“Have you just seen her, Larry?”
“This very instant, doctor. I could not have fallen down the stairs quicker.”
“Does McShanus know?”
“He’s shaking all over—like a man with an ague. I sent him to the cabin for brandy.”
“It could be no other ship, Larry?”
“How could it be, sir? This is no course for anywhere. She’s what we’re after, right enough.”
“Does she lie far off, Larry?”
“I can’t say, sir. You shall judge for yourself.”
I went up upon the bridge with him for a better view, and immediately discerned the spectacle which had so excited him. Many miles away, as I judged, upon our port-bow, a light flashed out brilliantly above a sleeping ocean; a blinking, hovering, mad-cap light, now turning its glowing face to a fleecy sky, now making lakes of golden fire upon the glassy water, now revolving as in some mighty omnivorous circle which should embrace all things near and far and reveal their presence to watching eyes. Plainly directed by a skilful hand, I said that a trained officer worked the lantern as they work it on board a man-of-war; but as though to deny that the unknown ship was a man-of-war, the monster searchlight began anon to answer as though to a dancing, drunken measure of some hand that wearied of duty and made a jest of it. Not for one minute would this have been permitted upon the deck of a battleship. I could doubt no longer that Captain Larry spoke the truth.
“We are carrying no lights ourselves, Larry?” I exclaimed presently, and added apologetically, “that goes without saying.”
“It goes without saying, doctor. I ordered lights out at eight bells.”
“We shall show a haze of red light above our funnels?”
“Not with those guards to port Mr. Benson has fitted up.”
“Do you think we dare run up to her, Larry?”
“There would be little risk when they get tired of their fireworks, doctor.”
“We’ll do it, Larry. Don’t forget Joan Fordibras is aboard there. I would give much for one spoken word that she could understand.”
He nodded significantly, and as he rang down his orders to the engine-room I perceived that McShanus had come up from the saloon. He did not speak to me, as he told me afterwards, being under the ridiculous apprehension, which comes to men in danger, that any speech above a whisper is a peril. The men themselves were all grouped about the fo’castle like children for a stage-play to be given on the water. We carried no lights. From stem to stern of the ship not so much as a single electric lamp broke in upon the darkness. The clash of our engines remained the only sound. I turned to Timothy and astonished him by my greeting.
“A steady hand now, is it that, Timothy?”
“Take a grip of it yourself, me bhoy.”
“It certainly is not the cold hand of the poets. Would it help with the machine guns if need be, Timothy?”
“Whist!—could it not! Are ye not speaking over-loud, doctor, me bhoy?”
“Oh, come, you think they can hear us five miles away, Timothy. Shout if you like, old boy. I hope to God there will be silence enough by-and-by. We are going to have a look at them, Timothy. ’Tis to learn the colour of their coats, as you would say.”
“Ye are not going within shot of their guns?”
“Timothy,” I said, speaking in that low tone he had desired. “I am going to learn how it fares with Joan Fordibras.”
“Ah, bad cess to it, when a woman holds the lantern—there goes Jack the Giant-killer. ’Twill help her to be sunk, Ean.”
“I do not think they will sink us, Timothy.”
“God be good to me. I’m no better than a coward this night. What was it I said?”
“That you were quite of my opinion, Timothy.”
We laughed together, and then fell to silence. Fitfully now in the dark heavens there could be seen the glimmer of the searchlight’s open lantern. The sea about us was a sea of night, very black and awesome and still. We were a thing of darkness, rushing onward with spinning bows and throbbing turbines and furnaces at a white heat—a stealthy enemy creeping upon our prey through the immense shadows which darkened the face of the resting waters. No man aboard disguised from himself the risk we were taking. Let the Diamond Ship catch us in the path of her mighty beam of radiant light, and we were instantly discovered. A single shell from her modern guns would destroy us utterly. There could be no greater triumph for the Jew than that. We alone carried the whole story of his secret. What, then, would he not give to destroy us?
So we crept on, mile by mile. Every eye aboard the White Wings watched that resting searchlight as though it had been endowed with telepathic powers and would of itself warn the rogue’s crew. I don’t think we believed for an instant in the good fortune which followed us. It seemed incredible that they should not keep a better look-out—and yet the fact so stands. The resting beam of light in the sky was our goal. We drew upon it moment by moment as to some gate of destiny which should tell a story fruitful beyond any we had heard. And still the Diamond Ship did not awake.
I heard Captain Larry give an order down the tube, and realised that the yacht had come to a stand. We were then but half a mile from the great vessel herself, and could in reason dare to draw no nearer. The rest lay with the whim of the night. We knew not, could not imagine the strange fortune which awaited us.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE CRIMSON ROCKET.
Joan Fordibras is Discovered on the Diamond Ship.
You are to imagine a still sea and a great four-masted sailing ship drifting upon it at the hazard of a summer breeze. The night is intensely dark, and the sky gives veins of mackerel cloud upon a field of slaty blue. Far away, a ring of silver iridescence, low down upon an open horizon, suggests that great inverted bowl within which all ships are ever prisoned from the first day of their sailing to the last. The monster vessel herself is brilliantly lighted from stem to stern. Faintly over the water there comes to us a sound of bibulous song and hilarity. My quick ear catches the note of a piccolo, and upon that of a man’s voice singing not untunefully. I say that there is no discipline whatever upon such a deck; no thought of danger, no fear of discovery. The pillar of light has become a halting mockery. Much is to be dared, much to be won upon such a night.
“Consider”—and this I put to Captain Larry—“they have guns, but who has trained their gunners? Let them fall to artillery practice, and it is two to one they blow up the ship. Even one of Percy Scott’s miracles would make no certainty of such a yacht as this on such a night. We ought to risk it, Captain—we ought to risk it for a woman’s sake.”
Larry was a brave enough man, but, like all his race, a very prudent one.
“If you wish it, sir. But there are the men to think of. Don’t forget the wives and children at home, sir.”
“Did