Chapter 2 No.2

The Last of the Nichi Maru

In silence the three Subs left the doomed Nichi Maru and entered the waiting boat. At the word of command the men pushed off and rowed towards the modern pirate.

The disguised vessel had now swung round and was lying motionless at a distance of two cables' length from her prize. The hull was painted a light yellow, with a broad black band. Her funnels were buff with black tops. On her stern were the words, Zwaan-Rotterdam.

"She's no more the Zwaan of Rotterdam than I am," cogitated Denbigh.

He was right in his surmise. The vessel was originally the Pelikan-a supplementary Hamburg-Amerika Line boat. On the outbreak of the war she was homeward bound from South America, with, as was the case with all liners flying the German flag, an armament of quick-firers stowed away in her hold.

Unfortunately for Kaiser Wilhelm's plans the abrupt entry of Great Britain into the arena of war had nipped in the bud the activities of German commerce raiders. A few ran amok until promptly rounded up and settled by the ubiquitous British cruisers. Others fled for neutral ports. Amongst them was the Pelikan, whose captain, with considerable astuteness, contrived to make for a harbour belonging to an obscure South American Republic.

Before doing so he had fallen in with the light cruiser Karlsruhe-a craft doomed shortly afterwards to end her career at the hands of her own crew rather than face an action that would end either in destruction or ignominious capture-and from her received a number of additional officers and men.

For a twelvemonth or more the Pelikan lay hidden. Lavish sums expended in bribery sealed the mouths of the grasping officials of the port, in addition to procuring coal and stores to enable the German vessel to put to sea whenever an opportunity offered.

At length the chance came. Acting under wireless orders from Berlin the Pelikan was to make a dash for the Atlantic, do as much damage as she possibly could to shipping of the Allies, and finally attempt to reach Dar es Salaam, the principal port of German East Africa. Here, should she succeed in evading the British patrols, she was to transfer her crew, armament, and munitions to shore to assist the land forces of the Colony against a threatened advance from Rhodesia.

Accordingly the Pelikan became the Zwaan. Disguised by a different colour paint and supplied with forged ship's papers she easily evaded the lax authority of the neutral port and made for the open sea.

A course was shaped to cut the Dutch East Indies liners' route in the latitude of Cape Verde. Then, following in a parallel direction, the track usually taken by the vessels she was impersonating, the pseudo Zwaan headed due south.

Kapitan von Riesser, her commanding officer, was a resourceful and crafty Hun. He was steeped in the doctrine of "frightfulness", but in the present instance there were limits.

Had he been the commander of a U boat he would not have hesitated to send the Nichi Maru to the bottom without warning, for a German submarine could strike a fatal blow and not show herself during the attack. The Pelikan--to revert to her original name-was not capable of emulating the methods of German unterseebooten without risk of subsequent capture. And as the possibility of being taken by a British warship always loomed upon von Riesser's mental horizon, he was determined to tread warily.

The fear of reprisals alone kept him within the bounds of discretion as laid down by up-to-date rules of warfare. He might sink any merchant-vessel that fell into his clutches, provided he gave the passengers and crew time to take to their boats.

Three days before sighting the Nichi Maru the Pelikan had been stopped and examined by a British cruiser. The boarding-officer knew neither German nor Dutch, and conversation had to be conducted in English. The ship's papers were apparently in order. The British lieutenant failed to pay sufficient attention to the bulky deck-gear that concealed the raider's quick-firers; nor did he discover that, hidden between double bulkheads abaft the engine-room, two torpedo-tubes, removed from the Karlsruhe, were ready for instant use should occasion arise.

The cruiser had, indeed, a very narrow escape of sharing the fate of a British battleship that was torpedoed in the Channel on a dark and stormy night, the deadly missile being launched from a vessel sailing under the Dutch flag. Only Kapitan von Riesser's doubts as to the immediate success of a torpedo attack prevented him putting his treacherous design into effect. A stricken cruiser, he knew, could use her guns with tremendous results, and he had no wish to lay down his life for the Fatherland while an easier course lay open to him. Accordingly the boarding officer, with many apologies for having detained a neutral vessel, returned to the cruiser, which immediately steamed northwards, while the Pelikan proceeded on her course.

Having assumed that the British cruiser was well out of her way, the raider began to send out wireless calls, limiting the radius of action to about fifty miles. She did not call in vain, for the Nichi Maru, picking up the appeal for aid, hastened to the Pelikan's assistance and, all unsuspecting, fell a victim to her captor.

During the "round-up" of the passengers, Kapitan von Riesser had been informed by signal of the presence of three British naval officers on board the Nichi Maru, and instructions were asked as to their disposal.

The kapitan resolved the problem in his mind. He could not murder the prisoners without the news being conveyed by the rest of the passengers of the Japanese liner. If they were brought on board the Pelikan, they would be a source of danger should the ship again be overhauled by a patrolling cruiser, unless--

He consulted the ship's surgeon. Apparently the latter's advice was satisfactory. In addition, should the Pelikan arrive at Dar es Salaam with three British naval officers on board as prisoners, well and good. If, on the other hand, the vessel were captured on the high seas, the prisoners would no doubt be willing to testify to the fact that Kapitan von Riesser had committed no unpardonable breach of the usages of war. From which it will be seen that von Riesser was always considering how to save his own skin in the event of capture.

"Up-at once!" ordered the unter-leutnant as the boat containing Denbigh and his companions ran alongside the lowered accommodation-ladder of the Pelikan. The German did not hesitate to show his arrogance; but he was severely snubbed by his kapitan.

"I must apologize, gentlemen," began von Riesser in good English as the British officers came over the side. "My subordinate, Herr Klick, has allowed his zeal to outrun his discretion. It is necessary for me to detain you. I know you will bow to the inevitable and recognize that it is the fortune of war. I will speak to you again shortly!"

The kapitan hurried off, leaving Denbigh and his fellow-prisoners standing close to the head of the accommodation-ladder. Beyond the fact that a sentry stood within ten feet of them, no attempt was made to place them under restraint. They were free to speak, and to watch the scene that was being enacted a few hundred yards from the vessel to which they had been removed.

The Nichi Maru was lowering her boats rapidly yet with admirable discipline. Without accident the heavy lifeboats with their human freights took the water. As soon as the falls were cast off, the crews rowed to a safe distance, where they lay on their oars and awaited the end of the huge liner.

With some minutes to spare, the work of abandoning the vessel was completed. The captain was the last to leave, the imperturbable look upon his olive features masking the rage and grief that gripped his mind.

The two German boats still lay alongside. Presently half a dozen Teutons hurriedly scrambled into the waiting craft, which without delay were rowed quickly toward the Pelikan.

Three muffled reports came almost simultaneously from the interior of the doomed liner. These were followed by two more at comparatively long intervals. The Nichi Maru heeled slightly, and began to settle slowly by the bows.

The ship took her time. The wreaths of fleecy steam mingled with denser columns of smoke that issued from 'tween decks. Then, as the in rushing water came in contact with the furnaces, the vessel was enveloped in a cloud of eddying pungent fumes.

When the cloud dispersed, the Nichi Maru's bows were level with the water, while her stern was raised until the blades of her now motionless propellers were clear of the agitated sea.

Lower and lower sank the doomed ship. At frequent intervals, small explosions of compressed air took place. The sea was strewn with fragments of floating wreckage.

"She's going!" whispered Stirling.

The liner recovered herself. For a moment it seemed as if she were floating on an even keel. Then, with a convulsive effort, she flung her stern high out of the water and slid rapidly to her ocean grave. Almost the last to be seen of her was the mercantile flag of Japan, still floating proudly from the ensign staff.

In the liner's crowded boats the Japanese officers were standing erect and at the salute as the vessel disappeared from view. They, too, were of a breed that is not to be intimidated by Teutonic frightfulness.