“Hope you are not alarmed; you will not be troubled again; go ahead.”
On the twelfth day there was another shock for the excited passengers of the Raglan Castle, for, nearing Cape Verde Islands, they came upon not one warship but six — six big black hulls lying at regular intervals along the horizon. But there was no cause for alarm. They were the six Dreadnought cruisers that had been sent down from Gibraltar to take up the burden of the Cape Fleet.
It was all a mystery to the bewildered passengers, whatever it might be to the officers of the Raglan, who had received a long “lamp” message in the middle of the night.
There was a two hours’ delay whilst the captain of the St. George went on board the Indefatigable to report.
This was the end of the adventures that awaited the Raglan. She was escorted to the Needles by the six warships, and came into Southampton, her passengers a-flutter with that excitement peculiar to men who have come through a great danger and are exhilarated to find themselves alive.
The arrival of the Raglan was opportune; it gave confirmation to the rumours which had been in circulation, and synchronised with the issue of the manifesto of the Nine Men — a manifesto unique in history.
30. The “mad Warship”
The manifesto had arrived simultaneously at every newspaper office in London, Paris, and Berlin.
It was printed on paper of a texture and quality which is generally in use in small Continental newspaper offices. From certain peculiarities of the printed characters, it was seen that the type from which it was printed must have been cast in Spain. The manifesto was neatly folded and enclosed in an envelope of octavo size, and the actual sheet-size was what is known in the printing trade as double-crown. The postage stamps were Spanish, the place of posting, as revealed by the office postmarks, were in some cases Malaga, and in some, Algeciras. The fact that, whether posted at one place or the other, the date of the posting was identical, supported the view that at least two persons had been concerned in the despatch.
The manifesto itself ran:
TO THE CIVILIZED NATION (sic)
Whereas, we, the company known as the Nine Men of Cadiz, have been placed by universal decree outside the law, and whereas it is against our desires that such decrees of outlawry should exist against us, both from the point of view of our own personal comfort and safety, and from the point of view of the free exchange of commercial (sic) relationships.
Now, therefore, we decree —
That unless an immediate free pardon be granted to each and every man on board the Maria Braganza and liberty be given to him to go his way peaceably without arrest or fear of molestations (sic), the owners and crew of the Maria Braganza will declare war upon the commerce of the world. It will loot and destroy such shipping as may with advantage be so looted and destroyed, and in the end will fight to the last against its aggressor.
(Signed) By order of the Nine.
POLTAVO.
It is no exaggeration to say that the publication of this manifesto caused a panic, not only in shipping circles, but throughout the civilised world. The sea held a hidden danger, neither life nor property was secure.
That the fears of the community were justified was proved by the story of the Raglan Castle, and within a fortnight came the story of the North Atlantic outrage.
The Caratana, the fastest mail-ship afloat, as well as being nearly the largest, was sixty hours out of New York with 350 passengers on board, when she came up with a strange warship flying a red flag. The warship hoisted an unintelligible signal, which the captain of the Caratana did not understand. It was followed by one of which there could be no mistaking the meaning:
“Stop, or I will sink you.”
The captain of the Atlantic liner knew all that was known about the Maria Braganza, and at once realised his danger. If he did not realise it, there came a shell from the warship which passed astern. Fortunately, there was a mist on the water, which grew heavier every minute — a dense bank of fog, not usually met with so far east.
The captain of the Caratana decided upon the course of action he would take. Very quickly he signalled “I surrender,” and rang his engines to “stop.” The men on the warship seemed satisfied with his action, and no further demonstration was made against the liner. Such was the “way” on the big ship that, although her propellers had ceased to revolve, she continued her course — nearer and nearer she grew to a thick patch of the fog that lay ahead of her. The Maria Braganza may have suspected the manoeuvre, for she signalled —
“Go astern.”
For answer, the captain of the Caratana put port and starboard engines full ahead, and, whilst men were running to their stations on the warship, the Caratana slipped into the fog-belt.
In an instant, the Maria Braganza was blotted from view.
The liner captain put his helm over to starboard, and it was well that he did so, for, with a reverberating crash, the warship opened fire in the direction in which he had disappeared. Shell after shell came flying through the thick mist, and the thud of their impact as they struck the water came to the ears of the affrighted passengers.
The sound of spasmodic firing grew fainter and fainter every minute as the great steamer went threshing through the swirling fog, until it ceased altogether.
Although no harm had befallen the liner, the news of the attack produced a profound sensation. Its effect was to paralyse the business of ocean travel. The “Mad Warship” terrorised the seas.
It was on the day the report of this new outrage reached England that T.B. Smith located Poltavo.
*
There languished in a prosaic prison cell at Brixton Gaol a Monsieur Torquet, who was admittedly a victim of police persecution. That much T.B. himself was prepared to admit.
Monsieur Torquet was suspected not of a crime against any particular section of society, but indeed of being accessory to a crime against humanity; and T.B. was prepared to run a tilt at the very Habeas Corpus Act rather than release his grip upon the stranger with the straggling beard who had so heavily insured the Raglan Castle before she started out on her adventurous voyage. This Monsieur Torquet, brooding in the loneliness of his cell at Brixton, had very nearly reached the limits of his patience; the silence and the indifference had crushed what little spirit there was in him.
For two months he had lain without trial, in a cell which had a table on which were pen, paper, and ink. He had not in all that time touched the one or the other, but on the day that the Atlantic liner came across the Maria Braganza he sat at the table and wrote a brief note to the governor of the prison. Within an hour T.B. Smith was ushered into the cell, and remained with the man for some time. Then he came out, and sent for a shorthand clerk, and together they returned. For four hours the three men worked, one questioning and translating, one answering at first sullenly and with periodic outbursts of temper, and later eagerly, volubly — and all this time the clerk wrote and wrote, until one notebook was exhausted and he sent out for another.
It
