouts, and again we fired. There was no fault of the range. I take credit for that, at least, because it was visibly proven. The forward periscope was shot away as cleanly as if cut with a knife. But again there was no explosion. We were as impotent as if we had been using ancient ball shot! I bent over and examined the shells that had been spread in readiness behind. Outwardly they were perfect. Reckless of consequences, the old gunner unscrewed the cap, examined it but a moment, and thrust it toward me.

"The tortional spring and piercing needle have been cut clean away! And not long ago, sir, because, see! the place where the knife clipped them has scratched into the metal and is still bright and fresh! The percussion fuses are no good!"

I looked. There was no doubt of it. We had been betrayed.

"Examine the others," I ordered, "and if you can find one that isn't defective, use it and fire at will!"

I ran to the bridge. There was no hope left us save in maneuver, luck, and speed, and the chances were all against us. There was not the slightest use in bellowing down the tube, for the telegraph had stood at "Full speed ahead" ever since the German boat had been sighted, and the Esperanza, tuned and strung to the utmost, obeyed the master hand of Twisted Jimmy as she had never before obeyed in her adventurous life. She fled like a frightened thing, running as she had never before run, twisting and dodging as never before had she twisted and dodged, quite as if, endowed with individual intelligence, she fought for existence. And she fought boldly, ringing with defiant noises, belching her torrents of smoke upward in fearless, angry plumes, and pointing her nose toward the uprising faint blue of the land, as if seeking it for a breathing-spell and intent upon resting there until she might recover from the ignominy of flight and gather resource to meet all comers unafraid.

A lean-jawed, clean-shaven, gray-haired man, born to the seas from the Cape Cod rocks, stood at her wheel, alert, obedient, and capable, as we flung her straight away toward our only goal. She was doing a clean fourteen knots—a full knot and a half of speed more than she had ever attained, and I began to hope. She ripped the water in twain with her poor, blunt, futile bow, leaving a spreading line of waves abeam, while her wake foamed and boiled as if with fury. I was proud of her, in that brief time, this first steamship I had ever owned! I think I came to love her, as if she were animate, and possessed soul.

And then, as if to deride us and our efforts, there uprose from the still seas on the port quarter, a single lean line of gray—the remaining periscope of our enemy. It came as a shock, as a humiliating answer to our pride; for the submarine, running on a straight, undeviating course, awash, had outdistanced the brave old Esperanza, and lay in wait.

It was as if a half-dozen men sighted it at the same time, for they raised a warning roar in unison, mingled with my order to the wheel, "Hard to starboard!"

The Esperanza shifted responsively to the hands of the lean-faced man from good old Cape Cod, presented her stern, and there came a roar as the gunner, seizing the shifting chance, let go another shell that, like its predecessors, was worth no more than a round shot, and missed by feet rather than fathoms. Nothing but a direct hit could count, and yet he did his best; better, I am sure, than I could have done, for he pelted away with grim determination, wholly absorbed in his task, mouthing intermingled curses and orders, and standing by his piece. The shells might not explode, but to the very ultimate he would try the chance to its utmost. We lurched violently through the blue waters, exercising all ingenuity, all resource, and intent on reaching refuge, but the enemy was also ingenious and alert, and was now certain that we were overpowered. He, too, ran zigzags on the surface, making it almost impossible to score a hit. Splashes astern, abeam, and by his bows told the excellence of our marksmanship, but he took all risks as bravely as did we, and relentlessly closed. Now we ran ahead, and then slowly he gained and closed up abreast until we ran parallel. The gun aft was brought to a tangent that was clearly impossible. We fell to our zigzag course again, and for a time tried to out-maneuver our pursuer as in a great game of play on favorable waters, rather than intent on life and death. Always, however, our enemy closed in, and now, at last, when the outline of the land was distinct and clear beyond us, and safety almost in sight, he came to his opportunity. As if wearied and beaten by impossible odds, the Esperanza was again twisting to expose nothing more than the small target of her stern, when there came a sharp cry from a man on deck, and I saw the thin, rapidly advancing line of foam that told of the progress of a torpedo. I watched it as if fascinated, and found that my hands were clenched tightly around the bridge rail. Faster! Faster! If we could but turn a few feet—and—it was hopeless! I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion that must be our undoing.



It came like a geyser of water on the starboard, directly amidships, and the shock twisted and shook me, and I found myself still clinging to the rail, and a sudden stillness had succeeded all those choral sounds of our flight. The Esperanza was still under way, but from her hollows came no longer the whir and clash of machinery full driven, and full working. Steam suddenly puffed upward from her escapes. Jimmy had opened her valves. The screw had stopped, and we traveled forward in ever-lessening momentum. Men, blackened and begrimed with oil and grease, streaming perspiration, came running from the engine-room and stoke-hole. Last of all came Twisted Jimmy, as blackened and sweaty as the others, and trudged heavily to the deck beneath the bridge.

"We're hulled! Hopelessly hulled! The engine-room's a mess and she can't float for more, than ten minutes," he said calmly.

I ordered the boats away, seized my ship's papers and ran down from the bridge. Already the Esperanza was settling with sickening rapidity, and the men, muttering savage imprecations, but as cool in demeanor now that the fight was finished, as if it had been a mere game of pitch and toss, were in the lowered boats and waiting for me. I rushed to Jimmy's cabin. The door was wide, and inside the laboratory that he could use no more, he stood glaring at his bench.

"Look! Look!" he roared. "It's open! They've robbed us at last!"

There was no doubt of it. The door of the secret receptacle stood wide, and it was empty. I had no time to comment, for suddenly there was a sickening lurch of the deck, and it was plain that the Esperanza was going.

"Come on! Run!" I shouted; but Twisted Jimmy stood like a man bewildered by a great loss. I seized him by the arm and fairly forced him from the cabin and through the door. The ship was quivering in her death-throes, her bows rising slowly into the air forward, and her stern settling. The slant of her deck beneath was so great that we had to jump for the port rail to keep from sliding amidships, and together we climbed over it, planted our feet to get the greatest possible take-off, and sprang into the sea. The boats had pulled hurriedly away lest they be swamped, and just as I hit the water I heard the men in the port boat shout encouragement. Then came a suction that was like the clutch of a million tiny hands dragging me under, and I knew that the ship was taking her final plunge. I caught my breath, held it, and swam with frenzied upper strokes as I felt myself going down, ever deeper and deeper. It is possible for a man to live a very long time in a very few seconds! And a man drowning, I am convinced, uses both lobes of his brain for one of the few times in his life. I had a peculiar sense of dual personality. One half of my mind fought with terrible desperation for life, but the other was remarkably busy with thoughts of work unfinished, and the old dreams. Was it not strange that I felt a great regret over my failure to be of service to Monsieur Périgord, who had so fully trusted me; that I remembered all he had ever said, and that then my mind flashed farther back to Marty Sterritt, to all the love and hope and hopelessness that she had given? I don't believe I had ever until that instant, when plunging helplessly downward, and with Death wavering very near, realized how much I loved her. I wondered if, on hearing of my fate, she would bestow upon me a moment's grief.

The pressure was becoming unendurable. From every direction, upon every surface of my body, tons of weight were rushing forward, malevolently, to crush me. No compress of torture could have been so complete, no hopelessness more entire, than what I suffered. The half of me that strove for life was exhausted and despairing; the half of me that reviewed my life had finished its task, and, wearied, paused to rest. And then, with reeling senses, resigned to death, I was abruptly thrown upward as if on the swirl of a gigantic bubble, and all senses resumed, somewhat languidly and annoyed, the never-ending struggle for life. I was on the surface, breathing great drafts of air, sore as if bruised, dazed by the unexpected, marveling at reprieve, and moving with mechanical motions of legs, lungs, and arms. Shouts that sounded a long way off, and faint, battered at my ears. A harsh hand caught me by the folds of cloth covering my back, and lifted me higher. I had lived an age, in those few seconds, and was back again, and my mind was resuming its sway in exact proportion to the timing of my lungs, that gasped and fought for air. My senses were swinging back to normal, and back to life, that had so narrowly escaped being torn from me.

"Put your hand on my shoulder!"—a voice familiar and yet unfamiliar shouted. "Thought you were never coming up! The boat is almost here!"

And now it dawned upon me that the hand and the voice were Jimmy's, and that it was he who supported me. I was obedient. I put my hand on his shoulder, and as he swam, felt the hard-working muscles beneath. Sturdily he swam, with far-flung arms, and then I felt other hands, and the drag of hard, firm wood, and awoke as from a dream to find myself hanging across the side of a boat, with my men tugging me aboard.

"We'd given you up, Skipper," said a sailor, as I sagged to a thwart.

"And I guess he'd have gone, all right, if the chief hadn't been there on the spot, when the last air in the good old Esperanza vomited him up," declared another voice.

"Is he all right?'" queried some one else; and another reassured him: "Sure he is! They all act like that when they've been under for three or four hours. That is, if they act at all!"

I rather fancied the qualification. I laughed. Then for a minute I was very sick. Then I crawled to a sitting position, looked around, steadied myself by an effort, and saw but three objects on the immediate sea: the starboard boat pulling heavily; a great whirl of water, in which there eddied, round and round, pieces of wreckage of a ship; and, slowly coming toward us, a shining, gray, and monstrous shape, the exposed portion of the submarine that had sunk us, running light. A voice from her deck hailed us in a brawling shout of clear English, "Pull alongside here, you men. In which boat is your captain?"

I was fully revived.

"Here," I shouted, and knowing that we were helpless, ordered my men to make way toward the gray shape that was now coming to a stop.

"We're all safe but Klein," some one said; and for this I was thankful.

I moved over to where I could reach Jimmy, who sat, huddled and dripping, on a seat. "Jim," I said, and then couldn't speak. All the words of gratitude that were in my mind rushed so rapidly together that they were confused and unutterable. I could but thrust my hand toward him and catch his hand, that came up instinctively to meet mine. All that I might have said, and which I should have said, went into the contact of our palms. I came nearer to the heart of the man in that one moment than ever before. I am certain he understood. I am certain that he was as far from words as I; for he clutched tightly, looked into my eyes with affection, and said: "Next time you go under, better not stay so long. 'Taint fair to keep a man waiting that way. I was about all in, and—I'm not so young and strong as I was a few years ago!"

"Which boat is the captain in?" a harsh voice called, and I turned to see that we were nearing the submarine, on whose moist deck stood a half-dozen men in the uniform of the German Navy.

"In that one, you slob! You were told once before!" exclaimed the angry voice of the chief mate, Rogers, from the other boat, that was converging with us to the meeting-point.

Fearing reprisals for this outspeaking, I got to my feet, and answered in person:

"I am the master of the ship you sank! You have done about all you could; so what do you want now?"

"Pull alongside and come aboard," was the order, and from the men around me came varied, fragmentary, earnest, and muttered advice: "Scrag him, sir!"—"Kick him into the sea and we'll bash him with our oars!"—"Don't you hesitate to do it, sir, because they're swine!"—"Grab him and hand him over to us, Captain, and then they dassent hurt you."

Knowing that this was a time for certain though unwilling diplomacy, I quieted my men, and bade them put me aboard. The submarine had a tiny landing platform with steel steps arranged so nicely in conformity with her awash surface that I mentally admired them as I stepped upon them from the thwart of my boat and mounted. I stood on her surprisingly large deck, and looked for her commander. I gasped with surprise. The man who confronted me was Count Waldo von Vennemann. Of the two, I was by far the more perturbed and "off my feet," although he, too, looked astonished. He gave me a chance to recover.

"I wondered," he said, with a grin, "if the man I was supposed to intercept was my old friend, Commander Thomas Hale." I was still staring at him. "It is the fortune of war. I am rather sorry, in a way, for I used to like you. I'm glad you were not drowned when your ship went under."

Certainly I could find no objection to that. He had changed but little in appearance since last I saw him in Torquay, although I fancied the smile was not so free. There was an air of hesitancy and embarrassment about him, due, I thought, to our relative positions, for he seemed to thwart me at every turn, and that without malice. Two loves I had known, that of a woman, and my first steamship, and he had robbed me of both. I think my manner repelled him, for he became more official.

"It is necessary, Captain, for me to search each of you individually," he said. "My cabin is at your disposal."

He bowed toward the commodious hatch of the conning-tower, and said to a waiting officer, in his own tongue: "Captain Hale was once a friend of mine. See that he is treated with all the courtesy that the occasion permits. Take him to my cabin, where he may strip for examination."

I thank you, Count," I said, bowing to him, and had started down the steel ladder when his voice again arrested me, and in its tone, I fancied, was something of sympathy for a bested rival: "If you will permit me, Commander, I should like to place a dry suit of clothing at your disposal. I may have to detain you some time, and will have one of my men dry your uniform."

I was convinced that the count was doing his best to extend a kindness, and, although he was my enemy, saw no reason why I should not accept his proffer, and did. It was very strange to be shown such attention as was given me. It was strange, too, to go below in that huge submarine, larger than any I had ever seen, for I estimated her to be something more than three hundred feet in length, a veritable submersible cruiser of the latest type. I had no chance to look about me with more than a passing glance, but saw that the boat was infinitely superior to any I had ever seen. There were tiny cabins for the officers, and a recreation room for the men, in which stood a "baby" piano, and a gramophone. The count's cabin, into which I was ushered, was small, but well fitted.

"The Herr Captain speaks German?" queried my conductor; and on my admitting it, added, "You will please take off all your clothing, and let me have it for inspection."

I should have protested, but saw the futility of it when a prisoner and subject to an inexorable order. I wondered why this careful search! Another man, evidently a steward, entered and assisted me to remove my dripping garments. He opened a drawer in the neat little dresser, took from it a suit of civilian clothing, and laid it by my side. He disappeared and returned with a large bath-towel, and would have assisted me to dry my moist body had I permitted. When, this task completed, I turned around, my own wet belongings had been removed, and the officer had disappeared. The steward said in his lisping Saxon, "Excuse me, sir," and withdrew, closing and locking the door after him. I donned the clothes and found them comforting after my immersion, sat for a moment on the tiny chair, and then got to my feet and looked about me. Almost the first object upon which my eyes fell was a photograph of Marty Sterritt, as I had known her. Marty, With the frank and fearless eyes, with the quizzical little smile on her lips, with the free poise of the fine head on the rounded throat! There was nothing whatever written upon it, not even the then customary friendly sentiment. For a long time I sat there, looking at it with a great pain and loneliness in my heart where she reigned; for no matter how harshly one grips and controls his thoughts, and tries to adjust them to the irrevocable, there are many wounds which never heal, and must, on occasion, throb with pain.

I was aroused from my reverie by the sound of voices in the narrow passageway, one of a man talking a very broken English, and the other Twisted Jimmy. I heard the door of what I presumed was the tiny recreation room being shut, and waited in suspense. There were some ugly tales abroad upon the seas concerning the treatment of officers of sunken ships who had been taken prisoners to Germany. Fate had handed me a more than usual "ugly punch" by making my captor the one man in the world whom I should have chosen last for such a rôle.

Outside I heard the movements of machinery, and was for a moment convinced that we were about to get under way. And then my ear, recalling old and familiar sounds of the time when I had done submarine service in my own country's Navy, identified and segregated the steel chorus into intelligent cohesion, and knew that the U-boat was turning her Diesels to replenish her storage batteries. For nearly an hour we rested there in suspense, and then the steward who had taken my clothing returned with it, dry and warm, over his arm. He told me I could rehabilitate myself, and without further comment departed. I had barely resumed my own apparel when he appeared at the door again, held it open, and said I was to follow him. At first I suspected that I was to be conducted to prison quarters, but soon discovered that we were retracing our steps and about to climb upward. I stepped out on the commodious deck of the monster submarine, and found myself facing the count. My impression was that he was vastly annoyed by something that had happened before he saw me; but then he assumed an appearance of complacency.

"Captain Hale," he asked quietly, "did you call the roll of your men after you took to your boats?"

"No, but my men have."

"And are any missing?"

"One only, our engineer."

"And you don't know what became of him?"

"Naturally not. Otherwise he would have been in one of the boats," I said, none too graciously, and thinking of poor Klein's fate, that but for good luck might have been my own.

"So it was your engineer you lost, eh?" and then caught himself and hesitated, giving me room for thought.

The count stood looking about him for a moment, and it gave me an opportunity to appraise the scene. The two boats of the Esperanza were still alongside, with my men seated in them, all in a watchful silence. From the deck of the submarine two machine guns were pointed threateningly toward the boats, although the big gun that had been visible when we boarded had been lowered into its well and the plates reset above it.

"I'll say this for your men, Hale," he said, suddenly turning toward me again, "they are the sullenest, most uncompromising, unresponsive set that I have ever encountered at sea. And one and all, they must have lied, because they insisted, unanimously, that not a man was missing."

Mentally I grinned at their stubbornness, for I knew they had lied merely to keep him thinking that their losses had been nil; a sort of "Ya! Ya! You didn't get any of us, after all! What are you going to try next?"

Clumping feet were coming up through the conning-tower, hammering the steel steps, and Twisted Jimmy appeared. His clothing also had been dried, a decided compliment to him as well as me, the only two men of the Esperanza who had been immersed. Count Vennemann gave an impatient gesture toward the boats, and Jimmy was escorted to the little side ladder, and told he could get aboard. The count motioned to the men nearest him, and they withdrew as far as possible.

"Hale," he said, "you can thank your stars that you were once a friend of mine. We don't always take such pains with prisoners." There was a grim significance in his remark that sat sourly on my mind. He must have divined my thought, for he hastened to an apology for himself. "Oh, I make no excuses; and war is war. You people don't see it as we do because you are on the opposite side; but don't think for a moment that I am in the least bit proud of this berth of mine. I'm merely doing what I conceive to be my duty by my country."

To me the very fact that he felt it necessary to apologize was proof of a moral distortion; for how can a man, though he be a trained and disciplined officer, obey a dishonorable order at the cost of his own personal sense of fairness and honor? Better that he resign, and if need be, die.

I did not deem words necessary to Count Waldo von Vennemann that day, as we stood alone on the back of the steel monstrosity that he commanded, for anything I might have said would have been wasted. He saw as he saw, and his ideas and mine—for which I still thank God—were very different. I have yet deliberately to send any defenseless thing to death, be it man, woman, or beast!

As if angered by my impassiveness and silence, he suddenly said: "I shall not hold you a prisoner. Had that engineer of yours survived, I might have—Go! Get aboard one of your boats, Captain Hale. I wish you a very 'Good-Day,' if not an 'Aufwiedersehen.'"

"Thank you," I said, and returned his bow as if we were still in dress uniform in two punctilious services that were at peace.

I made my way to the nearest boat, and stepped into it. The men began to mutter grinning congratulations, but I silenced them. As if eager to lose sight of me, Count Vennemann whirled, gave a curt order, and then actually stood there and smiled at us as his craft, running light, took on way. The men at the oars of our boat fell to them to clear the wash, then rested, and we watched the submarine swing gracefully out in a wide arc, and head westward. With enviable speed she swam out into the distance until the men on her deck appeared to walk upon the sea, and then we sadly began the long, hard work of a thirty-mile pull toward the nearest land, with my boat in the lead, and Jimmy sitting close by me and staring back at the chief mate's boat in our slow wake.

"What happened after I left?" I asked the second mate, who was nearest to me.

He spat disgustedly over the side, and said: "They came and hauled the chief out because that stiff-backed skipper of theirs said he would give him some dry duds. Then, after that, they took us up, one by one, made us strip to our hides, and stand there while they went through our clothes like a lot of professional pick-pockets. They even ripped the linings out of my coat. Look at this!"

He pulled the lapels of his jacket open, and displayed the damage.

"They kept all my letters, sir, but gave back everything else. They didn't spare any of us. They made all the men in one boat climb aboard their sneaking sub, and I'll be blest if two men didn't get into it and go through it as if searching for a fortune rolled up in bank-notes and jammed into a crack. A wood ant couldn't have escaped from them if it had bored a hole in the wood and caulked the entrance with oakum. Then they made us pull off about twenty feet, and did the same to the other crowd and the other boat. After that their skipper and a couple of his officers held a confab and acted puzzled. They asked for the chief officer, and when Rogers told 'em he was it, wanted to know if any men were missing. Rogers tells 'em 'No. Don't you think we were smart enough to save all our men? What do you take us for? A lot of barge-men with no more discipline than rats, or submarine smuts and tinkers?'

"'Not too much lip there,' says their skipper, and Rogers shut up, because, maybe, I think he had an idea he might get you and the chief in bad; but he does a lot of talking to himself. On this boat we took the line of talk from what we heard and swore we were all here. We didn't say a word about poor old Klein being lost, because we weren't going to give 'em any satisfaction. If they hadn't taken you and the chief below, we'd have made a try for 'em, and got their cussed boat! The bos'n said he'd get the skipper, and the third said he'd put the conning-tower hatch out of commission so they wouldn't dare submerge, but we decided it was too risky. If you and the mate had been on deck, it would have been different. Then, while we were trying to make a plan, they got those two machine guns out, and we saw that we hadn't a chance on earth. That's all. Just stripped us, searched the boats, and put us back."

I looked at Jimmy, who had twisted about in his seat to listen, and he shrugged his shoulders; then with an air of the utmost depression said: "It's all right! But they've got me, just the same, and the worst of it is, I don't know who to suspect. They were handed the plans by some man they took aboard their craft. You can bet on that!"

"Plans? Plans?" queried the second mate.

But Jimmy reverted to his usual silence, and for a long time sat bent forward and utterly dejected. We were quite certain that Klein could not have been the traitor, and, after our encounter with Mike Cochrane, whom we had trusted, did not know whom to suspect. But it seemed possible that the theft had been worked out to completion by some one who had kept Jimmy under surveillance.

I sat for a long time trying to reason out each useless feature of the situation. It was very confusing, and did not exactly dovetail. If we had a spy among us, why hadn't he imparted the information that the chief engineer, whose plans the Germans had so long coveted, was aboard? Yet, if the plans had been surrendered by the man who stole them, why care further for Jimmy, or what became of him? That being so, why was it that the spy had not declared himself when the others of us were put aboard the boats? What need for further watch on Jimmy? Again, had Vennemann knowledge of the plans, and had he not searched each man individually merely to gather general information that might be of use to his Government? That seemed possible. But if that was so, why scrutinize the boats so carefully? And what did they know about the gold? Had information been given them that we carried a fortune aboard? It seemed unlikely, and yet I saw again, as distinctly as a mind might mirror, the picture of that renegade oiler, Mike Cochrane, as he stood there on the pier the night when we took the treasure aboard.

Vennemann had undoubtedly been reluctant to torpedo the Esperanza, which could be accounted for in but two ways—one that he wanted something aboard, and the other, that he still preserved some friendship for me. But to premise the knowledge that he knew the Esperanza was my boat, opened other considerations, and yet in my own mind I was convinced that he was surprised at learning that I was there. If not, he was a very competent actor. If they were after the plans of Jimmy Martin's invention, to be delivered them by an agent aboard, why not endeavor to disable us by shell-fire until we were rendered helpless? If they were after the gold, why not pursue the same tactics? And, "lastly," as the preachers say, if we were but a chance victim of their campaign of sea isolation and destruction, why show us any mercy at all? Also, why search after we had succumbed?

From what Jimmy had said, and his utter dejection, I surmised that he still believed that his precious plans were the object of attack, because to him these were the greatest and most valuable prizes in the world. That is so with all inventors, be they merely working on a scheme to electrocute gnats or a mechanism to absorb all energy from the sun. Yet the plans had been taken; the gold sunk; the life of a trusted and proven man destroyed; my ship, that I had learned to love, lost; and here were the rest of us, uncertain, baked by the tropical sun, and pulling laboredly toward nearest land. It was all disastrous, no matter from which angle it was viewed. My own loss for a time overwhelmed all others. Then came a great sympathy for Twisted Jimmy Martin, who sat huddled before me, with his broad shoulders sagging and his head bent forward and drooping; and after that, and as poignant as any sorry thrust of fate, my failure to accomplish the hopes of the man who had so strangely trusted me with not only his gold, but his honor, Monsieur Périgord. In that moment the loss sustained by Jimmy Martin, or my own, seemed not so great; for in the mental blackness that overshadowed the tropical day and the placid sea, the brilliant sunlight and the certainty of life prolonged, I could imagine the exile's grief now that his last hope was swept away. We could live with hope, and begin again, whereas he had staked all upon our success. His was the greatest tragedy of all. And upon him would fall the heaviest blow.

Slowly, as the afternoon progressed, the land toward which we moved grew less dim. Its mountains rose higher from the sea, became defined by proximity to sharpened blue lines, suggesting eternal shelter and security. The men shifted seats, and the new oarsmen pulled more vigorously. I became aware of their more hopeful comments. Their lives were beginning over again, and the past vicissitudes lost. We had escaped with our lives. Most of us had youth and the strength of youth. But one man aboard the boat had lost his life's work, and old Jimmy Martin was still sitting, absorbed, despondent, hopeless, when we caught a slowly moving wave, were rolled shorewards, and felt our keel grate on the sands of the beach. We stepped ashore, and stretched our cramped limbs on the earth of Martinique, that island which has passed into tragic fame. But a little walk around a friendly shoulder of land lay a tiny port of refuge, a village containing other and kindly men, and we who had survived had nothing physical to fear. We pulled our boats high and dry to certain security, and, in straggling procession, and directed by a ragged native fisherman, trudged away across the sands, while out there to the west, very flat and still, the waters swept languidly, as if loving that which they had clasped to themselves, my first real ship, the Esperanza.