Chapter IV: The Mutiny

The _944_ never picked up her consorts on that trip, for with her wireless apparatus out of commission for three days she had no means of locating them even if they had been within range of her radio, which was doubtful. The day after Dave’s exploit and the drowning of Gunner’s Mate Groom the gale died out to some extent, and the wind shifted to the northwest, and the chaser’s course was changed accordingly. The morning of the seventh day out of New York brought fair weather, but the seas were still mountainous and the boat’s troubles were not yet ended, for only by keeping the bilge pump ceaselessly at work could the water be kept out of the engine room. Temporary repairs were made where possible, and the boat’s nose headed toward the nearest port. Fuel was getting low and the opened seams demanded attention. For two more days the _944_ churned her way up and down the long, green seas, bedraggled but still game. Then, late one warm, still afternoon, Dave, in the foretop lookout, picked up land, and before dark the tired little chaser’s anchor was dropped at Palma, one of the Canary Islands. That port, however, was only a temporary refuge, for, since it was a Spanish possession and therefore neutral, their visit was necessarily limited to twenty-four hours.

The next day, after getting oil, they set off again for Lisbon. Those were unfriendly waters and a sharp lookout was kept. But while they began to meet other craft as they neared the entrance to the Mediterranean nothing hostile came their way. Once a big Norwegian freighter exchanged signals with them and once a Portuguese destroyer, a queer, blue-gray, two-funnel ship, bore down on them and asked many questions. South of Cape St. Vincent the _944_ passed close to a string of British transports and hospital ships being convoyed by five big black cruisers and a diminutive torpedo boat. The _944_ received her first kind word then when the flagship, after a few fluttered questions, signaled: “Welcome to these waters!”

The chaser had the coast of Portugal in sight for most of that day and finally, picking her way very slowly and respectfully through the mine fields at the mouth of the Tagus River, crept into Lisbon harbor and anchored, just at sunset, between a French destroyer and a big gray Portuguese battleship.

The _944_ spent eight days at Lisbon, eight blissful, restful days, during which she was patched and calked and cleaned and painted, and during which twenty-seven sea-surfeited officers and men made the most of the opportunity to stretch legs ashore. Liberty was freely granted, and Dave and Pete, now fairly inseparable, saw the city from end to end. They rode in a broken-down taxicab for nearly two hours at the expense of a mere 2,000 reis (which, fortunately for their pockets, was only two dollars of American money), patronized street cars, which were so numerous that Pete remarked in a homesick voice that they had New York in the rush hours lashed to the mast, and they lunched and dined at numerous cafés in company with soldiers and sailors of several nations and a scattering of darker-skinned civilians. Lisbon was very colorful, very gay and very hot, and, save for the presence of the sailors and soldiers, the latter uniformed similarly to the French, no one would have surmised that a world war was going on only a few hundred miles away. But even if Lisbon didn’t seem greatly interested in that struggle, she proved that war was not outside her philosophy by staging a small affair of her own. Dave never did hear any very satisfactory explanation of it, but he had a close view from start to finish.

It was the fifth day of the _944’s_ enforced sojourn there. She had gone onto the ways and had slipped off again and now, once more respectably gray and spotless, was lying near shore on the Lisbon side. There had been visits that morning. Officers from a Portuguese ship had come aboard, been entertained and gone off again. Dave and Pete with several others were trying to keep cool in the shade of the after-house, while from forward, where a handful of men were lying about in the bunks in preference to going ashore, the strains of “Somewhere in France” came faintly from the phonograph by way of the open ports. Dutchy sang the words under his voice. It was a quiet, peaceful scene, bathed in the hot sunlight of an August afternoon. A dozen or more warships of various sizes and nationalities were scattered about at anchor and many dozens of merchantmen and smaller fry swung with the tide or clustered at the docks. And into this peaceful scene there suddenly obtruded the distant boom of a gun.

Later, all agreed that an atmosphere of unrest and expectancy had hung over the harbor that day, but it had been too elusive to deserve mention. Now, it seemed, whatever had been coming had arrived. Half a dozen startled and interested American jackies sprang to their feet and gazed toward the town. Then they gazed across the harbor for, just short of a big battleship lying near the farther shore, a spout of water arose from the harbor like a geyser. Within the next two minutes many things happened. The battleship began to fire broadside turrets, more geysers appeared and the air overhead was filled with the shriek of flying shells. Dutchy got half way down the forward companion before he found his nerve and came sheepishly back. To left and right of the battleship, destroyers joined in the fray, trying, with no discernible success, to land shells atop a battery that crowned a hill above the harbor. The distance was too much for the destroyers’ guns, or perhaps it was a matter of elevation that worked against them. Or it may be that, after all, they didn’t try very hard. At all events it was only the battleship that was able to reply satisfactorily.

A dozen or more greatly mystified American jackies and one equally mystified lieutenant thronged to the stern of the _944_ and gazed spellbound. What it meant no one could even conjecture, although Pete did finally offer a theory. “They’re crazed by the heat!” he murmured awedly. The shells from the hill were finding their targets now, and, although the battleship was doing some lively work, she was getting the worst of the exchange. Some five ships took part in the battle, four of them destroyers, and three were receiving hard treatment five minutes after the trouble started. As the _944_ was not in range no effort was made to move her. The shells screamed over her, but none came near. The crew of one of the destroyers took to the boats, and then on the battleship the flag began to come down. But the shrapnel still burst about the big ship. By that time machine gun fire had opened from the arsenal on the harbor-side, and one of the small boats bearing sailors from the abandoned destroyer was raked, several casualties resulting. Along the docks interested spectators looked on unexcitedly. Three destroyers were still firing at the shore battery but with scant success. That none of the ships returned the fire from the arsenal puzzled those on the _944_, for the arsenal guns were now dealing havoc. Lieutenant Hyatt, who had been watching affairs from the stern of the chaser, suddenly turned and gave orders. The crew scattered and the lieutenant strode forward and climbed to the bridge. A minute later the chaser had her anchor up and was swinging slowly around.

Down the harbor she went unhurriedly and with much dignity until she lay broadside to the arsenal. As she approached the range of the guns the firing dwindled and stopped, for the American ensign fluttered above her, and however eager the troops behind the stone walls may have been to shoot down the sailors aboard their own ships they had no intention of starting international complications. The _944_ dropped anchor once more and began to swing slowly around with the current. On deck, as the chasers had approached the firing zone, there had been some uneasiness and a very evident desire to retire to the protection of deck houses, but on the bridge, in full view, Lieutenant Hyatt, a cigar in his mouth, had strolled nonchalantly to and fro as though he had never a care in the world and bullets had never been known to penetrate a white duck uniform.

The maneuver had puzzled the men at first, but when Lingard, boatswain’s mate, pointed across the harbor they saw the reason for it. One of the destroyers had pulled up her anchor and was slipping down toward the arsenal. At least two guns were manned, and the ship’s intention was as plain as a pikestaff. She had meant to run past and let go at the arsenal with her port guns, a feat that would have caused considerable havoc. Now, however, evidences of a change of heart were to be seen. The _944_ had dropped anchor so close under the walls of the arsenal that the destroyer would scarcely dare to attempt to squeeze past on the shore side, while, if she attempted to fire from the other, she would very probably land a four-inch shell somewhere in the American boat. Lieutenant Hyatt seemed never to so much as glance at the destroyer, but it is to be suspected that he had a very fair idea of her actions, and possibly he was quite as much relieved as any one aboard when the long, gray craft changed her course and swung back toward the farther shore.

Shrapnel from the hill top followed her, but the aim was poor and there were no hits and the destroyer returned to her former anchorage and down came her flag on the run. The battleship and one destroyer had already capitulated and now the remaining two followed the example. In five minutes more the battle was over, in ten the sightseers along shore had returned to their interrupted affairs, and in twenty Lisbon harbor had settled down again into its wonted peacefulness.

When the liberty boat came back later the mystery was explained. The Portuguese navy, or so much of it as was in port, had decided to mutiny, the sailors concluding that they didn’t care to take any further part in the war. Seizing a time when many of the officers were ashore the crews had imprisoned the rest and declared their independence. It had taken the fort, however, less than twenty minutes to show them the error of their ways. What happened afterward to the mutineers those on the _944_ never learned. Several were injured and many were conveyed later to the arsenal in irons, but their ultimate fate was not learned. Pete said he didn’t believe they’d shoot any of them because it was against the law to take the life of a crazy person, and, he added, “if those poor nuts weren’t crazy I’ll eat my hat! An’ say, Kid, I’ll be a lot easier in what I call my mind when we pull out o’ here. I’m feelin’ sort o’ queer in the bean myself. It must be in the air!”

Four days later, having received her orders, the _944_ slipped out of the Tagus and pointed her gray nose due north. No one aboard had any regrets, for Pete spoke for all when, looking back at the fading city, he said solemnly: “Them Portugueezers may be all right when you get to understand them, but they ain’t home folks!”