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Title: The Buccaneers of Boya
Author: Westerman, Percy Francis (1876-1959)
Illustrator: Rainey, William Henry (1852-1936)
Date of first publication: 1925
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London, Glasgow, and Bombay: Blackie and Son, 1925
   [first edition]
Date first posted: 10 June 2012
Date last updated: 10 June 2012
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #954

This ebook was produced by
David T. Jones, Mary Meehan, Al Haines
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net






                           The Buccaneers of Boya

                           BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN

     Author of "Unconquered Wings" "The Good Ship _Golden Effort_" &c.

                      _Illustrated by W. Rainey, R.I._


    BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
    LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

    _Printed in Great Britain by
    Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow_




[Illustration: ASGER HOLBAEK SEEKS FREEDOM     _Page_ 3]




Contents


    CHAP.                                            Page

       I. THE S.Y. _PALOMA_                            9

      II. DANGER AHEAD                                18

     III. MUTINY                                      26

      IV. GASSED                                      40

       V. THE PERFIDY OF MENDOZA                      48

      VI. TO THE SHARKS!                              57

     VII. THE SKIPPER OF THE _SVEND_                  62

    VIII. THE ARRIVAL AT TALAI                        73

      IX. A DASH FOR FREEDOM                          84

       X. MIGUEL FE'S OFFER                           92

      XI. THE AMBUSH ON THE SHORE                     99

     XII. LOPEZ'S PLAN FOR REPRISALS                 107

    XIII. THE REEFS OF BOYA                          117

     XIV. THE SECRET BASE                            129

      XV. COMPULSORY PILOTAGE                        139

     XVI. A COMPACT OF PIRACY                        148

    XVII. THE LAST OF THE _HET VOLK_                 157

   XVIII. LURED TO HER DOOM                          169

     XIX. LOPEZ'S ATTEMPT UPON THE CAPTAIN           176

      XX. A DASH FOR FREEDOM                         186

     XXI. SCALING THE CLIFFS                         193

    XXII. ACROSS THE DANGER ZONE                     207

   XXIII. A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK                        215

    XXIV. FREEING THE CAPTIVES                       226

     XXV. THEIR RETREAT CUT OFF                      239

    XXVI. THE END OF THE _PALOMA_                    251

   XXVII. THE PERILS OF THE REEFS                    258

  XXVIII. A WARM RECEPTION AT TALAI                  272

    XXIX. HOSPITALITY                                283

     XXX. RETRIBUTION                                292

    XXXI. "TABU"                                     304

   XXXII. AND LAST                                   317




Illustrations


                                               Facing Page

ASGER HOLBAEK SEEKS FREEDOM                  _Frontispiece_

"I AM YOUR VERY GOOD FRIEND"                           48

THE BOSUN IS SURPRISED                                136

"TACKLE HIM LOW!" EXCLAIMED KENNETH                   176

THE FUGITIVES CROUCHED IN A SHELTERED FISSURE         208

"BACK HER OUT!" SHOUTED GREGORY                       280




THE BUCCANEERS OF BOYA




CHAPTER I

The S.Y. "Paloma"


The yacht agent shook his head.

"Absolutely nothing of that tonnage is to be chartered, Mr.
Heatherington," he declared. "The present industrial dispute has
prevented all craft of any size being fitted out. There are numerous
yachts up to forty tons, but I presume one of these would be too small
for your purpose?"

Mr. Heatherington indicated that it would, and turned to meet the
disappointed gaze of his son.

"It's rough luck, Kenneth," he remarked.

Kenneth, a tall, strapping youth of sixteen, tried to conceal his
dismay, for the yacht agent's announcement was of the nature of a
shattering blow to his hopes.

Mr. Heatherington had planned to charter a large steam-yacht for a three
months' trip to the South Pacific. It was to be a combined pleasure and
business undertaking. Kenneth's father had, several years previously,
obtained authentic information of the existence of a coral island, Talai
by name, where black pearls, that would fetch fabulous prices in London,
were to be found; and it was only now possible for him to undertake the
task of chartering a vessel and making a special voyage to Talai, with
the object of gaining possession of sufficient black pearls to give a
good return on his outlay.

Although it was only late in June, Kenneth was having a holiday. The
school at which he was a boarder had been closed owing to an epidemic of
measles; and, if the truth be told, the lads hailed measles with a
fervour that would have shocked and horrified their parents. To the
former the epidemic came as a direct gift of good fortune; to the latter
as a catastrophe likely to upset the entire domestic arrangements of
many a home for weeks to come.

As the school was not to reassemble until the end of September, Kenneth
had the best part of three months' holiday. In ordinary circumstances,
Mr. Heatherington would have been worried to know what to do with his
son for such a long period. In fact he was beginning to wish that there
were no such things as epidemics in schools, when it occurred to him
that now was a most excellent opportunity for him to undertake the
expedition to Talai, and at the same time enlarge his son's mind and
develop his body through the medium of travel.

Naturally Kenneth jumped at the idea, but suggested tentatively that it
would be better fun if he had a chum of about his own age. Mr.
Heatherington considered the proposal, and, realizing that the
advantages outweighed the disadvantages, thought that perhaps the matter
might be satisfactorily arranged.

"None of your harum-scarum chums," he added. "I want you to have a
sensible sort of a companion, and not one who will take up the best part
of my time in getting him out of foolish scrapes. Whom have you in
mind?"

"Arkendale--Peter Arkendale," replied Kenneth. "Don't you remember? I
introduced him to you last Sports Day. He won the hurdles and the mile."

His father admitted the statement. In point of fact he had been
introduced to about a score of Kenneth's chums, had taken the whole
crowd of them to a tuck-shop. But there his recollection ended. He could
not visualize Kenneth's special chum Arkendale.

"All right," he said, "I'll write to his people. He has parents, I
suppose?"

"No; he lives with his uncle when he's at home," corrected Kenneth.

"Simplifies matters, then," continued Mr. Heatherington. "There might
have been difficulty in getting his parents' consent if they were alive.
In the case of an uncle it's different. He's not so likely to imagine
that a trip to the Pacific is a sort of desperate adventure. Do you know
Arkendale's uncle's address?"

Within forty-eight hours, Mr. Arkendale's letter was received,
expressing thanks for Mr. Heatherington's kind invitation, and stating
that he was perfectly willing to entrust his nephew to the capable hands
of Kenneth's father.

And now, when everything seemed to be running smoothly, came the
unexpected set-back. A series of visits to well-known yacht agents all
produced similar results. Owing to a prolonged strike in the ship and
yacht industries, there was hardly a steam-yacht in commission and not
one available for charter.

"There are at least twenty large steam- and motor-yachts lying in
mud-berths up the river," declared the agent. "In ordinary circumstances
they would have been afloat early in the summer. We usually have half a
dozen on our books for charter, but now----"

He gave an expressive gesture with his hands.

"Of course, if we hear of anything at all suitable, we will inform you
at once," he added.

"I don't feel disposed to wait on the off chance of something that might
possibly materialize about next Christmas," observed Mr. Heatherington
with asperity.

"Don't blame me," protested the agent. "We suffer from the ill-effects
of this deplorable strike as much as anyone. I'm sorry----"

At that moment his partner, who had been a silent participator in the
meeting, touched him on the shoulder.

"There is the _Paloma_," he said.

"Oh, yes, the _Paloma_," echoed the senior partner. "I hadn't forgotten
her, but she wouldn't be suitable, I feel sure."

"What is the _Paloma_, in any case?" asked Mr. Heatherington.

"She's not a British owned yacht," was the reply. "She is owned by a
Spanish Count--Count Cristoval Xarifa. He was cruising on her when he
was recalled to Madrid on urgent business. Her master's English, I
understand, but the rest of the officers and crew are Spaniards. We were
asked to put her on our books for charter, but you will understand, sir,
that no one wants to hire a foreign yacht with a foreign crew."

"Possibly not," admitted Mr. Heatherington. "But although people don't
want to do a good many things they have to all the same. In my case I'd
naturally prefer a British owned and manned yacht; but, since that is at
present out of the question, I'll have to make the best of a bad job and
take what I can find. What is the _Paloma_? Is she in Lloyd's?"

"She is not on Lloyd's list, sir," was the reply. "She's a 750 ton
steel-built craft, schooner rigged. Her speed is, I believe, seventeen
knots, but for protracted cruising her economical speed is twelve. At
the present rate of exchange the terms asked are very reasonable."

Kenneth looked hopefully at his parent, but Mr. Heatherington, although
apt to be impulsive, had a cautious side to his nature.

"I'll think it over," he declared, "and let you have my decision within
the next forty-eight hours. Meanwhile you might give me an order to
inspect the vessel."

"Certainly, sir," replied the agent. "She's lying in the harbour. If you
let me know at what hour you propose going on board, I'll have a boat
waiting at the town quay."

"Do you think she'll do, Pater?" asked Kenneth, as father and son walked
up the High Street.

"She might, but I don't like the idea of a foreign crew," replied Mr.
Heatherington. "The difficulty is that when we arrive at Talai we must
keep all knowledge of the existence of the pearling grounds from the
men. If they found out they'd probably help themselves and flood the
market. Black pearls are rare, but if the Talai find becomes public
property the market will be flooded and the price in consequence will
fall. 'Tany rate we'll have a look at the _Paloma_ and see if there's
any chance of paying off the present crew and shipping a British one."

That same afternoon, Mr. Heatherington and Kenneth went on board the
_Paloma_. She looked a wholesome, weatherly craft in spite of her
obvious foreign build, while her accommodation was both extensive and
luxurious. Evidently the Count was fond of making a lavish display when
afloat.

"Where is the captain?" asked Mr. Heatherington, of a swarthy young
officer who met the visitors at the head of the accommodation ladder.

"He's not aboard, seor," was the reply. "He return will ver' soon. We
show you ze ship."

Kenneth had expected to find the vessel manned by a piratical-looking
crowd of Dagoes, rigged out in picturesque garb, each man wearing
earrings and carrying a formidable knife in the sash that did duty for a
belt. What he did see was a crew differing little in appearance from
that of a British yacht. The men wore canvas jumpers and trousers and
scarlet stocking-caps. Instead of being fat and reeking with garlic,
they were for the most part slim and alert. Only their olivine
complexions, crisp, curly hair, and their speech betrayed their
nationality, while apparently their supply of garlic had ran out, for
the yacht reeked of nothing but oakum and the oily fumes from the
engine-room.

Mr. Heatherington had hardly begun his tour of inspection when a boat
came alongside with the _Paloma's_ skipper. He was a short, thick-set
Englishman, with a square firm jaw and choleric blue eyes.

"Good afternoon, Captain," said Mr. Heatherington. "I have an order to
inspect the yacht. I don't know your name."

"Gregory, sir; George Gregory is my tally. Extra Master, at your
service. Very good, Lopez," he added in Spanish, addressing the Third
Officer. "You can go; I will show these gentlemen round."

"Is she a good sea-boat with all that top-hamper?" asked Kenneth's
father, indicating the towering bridge and high-decked houses.

"Fairish," admitted Captain Gregory. "She rolls a goodish bit, I admit,
but for a Dago-built craft--she was built back in '09 in
Barcelona--she's not so dusty."

"What made you take command of a Spanish yacht, might I ask?"

Captain Gregory shrugged his massive shoulders--a gesture he had
acquired by reason of his association with an Iberian crew.

"Too many Masters for too few billets in the British Mercantile Marine,"
he observed. "Case of had to, sir. The Count isn't a bad sort as
foreigners go. He got me so as to lick his crew into shape. I reckon
I've done it," he added grimly.

"Troublesome?" queried Mr. Heatherington.

"Bit at first," admitted Captain Gregory. "One fellow threatened me with
a knife--me, an Extra Master, mind you. He felt sorry for himself by the
time I'd finished with him. Now the hands are as mild as lambs and skip
like young rams when they're ordered to. Thinking of chartering the
_Paloma_, sir? Business or pleasure cruise?"

"Pleasure," replied Kenneth's father briefly. "By the by, do you think
you could send the crew home and sign on a British crew?"

"I'd do it like a shot, sir," was Captain Gregory's reply, "only the
Count wouldn't hear of it. They won't give any trouble, sir; and when
you get used to them----" he broke off, racking his brains to find words
in his vocabulary to complete his remarks. "You just will," he
concluded.

The next day Mr. Heatherington signed the documents agreeing to charter
the S.Y. _Paloma_ for three months; and a week later the vessel weighed
and proceeded on her lengthy voyage to the South Pacific.




CHAPTER II

Danger Ahead


"So this is the Pacific," remarked Peter Arkendale, as the _Paloma_
cleared Panama and shaped a course across the rock-infested bay of that
name. "Don't think much of it."

Peter Arkendale was a broad-shouldered youth, only half an inch shorter
than his chum Kenneth.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" asked the latter.

"Nothing, except that it's like the Atlantic," was the reply. "I
imagined quiet water, blue skies, lagoons, coco-nut palms, an' all that
sort of thing. We don't seem to strike any adventures, old son."

Kenneth had to agree to that. The voyage had been comparatively
uneventful. Moderate weather had been experienced; the crew were
patterns of civility and seemed well up to the work; routine had been
carried out without a hitch. The monotony of the whole business, except
for the novel experience of passing through the stupendous Panama Canal,
had become thoroughly irksome. Kenneth frankly admitted that Peter's
companionship alone saved him from wishing that he had not left school.

"Catch!" suddenly exclaimed Kenneth, throwing his chum a tennis ball.

Peter missed it.

"Butter-fingers!" ejaculated young Heatherington, as the ball, slipping
through Peter's hands, lodged on top of the boiler-casing.

"The roll of the ship put me off," declared Peter, who prided himself on
being one of the best fielders of the school First Eleven. "Where did it
go?"

"Up there," replied Kenneth. "Give me a leg-up, and I'll get it."

The _Paloma's_ boiler-casing was a steel structure nearly ten feet in
height, being considerably higher than is the case in most vessels of
her size. In the after-end were two small metal doors through which
access to the boiler-room was gained by means of vertical ladders. On
the top of the casing were "fidleys" and skylights, and a wide seemingly
unbroken expanse of steel plating extending the whole width of the
structure. In ordinary circumstances access to the top of the
boiler-casing would be possible by means of iron rungs bolted to the
wall. There were none, but there were evidences that at one time there
had been the usual means of gaining the top of the casing.

Clambering upon Peter's shoulders, Kenneth prepared to spring. Before he
could do so, Lopez, the Third Officer, appeared upon the scene.

"Not allowed, seores," he exclaimed, as he peremptorily clutched
Kenneth's wrist and compelled him to descend. "It ver' dangerous to
climb up dar."

"Rot!" ejaculated Kenneth scornfully. "We've lost a ball, and I'm jolly
well going to find it."

Lopez, hitherto suave, gave the lad a vindictive glance.

"You no go up dar," he reiterated. "Eef you vish I send man to seek-a
ball--but not you."

At the moment the missing object settled the business by rolling over
the edge of the casing. With a smile, Lopez picked it up and handed it
to his present employer's son.

"What got his rag out, I wonder?" asked Peter, as the Third went aft. "I
don't see why we shouldn't climb the beastly thing if we want to. I vote
we do."

"After dinner, then," agreed his chum. "Grub's ready now."

The meal over, the two lads returned to the deck, but their plans were
already thwarted. A couple of hands were busily engaged in painting the
casing, slapping on the paint so lavishly that there seemed no
likelihood of its drying for days.

"I scent a mystery here," declared Kenneth. "If it didn't look like
sneaking, I'd mention it to the skipper."

"We needn't do that," rejoined Peter. "You wait till the paint's dry,
and we'll get Lopez's rag out by dancing on the top of his precious
boiler-casing."

They remained for some time watching the two Spaniards at work,
obviously to the men's annoyance. Presently Lopez passed, and said
something to the hands in a low voice and went for'ard. In about an hour
the casing had been painted from the deck to a height of about five
feet. Then the men knocked off.

In the afternoon watch on the following day work was resumed. This time
the upper portion of the casing was liberally bedaubed with paint, while
on the third day the lower portion received a second coat.

"The blighters are doing this to try and keep us off," declared Peter.
"Let's put on some old togs and risk it. It'll make Lopez pretty wild."

"Right-o," agreed Kenneth.

As they went below they encountered Mr. Heatherington, who had just been
having a conversation with Captain Gregory.

"I want to see you fellows," remarked Kenneth's father. "Come to my
cabin."

They followed him in. Mr. Heatherington shut the door and drew a curtain
over it.

"Have either of you had your gear meddled with?" asked Mr. Heatherington
abruptly. "No? You're not sure? Well, someone has been going through
mine. I've just been speaking to Captain Gregory about it. I placed
three books in a certain order in one of my cabin trunks. When I went to
it again, the books had been removed and replaced in a different order.
Gregory was very apologetic about it. He maintains that some
light-fingered Spaniard couldn't resist his natural curiosity. That's
all very well, but I'm not satisfied. You haven't discussed the subject
of the black pearls in anyone's hearing, have you?"

"We've never mentioned it since we came on board," declared Kenneth.

"Good; I'm glad of that. Even Gregory doesn't know anything on that
matter. What's that?"

With a rapid, noiseless movement, Mr. Heatherington drew aside the
curtain and opened the door. At the end of the alley-way a steward was
carrying a tray. His rope-soled shoes pattered as he moved.

"Eavesdropping," declared Kenneth's father. "How do I know? He never
made a sound with his feet until I threw open the door. Well, I don't
suppose he's learnt much."

"We had rather a rummy experience," remarked Kenneth. "We didn't mean to
say anything about it. Didn't seem important; but now----"

"Fire away," rejoined his parent.

Kenneth did so, relating the incident of Lopez and the boiler-casing,
Peter chipping in to bear out his chum's statement.

"By Jove! That's a bit of confounded cheek on the part of Seor Lopez,"
declared Mr. Heatherington. "I'll get Gregory to tick him off."

He touched a bell. One of the stewards answered the summons.

"Tell Captain Gregory I wish to see him," ordered Mr. Heatherington.

The man looked at him with a puzzled expression. The order was repeated.

"No onnerstan', seor."

That was a lie, and Mr. Heatherington knew it. The fellow possessed
sufficient knowledge of English to realize the nature of the order, but
for some unknown reason he professed ignorance of his employer's words.

"Have you lost any money?" asked Mr. Heatherington, in a matter of fact
tone.

The steward clapped his hands to his pocket, reassured himself and tried
to resume his former air of ignorance.

Kenneth and Peter burst out laughing. The man, his face darkening with
anger and mortification, knew that he had been fooled.

"Do what I tell you--at once," said Mr. Heatherington sternly.

The man obeyed.

"Look here, Captain Gregory," began Mr. Heatherington, when the skipper
appeared, "I don't want to complain, but the last few days we've been
subjected to a lot of petty annoyances both from the officers and men.
It will have to stop. For instance, is there any reason why Lopez should
get excited because my boy tried to climb on the boiler-casing? And what
is the object of having the thing continually painted?"

"I don't know, sir," replied the skipper. "I never gave orders for the
work to be done. I'll see about it. As for Lopez, he's a peculiar cuss
in some respects. I've had to shake him up before to-day."

"Is there anything in connection with that structure that justifies
Lopez's action?" persisted Mr. Heatherington.

"Not that I know of, sir; but I'll inquire."

"I wish you would, please. And tell Mr. Third Officer that if he has
cause to prohibit my son and his friend from any part of the ship he
must do so through you."

Captain Gregory made a gesture of assent. Although he meant to "haul
Lopez over the coals", he rather resented being ordered about by a
passenger, even though the passenger were the charterer of the yacht.

"I hope it's nothing," remarked Mr. Heatherington, when the captain had
left the cabin, "but several minor but somewhat disquieting incidents
have occurred recently. I didn't say anything to you fellows, but in
future we'll have to keep our eyes skinned. Not that there's any danger.
These Spaniards are simply getting a bit out of hand for some reason,
and their resentment takes the form of what is known in the army as
'dumb insolence'. Why, I know not. It may be that they've got some
inkling of the real nature of the voyage, or perhaps they're kicking at
the _Paloma_ being taken so far from her usual cruising grounds. Of
course, if there's any serious trouble, I'll have the whole crew of them
put under arrest at the first port we touch and sign on another crew--a
British one."

"It would be----" began Peter, but the sentence was never completed, for
above the muffled roar of the engines came a shriek of mortal pain,
followed by the rush of feet and the roar of angry voices.

A heavy body thudded against the locked door.

"Let me in, sir!" exclaimed a voice, which the lads hardly recognized as
that of Captain Gregory. "Let me in! They tried to murder me, the
villains!"




CHAPTER III

Mutiny


On leaving the cabin, Captain Gregory went on deck. For the moment he
was undecided as to what course to pursue--whether to tackle his Third
Officer at once or to make investigations concerning the boiler-casing.
Now that Mr. Heatherington had drawn attention to that structure, the
skipper was bound to admit that there was something out of the ordinary
as far as it was concerned. Its height was out of all proportion for the
work it was supposed to perform. A pantechnicon might be accommodated
under it even with the boilers in position, while the absence of
scuttles indicated that the space was not required to be lighted except
by artificial light--an expensive and unnecessary business when the
walls of the structure were in the open.

As Captain Gregory made his way for'ard he noticed that a couple of the
hands were just about to give the casing another coat of paint. Had the
fact not been called to his notice he would not have paid any attention
to it, the Chief Officer being directly responsible for work of this
nature.

"Who told you to repaint that?" demanded the skipper.

"El teniente, Seor Capitn," replied one of the men, indicating that he
had received his instructions from the Chief Officer.

"Then do not paint any more until I have seen the Chief," ordered
Captain Gregory. "Bring me a ladder."

The seamen hurried off, but once out of their skipper's sight made no
haste to execute their orders.

While Captain Gregory was waiting he noticed that several of the hands
were hanging about eyeing him curiously. As it was the second dog-watch,
and the men were at liberty to stand easy there was nothing in that to
cause the skipper to send them off. Presently he caught sight of Lopez
partly screened by one of the ventilators.

"I sent a couple of hands for'ard to get a ladder, Seor Lopez," shouted
Captain Gregory in English. "Lay for'ard, will you, and see what they're
doing."

Lopez hurried past his skipper without saying a word, and disappeared
behind the deck-house under the bridge. More men strolled up to watch
the proceedings, while Pedro Mendoza, the Chief Officer, having
exchanged signals from the bridge to the Third, strolled to the weather
side of his elevated post and surveyed the scene in which the Captain
was the central figure.

A whistle sounded shrilly. Gregory swung round at the noise to find
Lopez and half a dozen men approaching.

"You are a prisoner!" exclaimed the Third Officer. "Put up your hands!"

"I'll see you to blazes first, you mutineering dog!" shouted the
Captain, making straight for his would-be captor.

Before the skipper had taken a couple of steps, a knife hurtled through
the air and buried itself to the hilt in the Englishman's left shoulder.
Maddened by the pain, for the wound felt like a stab with a hot iron,
Captain Gregory spun round. Only a tremendous effort of will-power kept
him from falling. He was almost surrounded by men whose manner and
appearance were unmistakably hostile. Evidently they meant to capture
and not to kill. The knife had been thrown with the unerring accuracy
for which Spaniards are noted; had the owner intended to murder the
skipper the blade would have pierced his heart or severed his jugular
vein. By transfixing Gregory's shoulder the thrower meant to disable his
victim.

In a trice the Captain made up his mind. It was his duty to warn and
defend--as far as lay in his power--his employer. Could he but regain
Mr. Heatherington's cabin, it might be possible for the four Britons to
hold out against the mutineers for days, and perhaps communicate the
news of their plight to a vessel that chanced within visual signalling
distance.

Even as the ring of mutineers closed in upon their captain, the wounded
Englishman made an impetuous irresistible rush.

With the knife still blade-deep in his shoulder, Gregory was severely
handicapped, yet so impetuous was his onslaught that one of the men who
attempted to bar his way was lifted clean off his feet by a staggering
right that caught him fairly and squarely upon the point of his chin.

In his fall the mutineer brought down one of his companions, Gregory
plugging a third on the solar plexus and sending him to leaven the whole
lump.

Another Spaniard, knife upraised, made a determined attempt to stab the
intrepid captain. The point missed by a hair's breadth. The dealer of
the blow, unable to recover his balance, presented a face that formed an
easy and tempting target. One short, sharp jab, and the mutineer was
sent reeling with the loss of four of his front teeth.

So sudden and unsuspected had been Gregory's dash that the mutineers
behind him had no time to act. They could not throw their knives without
running a great risk of transfixing their compatriots, and by the time
the British captain had burst through the cordon and gained the head of
the companion-ladder it was too late for a display of knife throwing.

Gregory never knew how he got down the flight of brass-treaded steps. He
was so faint and weak from loss of blood that he seemed to have no
feeling in his lower limbs, while his brain reeled and his sight grew
dim.

He was dimly conscious of hammering upon the door of Mr. Heatherington's
state-room, and bellowing an almost incoherent warning; then the door
was unbolted and he fell unconscious into the arms of the charterer of
the _Paloma_.

Mr. Heatherington's first act was to place the inert body of the Captain
upon the floor. He then locked the door and thrust home the bolts.
Already the foremost of the mutineers were crowding down the
companion-way, shouting, cursing, and uttering ferocious threats against
their intended victims.

Kenneth's father gave a quick glance at the two lads, but it was enough
to reassure him. Although pale, Kenneth and Peter showed no signs of
panic. Either would have fully admitted to himself that he "had the wind
up badly", but even the immediate prospect of death by violence would
not have made him own up to it to anyone else.

"Barricade the door, lads, while I get my automatic," exclaimed Mr.
Heatherington, as he opened the top drawer of a chest fitted under the
bunk.

He found the weapon, which he invariably kept with the magazine fully
charged; fumbled for a packet of spare cartridges, failed to find it;
tried the second drawer with equal lack of success. By this time Kenneth
and Peter had piled up every suitable article of furniture--scanty
enough--that could be detached and used to secure still further the
massive teak door.

"Keep clear," cautioned Mr. Heatherington. "They'll probably start
throwing knives through the jalousie."

The jalousie was a sort of louvred ventilator, which, although admitting
air, prevented anyone from seeing directly into the cabin. On the other
hand it was possible that a missile could be projected through the
openings and stand a fair chance of striking any of the occupants who
happened to be immediately behind the door.

For a full minute the mutineers hammered upon the woodwork. Had the
barricade not been in position not even the lock and the stout bolts and
hinges would have withstood the onslaught. The jalousie was splintered
but none of the ruffians dared to show his face at the aperture.

Then the uproar ceased. Ensued a period of a long-drawn out half minute,
when no sound broke the silence save the deep breaths of the mutineers,
the gentle pulsations of the engines, and the plash of water against the
yacht's sides.

To Kenneth the silence was decidedly uncanny. It was far more trying
than the clamour that had hitherto prevailed. As for Peter, who not so
very long ago had bewailed the fact that the voyage was lacking in
adventure, he realized that now peril was thrust upon him with the
utmost lavishness. As things were going it seemed too sudden to realize
fully.

"Keep well away from the door," cautioned Mr. Heatherington again.
"Watch that opening, and crack the skull of the first one who shows
himself."

The silence was resumed. Peter and Kenneth, one armed with an ebony
ruler and the other with a rather heavy Malacca cane, kept on the alert,
one on either side of the door; while Mr. Heatherington, with his
automatic cocked and the safety catch released, waited for the onslaught
to be resumed.

"It's no use, Ingleses!" exclaimed a mocking voice, which the lads
recognized as that of the Chief Officer, Pedro Mendoza. "Open ze door
an' surrender, den we give you your lifs; put you on ze leetle boat an'
you fetch ze land in leetle no time."

That Mendoza was the leader of the mutineers, or even one of them, came
as a surprise to the besieged Englishmen. The Chief Officer had
previously been most polite, although he had professed complete
ignorance of English. He seemed to be of a quiet, unassuming
disposition, and to be a keen and conscientious navigator. To Mr.
Heatherington's knowledge, Mendoza, unlike Lopez the Third Officer,
never spoke on terms of intimacy with the rest of the crew. Now he was
showing himself in his true colours as a mutineer and would-be murderer.

"Sorry I cannot entertain your offer, Seor Mendoza," replied Mr.
Heatherington. "For one thing I don't like being in little boats; for
another I don't propose to leave the _Paloma_ at present, since I've
paid for the chartering of her. Apparently in your diabolical schemes
you overlooked the fact that we are in possession of a small wireless
set. We will soon call up every vessel within fifty miles of us, explain
that the _Paloma_ is in the hands of mutineers, and in a very short time
you will be prisoners on board an American cruiser. How does that strike
you?"

Mendoza bluntly gasped with consternation. He had not counted upon such
a possibility. The _Paloma_ was fitted with wireless, but the
installation was in the hands of the mutineers.

"We can do ze interruption, seor," he replied. "Ze ship's wireless it
make--how you call it? Caramba! Make ze jam."

"That won't prevent us sending out signals," declared Mr. Heatherington.

A babel of excited voices held sway for the next few minutes. Mendoza
had to explain the situation to his fellow mutineers, and apparently the
information was extremely disconcerting.

Then Lopez took up his parable.

"You tink you bluff, eh?" he exclaimed mockingly. "You have-a not got
wireless. I know all 'bout what you got. An' you talk to discharge
Spanish crew an' sign on Ingleses, ah? Palaver ended."

The Third Officer's remarks came as a bit of a staggerer. Apparently he
was conversant with the personal contents of Mr. Heatherington's
state-room. He knew that the latter's threat to make use of wireless was
sheer bluff. More, he had contrived to overhear the conversation between
the charterer and the captain of the yacht, which had taken place behind
closed doors. Consequently it was fairly safe to assume that Lopez had
been eavesdropping when the matter concerning the black pearls of Talai
had been discussed.

"One minute!" continued Lopez. "What you tink of dis?"

He held a small black box through the shattered jalousie. Unsuspectingly
Mr. Heatherington stepped into the direct line of sight. In an instant
the treacherous Spaniard threw the box and its contents full at the
Englishman's face.

Kenneth's parent had barely time to close his eyes before he received a
quantity of red pepper hurled with considerable force. It left him
gasping, while Lopez and those of his companions who could see the
result of the cowardly act roared with laughter.

Immediately the onslaught was renewed, the mutineers using crowbars and
capstan bars in their attempt to force the door. One man incautiously
thrust one hand through the open jalousie and attempted to throw aside
part of the barricade. Kenneth dealt him such a numbing blow that the
fellow yelled and danced with pain.

The reply was a knife thrust, the blade being lashed to a pole. The
point missed Kenneth's head by a bare inch, but before the improvised
lance could be withdrawn Peter seized the pole and with a powerful
twisting movement wrenched it from the wielder's grasp.

Hitherto, Mr. Heatherington had hesitated to make use of his automatic.
Although his face was smarting terribly and his eyes were watering, he
could see how the attack progressed. Unless something were done to
prevent it, the barricaded door would be forced before many seconds.

Again the grinning features of Lopez appeared in view. Levelling his
pistol, Mr. Heatherington fired at point-blank range straight at the
head of the mutineer. In the confined space the report sounded like a
thunder-clap. Lopez, giving a howl that would not have disgraced a
member of the lupine family, dropped out of sight.

"That's settled Mr. Third Officer!" thought Mr. Heatherington, but to
his astonishment and dismay, Lopez reappeared with a diabolical leer
upon his olivine features. So close had he been to the muzzle of the
pistol that his face was pitted with grains of burnt powder. Knife in
hand he thrust again and again.

Stepping back a couple of paces, Mr. Heatherington raised his automatic.

"She evidently threw a bit high before," he said to himself. "I won't
miss this time, by Jove!"

Aiming at the Spaniard's throat he pressed the trigger. Even as Mr.
Heatherington did so, Lopez held his wrist in front of his eyes. Almost
before the echoes of the report died away, the mutineer lowered his arm
and grinned at his antagonist.

"Pistol no good!" he exclaimed. "Lopez he see dat so long ago."

Then and only then did Mr. Heatherington realize the cold-blooded
preparations of the mutineers. Probably the outbreak had been
precipitated by Captain Gregory, but it had been prepared, for all that.
Lopez, or one of his satellites had explored the state-room during the
Englishman's absence, and had removed the bullets from the cartridges in
the magazine of Mr. Heatherington's automatic and had taken the unopened
packet of ammunition from the chest of drawers.

Darting from his place of concealment, Kenneth gripped the Third Officer
by his curly locks and began hammering his face with his fist. It was
Lopez's turn to be taken aback. His hands were fully occupied in trying
to prevent his head being pulled through the jalousie, while in his
frantic struggle he lashed out with his feet and thus kept his
companions from going to his assistance, otherwise Kenneth presented an
easy target for a hostile knife-thrust.

When the Third Officer did break loose he left a double handful of hair
in Kenneth's grasp, and ran howling along the alley-way with blood
dripping from a badly battered nose.

Under Mendoza's direction the attack was not resumed. The mutineers
withdrew.

"We've beaten them off!" exclaimed Kenneth.

"Let's hope so," rejoined his father. "I doubt it. They're planning some
dirty work, I'm afraid. Unship that folding table, Peter, and let's see
if we can secure it over the jalousie."

This was done. The besieged slaked their thirst, and stood by, Mr.
Heatherington unloading the magazine of his automatic and fitting short
lengths of aluminium rod into each unexpended cartridge to take the
place of the extracted bullets.

"I fancy the people who made this photographic tripod never knew to what
purpose it was finally put," he remarked as he completed his task. "Even
a small chunk of aluminium will stop a man at close range. Stand by,
Kenneth, and keep your ears on the alert while I see how poor Gregory is
faring."

The Captain was still unconscious, which was perhaps a fortunate thing
for him, for the knife was not only deep in his shoulder but it had made
a jagged wound; possibly in his headlong dash, Gregory had caught the
haft of the weapon against some obstruction.

It took quite a strong effort to withdraw the blade. Then, having washed
the wound and applied iodine in liberal quantities, Mr. Heatherington
bandaged the injured shoulder, and placed the still unconscious man upon
a settee.

"Hark!" whispered Kenneth.

The mutineers had returned. They were apparently securing something to
the outside of the door. The sound of a gimlet boring into the hard teak
was followed by a slight succession of jars that might well be caused by
a screw-driver getting home a stubborn screw.

Mr. Heatherington said nothing but thought a lot. The new move on the
part of the mutineers was a sinister one.

A few minutes later the state-room grew dark. Over the two open scuttles
sacks filled with junk were lowered. Simultaneously the air-intake of
the ventilator was stopped up.

"They're trying to smoke us out, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherington.
"Get hold of that pole, Kenneth, and clear that scuttle."

Kenneth tried to do so, but ineffectually. Even when his chum came to
his aid the obstacle refused to be moved. The mutineers had seen to
that, for the sacks were pressed tightly against the scuttle by means of
capstan bars secured to eyebolts in the yacht's side.

Then the unmistakable sound of an auger biting through the woodwork
became audible. Even in this the mutineers showed deep cunning, for they
chose a spot for the hole to be bored that was not accessible from
within.

A faint sickly smell assailed the nostrils of the imprisoned men.

"Chloroform!" muttered Mr. Heatherington.

"Yes, it is chloroform," echoed the mocking voice of Pedro Mendoza. "In
ver' few minutes we have you prisoner. Den we let you revive, jus' to
let you know who win; den we t'row you to der sharks!"




CHAPTER IV

Gassed


For a space of about thirty seconds, Mr. Heatherington and the two lads
stood inactive. The mutineers gave no sound of their presence except for
the gentle hiss of the pump, as the nauseating fumes were injected into
the cabin.

"Lads!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherington, pointing to a couple of Pyrenes
hanging against a bulkhead. "Hang on to those. Clear away that
stuff"--indicating the barricade--"and we'll make a dash for it.
Anything's better than being slowly chloroformed. With these fire
extinguishers we'll gas a few of the villains and my automatic will
settle----"

The fumes of the sickly chemical caught Mr. Heatherington's throat, and
prevented the sentence being completed. All three realized that unless
they acted promptly it would be too late to avenge themselves upon the
rascally crew before they "went under".

Desperately the chums tackled the barricade, hurling the things aside
until only the locked and bolted door was between them and their
enemies--and fresh air.

Holding his automatic ready for instant action, Kenneth's father drew
back the bolts and prepared to unlock the door. The lads, with their
impromptu weapons ready to project a stream of oxygen-destroying liquid
upon the mutineers, awaited the opening of the door, while gasping under
the steadily increasing volume of chloroform fumes.

The key turned in the lock. Mr. Heatherington tried the door. It was
secured on the outside. Hitherto all the efforts of the occupants of the
cabin had been directed to keep the mutineers out; now they were
striving to get out themselves--to fight to the last in the pure
salt-laden air rather than perish like dogs in a lethal-chamber.

"Heave--both of you," gasped Mr. Heatherington.

Peter put down his Pyrene apparatus, grasped the gun-metal door-handle
and pulled his hardest. The door refused to budge. He turned his head to
see what Kenneth was doing, and found his chum sitting on the floor with
his fingers clutching his throat.

Placing the muzzle of his automatic against the upper panel of the door,
Mr. Heatherington fired five times in rapid succession. The improvised
bullets perforated the woodwork, but failed to penetrate a sheet of
steel which the mutineers had used to secure the door.

The weapon dropped from its owner's hand. Mr. Heatherington, overcome by
the fumes, made a frantic leap in a vain attempt to find pure air
overhead. Then he collapsed, still fighting for breath, across the body
of his son.

Peter only partly realized what was happening. The whole horrible
business seemed quite impersonal as far as he was concerned; he might
have been watching a film on the screen. His senses were failing, yet at
the present moment he was feeling little or no inconvenience.

Then, as the suffocating sensation assailed him, he was seized with a
rebellious, resentful feeling. He made a desperate attempt to force the
unyielding door and hurl himself upon the miscreants without--hammered
with his bare fists upon the panels--sank into utter oblivion.

"All of them are unconscious, Capitn," reported one of the mutineers,
who had been a close observer of all that was taking place in the
reeking cabin. Unknown to any of the occupants, Lopez had several days
previously bored a hole in the partition between Mr. Heatherington's
cabin and the one adjoining, and could thus hear and see all that was
transpiring.

Pedro Mendoza, erstwhile Chief Officer and now elected captain of the
mutineers, thereupon gave orders for the door to be opened. Deftly half
a dozen screws which had held the steel plate in position, were
removed, and the door swung open with the gentle roll of the ship.

Waiting only till the suffocating fumes had wafted away, half a dozen
Spaniards entered the cabin and unceremoniously dragged the senseless
bodies of the unsuccessful defenders into the alley-way and thence to
the waist.

"Overboard with the dog at once," ordered Lopez, giving the apparently
inanimate form of Captain Gregory a vindictive kick.

Two of the mutineers grasped the skipper by the ankles and were about to
carry out the officer's orders, when Mendoza intervened.

"He will be more useful alive than dead, Lopez," he said. "Let him lie
till he recovers."

"But----" expostulated Lopez.

"Obey!" thundered Mendoza, and his subordinate, cursing the new captain
under his breath, had no option but to do what he was told.

The unconscious Englishmen were then subjected to a thorough pilfering
of their personal effects. Mr. Heatherington's automatic fell to the lot
of Capitn Mendoza, who was already in possession of the missing packet
of ammunition. Even the smallest article was removed from their pockets.
A gold hunter--a presentation to Mr. Heatherington from the Trinity
Brethren--was annexed by Lopez. The silver wristlet watches worn by
Peter and Kenneth were appropriated by the bos'un and the carpenter.
Captain Gregory's timepiece went to the late Second Officer, Miguel Fe,
who was now promoted to Chief in place of Mendoza on the latter's
assumption of the rank of captain of the mutineers. Other articles of
lesser value were distributed amongst the crew.

The disposal of the spoil was still in progress, when Kenneth showed
signs of returning consciousness.

Reluctantly the men suspended their engrossing task of disposing of the
loot. They were as yet unused to the new conditions. By becoming
mutineers they imagined that they had acquired absolute liberty of
individual action; they had yet to learn that in no state of society
does such a condition exist. In throwing off the yoke of Captain Gregory
they were about to place their necks under that of Pedro Mendoza. If
Gregory had figuratively chastised them with rods (more than once he had
literally chased them with a rope's end), Mendoza was about to keep them
under strict discipline by more effective means than chastising with
scorpions.

"Lash up the prisoners, hand and foot!" commanded the mutineer captain.
"Hasten, or some of you will feel sorry for yourselves."

"There is plenty of time," protested one of the hands. "I, for one, am
going to take my share of plunder below, before I start work."

Before any of the objector's comrades could support his protests,
Mendoza acted with a promptitude that indicated that he had a streak of
northern blood in his veins.

Whipping out the automatic he had taken from Mr. Heatherington, he took
three steps in the direction of the objector, and without a word coolly
and deliberately blew out the man's brains.

"Now, amigo, you may argue as much as you like," he remarked, addressing
the corpse. "You others, get to work at once; secure the prisoners."

The men obeyed with the utmost haste--fear--not enthusiasm driving them
on. In a very short space of time Mr. Heatherington and the two lads
were trussed up hand and foot, while Captain Gregory was secured by the
ankles only.

"What are we to do with this, Seor Capitn?" inquired an elderly seaman
pointing to the corpse of the shot mutineer.

"Let it stop where it is," replied Mendoza. "Now, all hands on the duty
watch will proceed with the routine under Chief Officer Miguel Fe. Those
in the watch below go for'ard. Seor Lopez, you know the new course--to
the bridge and keep a sharp look-out for vessels."

The hands, having learnt their lesson, hurried off either to "stand
their tricks" or to stand easy and discuss matters in the fo'c'sle.

Lopez ascended the bridge, fuming with rage at Mendoza for having
ordered him out of sight and hearing of the prisoners. Already he
distrusted his new skipper. He felt certain that Mendoza had
deliberately got the others, including himself, out of the way in order
to come to terms with the Englishmen or, what was more likely, to
attempt to terrorize them into agreeing to his proposals. This was
precisely what Mendoza intended doing.

Lighting a cigar, Mendoza leant against the poop ladder, and waited for
the prisoners to recover from the effects of the chloroform. Waiting, an
idea occurred to him. He went for'ard to the foot of the bridge ladder
and called to Lopez to come down.

"A word in your ear, Lopez," he began condescendingly, when the recently
promoted Second Officer descended from his elevated post. "Come aft,
where we shall neither be seen nor overheard."

The two men walked aft in silence.

"You know how obstinate this Englishman and the two youths are," began
the Captain. "Threats do not seem to intimidate them. We must resort to
other methods if we are to wrest the much-desired secret from them. They
must be lured into revealing the actual locality of the pearling
grounds. You could not do it. They hate you like poison, Lopez. That is
why I sent you away. Now I am going to express sympathy with them, swear
that I was compelled against my will to join you in taking possession
of the ship, and so on. Properly managed we ought to discover the
secret and then, amigo, we can hold the Englishmen to ransom. The man
can pay: he must be made to do so."

Lopez nodded. Mendoza's explanation seemed plausible and feasible; but
he was not altogether satisfied. His naturally suspicious nature
asserted itself.

"That is as you say," he replied, "I agree to your suggestions. I will
keep out of the way, but one or two trusted members of the crew must be
with you in order to--to----"

"To see that I do not cheat you, Seor Lopez; is that not so? But that
will not do. The secret I wish to obtain--and I swear that Miguel Fe and
you will have your fair shares--is too precious to be imparted to a pair
of low-born Barcelona sailor-men. The crew would soon get to know of it,
and then where should we be? Now, back to your post, Lopez, I see that
the two youths are beginning to take notice."

Again Lopez went for'ard.

"Perhaps that dog Mendoza is right," he muttered. "But I'll watch him
very carefully, and if he plays me false, my knife is sharp and my arm
is strong and sure."




CHAPTER V

The Perfidy of Mendoza


When Kenneth opened his eyes he was too dazed with the effects of the
chloroform to realize his surroundings. He was dimly conscious that he
was in the open air. Everything seemed to be whirling round and round.
His throat was parched, his head throbbed like the piston of a motor. He
was under the impression that he was in the playing-fields at school,
and had been "downed" in a scrum. Labouring under that delusion he
clawed the deck. Instead of moist grass his fingers encountered hot teak
planking. That puzzled him still more.

A violent fit of sickness followed. Then he felt someone's arm assisting
him to rise to a sitting position. A pannikin filled with lime-juice was
held to his hot lips. He drank feverishly, and the cooling liquid tasted
like perfect nectar.

The mist cleared before his eyes. He looked into the face of his
benefactor, and recognized the oily features of Pedro Mendoza.

"You better-a?" asked the mutineer captain. "Do not fear. I your friend.
Shut your eyes an' go sleep."

[Illustration: "I AM YOUR VERY GOOD FRIEND"    _Page_ 54]

Kenneth closed his eyes but not for the purpose of going to sleep. He
felt horribly tired and weak, but the sight of Mendoza led his thoughts
back into a fairly accurate channel. Laboriously he traced out the
tangled skein of events into a connected train of argument, until his
facts came to an abrupt termination at the recollection of seeing his
father and his chum struggling to open the tightly-closed door.

Where were they? he asked himself, and in his anxiety he raised himself
on one elbow and gazed around.

A few feet from him lay Peter, breathing stertorously. Propped up
against a skylight was Mr. Heatherington with Mendoza in attendance,
acting to perfection the part of a Good Samaritan. The Spaniard had
already bandaged Mr. Heatherington's head, for in falling the latter had
received a nasty gash on the forehead, which was still bleeding freely.

On the deck on the other side of the skylight lay Captain Gregory, so
motionless that Kenneth was under the mistaken impression that he was
dead.

"Soon be all right, seor," declared Mendoza, with monotonous
reiteration. "I, Pedro Mendoza, am your ver' good friend."

Kenneth was frankly puzzled. He now remembered only too vividly the part
the former Chief Officer of the _Paloma_ had played in the attack upon
the occupants of his father's cabin. He could not account for the
baffling change in Mendoza's attitude. The more he thought about it the
more his bewildered head throbbed, until in sheer exhaustion he lay back
and fell into a fitful slumber.

It was night when he awoke. The short tropical twilight had given place
to darkness, but the electric lamp under the break of the poop had been
switched on.

Peter had recovered consciousness and had drawn closer to his chum. Mr.
Heatherington and Mendoza had just begun a discussion, and it was their
voices that had aroused Kenneth from his uneasy sleep.

"I tell you, seor," declared the Spaniard. "I tell you I am your ver'
good friend. I do all I can to help you all, but my position-a ver'
difficult."

"You're right there, at all events," remarked Mr. Heatherington grimly.
"Your conduct will require a tremendous lot of explanation when the
_Paloma_ puts into port."

Mendoza shrugged his shoulders.

"Mutiny--yes," he admitted. "But how could I help it? If I not join in
den I am made prisoner. So I pretend--only pretend, seor--to agree to
the villain Lopez an' seize the ship. By an' by I talk with certain of
der men, den we put Lopez in irons and all is well--what you call all
plain sailing-a!"

Mr. Heatherington had not the slightest doubt but that Mendoza was
acting his part with an ulterior motive. He decided to humour the man,
to pretend to accept his explanations.

"It's jolly good of you to do your best to help us, Mendoza," he said.
"You'll not find me ungrateful for that. Naturally, you expect to be
rewarded for what you have done?"

The Spaniard grinned.

"That is so, seor," he agreed.

"And you'll get your deserts in good time, you villain," thought the
Englishman, then aloud: "In that case it's not much use beating about
the bush, Seor Mendoza."

"Beating der bush, what dat mean?" asked the mutineer suspiciously.

"Figure of speech," explained Mr. Heatherington, who was beginning to
relish the little comedy.

"Figure of money--dat is far more important beesness," retorted Mendoza.

"Precisely what I tried to imply," added Kenneth's father. "I presume,
acting upon the assumption that almost every man has his price, that you
have yours. What do you want to set us ashore in no worse condition than
we are at present in a fairly civilized port?"

Mendoza pretended to consider the suggestion. He was deluded into the
idea that Mr. Heatherington firmly believed in his declaration of
friendship, yet it puzzled him to account for the docile manner in
which the prisoner behaved. He had expected to have to deal with an
angry, blustering Englishman, who would probably be as stubborn as a
mule. On the contrary, Mr. Heatherington seemed only too anxious to come
to terms and gain his freedom--which was the very last thing Pedro
Mendoza desired. To release all or any of the captives meant a speedy
and effective termination to Pedro Mendoza's activities.

No, Seor Heatherington must be hoodwinked, threatened if necessity
arose, and even forced to reveal his secret. Once that were wrested from
him he and his companions would put to a practical test the proverb
"Dead men tell no tales".

Mendoza in his heart blamed Lopez for precipitating the mutiny. His
original plan was to wait until the Englishman had found the pearls, and
had placed them on board the yacht. Then the rest of the business would
be a fairly simple matter. However, he decided, the Englishman
Heatherington was giving indications that he believed in his
protestations of friendship, and in that case the black pearls were as
safe as if the original plan had been adhered to.

Pedro Mendoza was too crafty to reply at once to Mr. Heatherington's
pointed question.

"Seor, you are still weak from the effect of chloroform," he observed.
"Night is here. To-morrow we will discuss. I regret that I must treat
you as prisoners or the villain Lopez an' the others will be
suspicious. It is necessary that you and the two youths shall be
separated."

With that Mendoza blew a double blast on a whistle. Half a dozen men,
all armed with revolvers and knives, appeared. The mutineer captain gave
a curt order, and in less than a minute Kenneth and Peter found
themselves under lock and key in a small cabin just abaft the main
saloon.

"We've had adventure shoved on to us with a vengeance, this time, old
son," remarked Kenneth ruefully.

"That's a fact," agreed his chum. "The adventure part's all right, but
we've lost all along the line. The blighters did us properly."

"If it hadn't been for that beastly chloroform, they wouldn't," declared
Kenneth. "But what puzzles me is: why did they go to all that trouble
when they could have shot us down?"

"I thought of that, too," said Peter. "During the scrap not a shot was
fired by any of the mutineers, yet those chaps who shoved us into this
place were wearing holsters with revolvers in them. I could see the
butts of the pistols. And they didn't even shoot Gregory."

"They knifed him; that was just as bad."

"I don't think much of that Mendoza fellow," continued Peter, but
Kenneth interposed.

"Shut up!" he exclaimed cautiously. "As likely as not there's someone
listening."

"Someone is listening," echoed a voice, which the lads recognized as
that of Miguel Fe.

The door of the cabin was opened noiselessly and the Chief Officer of
the mutineer vessel _Paloma_ slipped through, shutting and locking the
door behind him.

Up to the present moment the two chums had not the slightest idea that
Miguel Fe understood English, let alone spoke it. Previous to the
outbreak he had given the impression that he was a silent though
punctiliously polite Spaniard, who, if spoken to, relied upon Captain
Gregory as an interpreter. Now he was speaking English with hardly a
trace of a foreign accent.

"No need for you to apologize, young gentlemen, for refusing to discuss
such a rascally person as Pedro Mendoza," he remarked. "I have taken
this opportunity of putting you on your guard. I cannot communicate with
your father, Mr. Kenneth, but you will no doubt be able to convey to him
the information I am about to impart to you."

"It's very good of you," rejoined Kenneth.

There was a pause. Miguel Fe studied the faces of the two lads intently,
as if to analyse their attitude towards him. He learned little; the
features of both Kenneth and Peter were as imperturbable as waxen masks.

"I am your very good friend," continued the Spaniard.

"Just the same words that Mendoza used," thought Kenneth. "I wonder what
his terms are?"

Suddenly Fe started and began to listen intently. Obviously he was in
great fear lest his presence be discovered. A sound of shuffling
footsteps overhead died away. Miguel Fe moistened his lips and resumed
in a low voice:

"I cannot run risks without adequate reward," he remarked tentatively.
"You observe, seores, the position is this: Mendoza has the plan of
Talai, showing the lagoon where the black pearls are to be found."

"He stole it from my father, I presume," rejoined Kenneth.

"That was precisely what the villain did," agreed Miguel Fe.

Young Heatherington could hardly conceal a chuckle of satisfaction. The
Spaniard had given himself away entirely. Mr. Heatherington had no such
plan on board. He had purposely refrained from being in possession of
any document likely to assist unauthorized searchers for the rare
bivalves and their precious contents. Consequently Mendoza was ignorant
of the precise locality. So was Miguel Fe. By attempting to enlist the
sympathies of Kenneth and Peter the men hoped to cajole them into
revealing the secret.

"Then he'll probably gain possession of the pearls," said Kenneth.

"Caramba!" exclaimed Fe heatedly. "It is casting pearls before swine!
Listen, Mendoza must be foiled. It is I, Miguel Fe, who will baulk him;
but your father must allow me one-half share of the treasure. Better for
him to receive one half and his life and liberty than nothing at all.
Come, now; you must know where the spot in the lagoon is. Give me that
information and I swear by the saints that Mendoza and the other
mutineers will be foiled."

"I'm not a free agent in the matter," replied Kenneth. "Am I, Peter?"

Peter Arkendale vigorously supported his chum.

"In which case," continued Kenneth, "I must mention the matter to my
father. Better still, why don't you ask him yourself?"




CHAPTER VI

To the Sharks!


For the rest of the night nothing unusual occurred. But for the fact
that the Englishmen were under lock and key, and were still feeling
considerably out of condition owing to the effects of the chloroform,
they might have been with one exception as comfortable as if they were
in their own respective cabins. The exception was Captain Gregory. He
was in a high fever, brought on by loss of blood and the reaction
following his encounter with the mutineers. One of the stewards had been
sent to attend to him, but the displaced skipper's attitude towards him
was so angry that the fellow fled in terror.

The mutineers now kept the _Paloma_ on her former course, and made no
attempt to increase speed. Under Mendoza's orders, supported by the fate
of the mutineer he had shot dead, perfect discipline was maintained, the
usual tricks and watches being kept with the same precision as when
Captain Gregory was in command. Mendoza realized that if his carefully
laid plans were to materialize successfully they could only do so by the
aid of most rigid discipline.

At eight bells in the forenoon watch, Lopez "took over", relieving Fe on
the bridge. The latter went below and turned in. As soon as Mendoza
realized that his second-in-command was sound asleep, he posted a sentry
over the cabin with instructions to inform him directly Miguel Fe awoke.

Mendoza then ordered a good breakfast for three to be sent to Mr.
Heatherington's cabin--or, rather, the cabin he had been forced to
occupy. The mutineer captain reckoned that an appetizing meal would go a
long way towards putting his principal captive in a reasonable frame of
mind. It would also tend to impress upon him the "very good friendship"
of the villainous Spaniard. He then gave instructions for Kenneth and
Peter to be taken to Mr. Heatherington's cabin.

An hour later--he purposely gave the prisoners time--Mendoza unlocked
the door of the cabin and presented himself to Mr. Heatherington with a
courtly bow.

"I trust, seor, that you are feeling well," he said.

"Thank you," replied the Englishman. "I'm feeling quite chirpy."

"Chirpy?" echoed Mendoza, not sure of his ground. "What does that mean?"

"Well, feeling considerably bucked," declared Mr. Heatherington
jauntily.

"Bucked? What is bucked?" questioned the mutineer captain, feeling
pretty certain that the Englishman was "pulling his leg". "One minute!
Let me see!"

Producing a small dictionary of slang from his pocket the Spaniard
rapidly turned over the pages.

"Ah! Chirpy--full of good spirits, eh? Very well. You are confident,
then, that I am your friend. Now let us set to business. Listen: I will
undertake to set you safely ashore on condition that you give me the
exact position of the spot where the oysters with the black pearls are
to be found. Furthermore you will give me a certificate to the effect
that I have done everything in my power to prevent the mutiny."

"That's rather a big price to have to pay for liberty when in all
probability a United States or a British warship will do the same merely
for the gratification of dealing effectively with a crowd of rascally
mutineers, isn't it?" replied Mr. Heatherington. "It's hardly necessary
to add that I absolutely decline to accept your offer."

For some moments Mendoza looked completely taken aback. He had his
doubts about forcing his captive to disclose the information. He might
try force as a last resource. He could well afford to make concession in
the bargaining business, since he fully intended that neither Mr.
Heatherington nor his companions would ever be in a position to obtain
possession of the coveted gems.

"I make a mistake," he said. "One half of the pearls I meant to say. One
half--that is a fortune in itself. One half, with life and liberty."

"I have received a precisely similar offer from another of your
fellow-murderers," observed Mr. Heatherington dryly. "It seems that you
have a rival in business."

"You lie!" shouted Mendoza, losing control of himself. "Who is the
traitor?"

"Since you doubt my word, it is unnecessary to discuss the matter
further."

"No, no!" almost shrieked the excitable Spaniard. "I know now it is no
lie. Who is the rascal who would cheat me?"

"That is my business," said Mr. Heatherington.

"I know! It is Lopez. Lopez is the traitor. I will deal with him in good
time. I retract my offer. You will reveal the secret of the black
pearls, or I will throw all three of you, and Gregory too, to the
sharks."

"And add murder to mutiny: rather doubling your risk of testing a
six-foot drop, isn't it?" remarked Mr. Heatherington coolly.

"Murder? What do I care about killing a man?" retorted Mendoza. "You
will see."

He rushed from the cabin, shouting to some of the crew. Four of the
mutineers hurried up, seized all the prisoners and led them on deck. As
they stood blinking in the dazzling sunlight Mendoza gripped Mr.
Heatherington by the shoulder.

"Look there!" he exclaimed, and pointed to the corpse of the mutineer he
had shot down. "Look there! That man died by my hand. I, Pedro Mendoza,
declare it. Have you seen enough? Good! Now listen. I give you all three
five minutes. If at the end of five minutes you do not reveal the secret
of where the black pearls lie then I swear to throw you to the sharks."

The armed seamen led the prisoners to the lee rail. Other mutineers at
Mendoza's order lifted the body of their comrade and launched it over
the side. Before the corpse had been left more than twenty yards astern
the water was tinged with blood as a number of voracious sharks fought
for their prey.

"Five minutes!" announced Mendoza. "Do you consent?"

"No," replied Mr. Heatherington.

"Overboard with that one first," ordered the mutineer captain,
carelessly indicating Peter Arkendale.




CHAPTER VII

The Skipper of the "Svend"


"Keep together, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherington. "Make a fight for
it!"

The three, facing outwards, confronted the crowd of mutineers. Better,
as Mr. Heatherington had hinted at, to fight to the last than to be
bound and thrown overboard to feed the ravenous sharks.

For several seconds there was a pause. The Spaniards hesitated to hurl
themselves upon the three unarmed but resolute Britons. Even Mendoza
took good care to stand behind a couple of his myrmidons, but his
olivine features stopped a crashing blow from the fist of one of his
captives.

Several of the mutineers drew their revolvers, but forbore to shoot. It
was poor sport, they argued, to put a bullet through a man's head when
they might extract considerable amusement out of prolonging his agony.
They looked inquiringly at Mendoza for instructions, but the
mutineer-in-chief hesitated to order his men to close with and overpower
the trio.

As a matter of fact Mendoza had no intention of putting his threat into
execution. With Heatherington and his youthful companions dead the
secret of the black pearls would be lost for good. It was quite
possible, he hoped, to terrorize them into revealing the exact locality
where the beds were situated. Delicately handled, the problem ought to
be solved, especially if he could play off one prisoner against another.
Failing that, he might extract a good ransom, and then, having obtained
the money, get rid of his victims on the principle that dead men tell no
tales.

But the present difficulty was how to rescind his order without loss of
so-called dignity. His hot blood had cooled sufficiently for him to
realize that, and he upbraided himself for having lost his temper at
such an early stage of the proceedings.

An excited hail from one of the look-out men provided a timely
diversion. A sail had been sighted emerging from a slight haze at a
distance of about a mile on the _Paloma's_ starboard bow.

Mendoza gave an order. The mutineers surrounding Mr. Heatherington and
the two lads formed a semi-circle, leaving the prisoners free to make
for the companion ladder.

"I will not throw you to the sharks this time," announced Mendoza. "Go
below. Stop in your cabin and give no trouble. Then you will be safe."

Fully anticipating another act of treachery, the three prisoners backed
slowly towards the companion-ladder. By way of contrast to the dazzling
sunshine the hatchway with its brass-treaded teak ladder looked black
and forbidding. It was easy for one of the mutineers stationed below to
slash at their legs as they descended; but once below they realized that
they could put up a tougher resistance than if they were on deck.

The way was clear. No hostile hand delivered a recreant blow. Physically
unharmed yet morally shaken by the reaction of the last quarter of an
hour the three regained the cabin which had been allotted to them as a
place of detention.

The moment they were inside they slammed and bolted the door, a
precaution that was duplicated by the mutineers, who promptly placed a
handspike across the door-post and passed a lashing round it and through
the gun-metal handle on the outside.

There were three scuttles opening out on the starboard quarter, but
although commanding a wide view they did not embrace the quarter of the
sea where the strange sail was sighted.

It was a perfectly calm day. The sea was like a sheet of glass, unbroken
save for the ripples caused by the bow wave and the frothing wake of the
yacht as she forged ahead at a modest eight knots.

"What do you make of her, Miguel?" asked Mendoza, who, having rejoined
his second in command on the bridge, was keeping the approaching craft
under observation by means of binoculars.

"Pearler," replied Miguel Fe laconically.

Mendoza nodded thoughtfully. There were, he knew, hundreds of pearling
schooners amongst the islands. They were almost invariably manned by
Kanakas under the command of a white man, who generally was a
drink-sodden beachcomber. He decided to close and communicate. If the
stranger had pearls on board, her cargo would be acceptable booty. If
she had not, that was to be deplored; but in that case he would not
hesitate to take off her native crew. Kanakas were generally
inoffensive, docile creatures, invaluable in working a ship in the
tropics, and, what was more, skilled in diving for the treasure of the
lagoon.

The schooner was rolling almost imperceptibly in the gentle swell. Her
sun-bleached and salt-stained canvas hung idly from her yards. Her
headsails had been stowed. Over the low bulwarks leaned half a dozen
bronze-hued natives who were regarding the yacht with languid interest.

For a pearler the schooner was remarkably kept. Her sides were well
painted and, as she rolled, it was seen that her bottom was coppered and
well scrubbed. Her standing rigging was well set up, and generally she
had the appearance of being a well-found craft.

"Port another point, quartermaster," ordered Mendoza.

The alteration in helm brought the _Paloma_ bows on to the stranger--a
manoeuvre that caused the Kanaka crew to evince considerably more
interest in the yacht than they had previously shown.

Under the mutineer captain's orders a dozen of the crew, armed with
revolvers and knives, concealed themselves under the poop. Others,
outwardly unarmed, hung about the waist.

At a sign from Mendoza the yacht was given more port helm, Peruvian
colours were hoisted on the yacht's ensign-staff, and the international
signal ID, signifying "Heave-to or I will fire into you" was displayed
from her foremast head. Simultaneously the _Paloma's_ engineers received
the order to ease down, followed by "stop".

Although the yacht's signals were not understood by the Kanaka crew, the
latter were by now fully aware that something out of the usual was
taking place. One of them was observed to go to the skylight and give
the alarm. Presently the skipper of the schooner appeared on deck with a
roll of coloured bunting under his arm.

Mendoza could not restrain a gasp of astonishment at the appearance of
the captain of the pearler. He was a giant in stature, being at least
six feet four inches and with a girth in proportion to his height. He
wore a yachting-cap, with a spotlessly white cap-cover, perched with a
slight rake upon his flaxen-coloured hair. His eyes were of a light blue
that contrasted vividly with his brick-red complexion. He sported a
heavy moustache and pointed beard of a tawny yellow hue. His white duck
uniform fitted him so precisely that his general sartorial appearance
was that of the captain of a racing-yacht rather than that of a pearler.
Shorn of his uniform he would have been an artist's ideal of a Viking.

The captain of the schooner stalked aft, bent the ensign to the
peak-halliards and sent it aloft, where it hung listlessly in the still
air.

"What flag is that?" demanded Mendoza, turning to Miguel Fe.

"Tonga, I think," replied the second in command. "Or, perhaps--yes it is
Tonga."

"He's a long way from his home port, then," commented Mendoza. Then he
waited until the _Paloma_, gradually losing way, crept within hailing
distance of the schooner.

"Ahoy! What ship is that?" hailed Mendoza in broken English.

"_Svend_ of Tonga," was the reply.

"What cargo?"

"Yams and copra. We have had bad luck with the pearl fishery."

"Are you sure you are not the _Tolima_?" shouted Mendoza. "We are on
the look out for her and your description seems to tally. We are the
Peruvian Government fisheries protection vessel. Bring your papers on
board."

"This is a British registered ship and I am a Danish subject," protested
the skipper of the schooner. "Why should I show my papers?"

"Merely to prove that you are not what I think you are," replied Mendoza
in a conciliatory tone. "We have the right of search."

The Dane made no audible reply, but the Kanakas quickly hoisted out a
dory. Into her dropped a couple of hands followed by the skipper with
the ship's papers.

Already the _Paloma's_ accommodation ladder had been lowered, and as
soon as the dory ranged alongside Mendoza made a pretence of descending
the bridge to greet his involuntary visitor.

The accommodation ladder creaked and groaned under the weight of the
ponderous Dane. All unsuspecting he gained the deck, took three paces
forward, smiling tolerantly at the idea that he had been mistaken for a
maritime poacher.

At a signal from the Spanish captain, one of the hands standing behind
the Dane dealt him a violent blow across the top of his head with a
short length of armoured hose. The blow would have been sufficient to
stun any ordinary man, and probably would have crushed a thin skull like
an egg-shell.

Taken entirely by surprise the captain of the _Svend_ staggered,
recovered himself and swung round like an infuriated lion. Before the
Spaniard could repeat the blow the Dane had him by the throat. The
fellow's eyes started from their sockets. He went black and blue in the
face. Still the Dane maintained his remorseless, avenging grip, while
others of the mutineers, rushing to their comrade's aid, rained blows
upon the giant's unprotected head.

In the end numbers told. The Dane, with the fingers of his muscular
hands still maintaining a bull-dog hold, toppled inert and senseless to
the deck. With difficulty his original assailant was released, but it
was too late. His spinal cord had been broken under the terrible
strength of the Dane's grip.

"Never mind about Pedro," shouted Mendoza to the horrified mutineers,
"lash the big man up securely before he recovers his senses, and then
pass him below. You, Lopez, get the handcuffs and post a sentry outside
the cabin."

"What made you do that, Seor Mendoza?" inquired Miguel Fe. "Surely we
have enough on our hands already without saddling ourselves with a
powerful man like that. He'll give no end of trouble, mark my words."

"Will he?" retorted the mutineer captain sneeringly. "You'll see. Dios!
We want an experienced pearler, and these Kanakas will serve us well.
Order those two men in the boat alongside to come on board. Tell them
they won't be harmed if they obey orders."

"And the boat?"

Mendoza gave a careless glance over the side. The boat was a serviceable
one, but the _Paloma_ was well equipped in that respect. A boat, he
argued, was evidence, and in that case undesirable.

"Sink her," he replied curtly.

Meanwhile the _Svend_ was still becalmed at a distance of roughly a
cable's length off. Her crew could see nothing of what had occurred,
although it was certain that they must have heard the noise of the
unequal struggle. Yet they showed no signs of either apprehension or
curiosity, merely gazing apathetically at the relatively enormous hull
of the _Paloma_.

"Hurry, there!" shouted Mendoza, noting the reluctance on the part of
his subordinate to execute the order.

"It is a good boat," expostulated Miguel Fe. "We could dispose of her
for many pesetas to a passing vessel."

"That we could!" agreed several of the crew within earshot. Although
they valued human life lightly they were strongly averse to destroying
an article that might bring even a small amount to add to their
individual profit.

For twenty seconds Mendoza hesitated--and was lost. He lacked the
courage and determination to enforce his command because the objectors
were many. In the case of the Spaniard whom he had so wantonly shot
down, he knew that the fellow was unpopular with his companions and that
the risk of his drastic action was slight. To attempt to force his men
over the simple matter of a boat was a different matter.

"Hoist her inboard, then," he countermanded, "and stow her away out of
sight."

As soon as this was done Mendoza rang down for half speed ahead, and
directed the quartermaster to lay her alongside the _Svend_.

It was not until the mutineers, armed to the teeth, leapt from the
_Paloma's_ rail upon the deck of the pearler that the Kanakas bestirred
themselves, by taking to their heels and disappearing below. Thereupon
Miguel Fe, addressing them, explained the situation according to his
lights, adding that the Danish captain had entered into partnership with
the supposed Peruvian officers, and that the crew of the _Svend_ were to
tranship to the _Paloma_.

The harangue, delivered in broken English, was not understood by the
majority of the pidgin-English-speaking Kanakas, and until the situation
was still further explained and enlarged upon by the schooner's
bo'sun--a hulking brown-skinned Polynesian only a few inches shorter
than his skipper--pandemonium reigned below decks.

Finally the Kanakas emerged, looking considerably scared and clambered
on board the _Paloma_.

The cargo was then overrun. A quantity of yams--or sweet potatoes--was
taken on board the mutineer, but copra, being of little use, was left
alone. The Danish captain's cabin was ransacked and everything of value
removed. Then a couple of hands went below and started some of the
_Svend's_ planks, returning to the _Paloma_ with the information that
the water was pouring in like a mountain torrent.

"Cast off!" ordered Mendoza, at the same time telegraphing for easy
ahead.

The yacht gathered way, leaving the sinking schooner wallowing drunkenly
in her frothing wake. In less than ten minutes from the time of starting
the leak, the _Svend_ kicked up her heels and slithered, amidst a
smother of foam, to her last resting-place on the bed of the Pacific.




CHAPTER VIII

The Arrival at Talai


Owing to the change of helm Kenneth and Peter had been unseen spectators
of the outrage to the inoffensive pearling schooner. They could do
nothing. Even if they had hailed the Danish captain through the scuttle
no good purpose would have been served. True, they might have placed him
on his guard, but that would only have protracted his resistance with
the worst results to himself.

Of the gallant resistance of the Dane they could see nothing; they could
only surmise what had taken place. They witnessed, however, the seizure
of the _Svend_, the indiscriminate orgy of looting and the first phases
of her destruction. Of her final disappearance they saw nothing, as the
schooner bore slightly on the _Paloma's_ port quarter when she sank.

Throughout the whole business, Mr. Heatherington was in the deep sleep
of utter exhaustion, and the lads wisely forbore to awaken him.

"What do you think the blighters are going to do to us?" inquired
Peter.

Kenneth shook his head.

"I hardly know," he replied. "As a matter of fact I don't think they'll
go to extreme measures."

"They went quite far enough when that brute Mendoza threatened to start
on me as sharks' meat," declared Peter with a shudder.

"But he didn't," added Kenneth. "I suppose he could have had us all
thrown into the ditch if he wanted to. It was sheer bluff."

"'Tany rate he won't get much change out of us," said his chum
resolutely. "For one thing I don't know where the spot is where the
black pearl oysters are, and I don't suppose you do."

"I don't," agreed Kenneth. "What's more, I don't want to know while I'm
in this galley. If we can put a spoke in old Mendoza's wheel we will."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. At regular intervals one of the
mutineers appeared with meals for the three captives; but it was evident
that the Spaniards took no chances with their prisoners, for a couple of
armed seamen were always posted just outside the cabin.

On the following morning the steward appeared looking very scared.

"Are you a doctor, seor?" he inquired in quaint English, addressing Mr.
Heatherington.

"No--why?" rejoined Kenneth's father.

"Because, seor, there is sickness on board. One of the firemen, Jos
Nundico, is very ill with smallpox. Seor, I tremble for myself."

"And what does Mendoza think?"

"Seor, he is in a terrible fright. We have medicines on board, but no
one knows how to deal with the case. Capitn Mendoza has given orders
for Jos Nundico to be isolated. Someone must attend upon him. May the
saints forfend that I should be one chosen for that office."

"If you are, I hope you won't bring us our meals," said Mr.
Heatherington bluntly.

The steward, looking very white, went out.

"This may prove to be a blessing in disguise, lads," remarked Mr.
Heatherington. "I don't suppose any of the Spaniards have ever been
vaccinated. With ordinary care we should be immune even if the disease
runs through the ship. I don't like to be vindictive, but there are
limits to one's benevolence towards people of Mendoza's type."

Just before noon Mr. Heatherington and the two lads were brought on
deck, each with his arms secured at the wrists behind his back. Captain
Gregory had also been taken from his place of detention. He was still
very weak, and owing to the uselessness of his arm no attempt had been
made to bind his hands.

Most of the crew were present, together with Mendoza and Lopez. Miguel
Fe was on duty on the bridge. Apparently Mendoza was about to give his
men a little amusement at his captives' expense.

Presently the mutineer captain gave an order, and four men appeared
hauling at and pushing the gigantic form of the Danish skipper of the
_Svend_. He was fettered at the wrists, and in addition a stout chain
was fastened round both ankles with sufficient play to enable him to
take short steps.

The Dane looked curiously at his fellow prisoners.

"You are English, I take it," he remarked in a low tone. "I suppose you
cannot speak Danish?"

Mr. Heatherington shook his head.

"I have a slight knowledge of German," he replied, adding in that
tongue. "My son has told me of how your craft was seized by these
rogues. What is your name, might I ask?"

"Asger Holbaek," announced the Dane, and was about to supplement the
statement when Pedro Mendoza interposed angrily:

"No talking. This is not an occasion for plotting. You are here for a
purpose."

"Precisely," agreed Mr. Heatherington. "You brought us here, I take it,
to give us the information that smallpox has broken out on board, and to
ask my advice as to its treatment. I fancy you are rather late in the
day----"

"It is yet morning," interrupted Mendoza.

"Figure of speech," rejoined Mr. Heatherington coolly. "What I meant to
imply is that you ought to have taken precautions earlier. Anyone with
experience in such matters can see that nine-tenths of the crew,
including yourself, are in the preliminary stages of the disease."

The mutineer captain's face paled to a ghastly grey. He positively
shook. Kenneth's father, realizing that he was able to apply pressure
upon the moral thumb-screws, did so.

"You'll all have it badly," he continued. "I might be able to give good
advice, but at my price."

"And what is that?"

"Liberty----"

Pedro Mendoza made an angry gesture.

"No, no!" he interrupted. "Until you reveal the secret----"

"Which will be of no use to a dead man," rejoined Mr. Heatherington
significantly. "But you did not wait to hear my terms. I demand liberty
of action and speech while on board the vessel, the same to apply to
Captain Holbaek, Captain Gregory, and these two lads."

The Spaniard glanced at the gigantic Dane.

"He is too big; he is dangerous," he objected.

"I am," agreed Asger Holbaek grimly. "I give no promise. Make what terms
you like with this villain," he added, speaking to Mr. Heatherington in
German. "It will be just as well but do not include me in the bargain.
I mean it. You have those two boys to consider."

Mendoza signed to some of the hands to remove the Danish captain.

"I agree," he said, addressing the other captors. "You will not be
molested. You must, however, be locked in a cabin at night. Now, what
precautions ought we to take?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Well, lads, we've gained a respite," observed Mr. Heatherington after
the interview, and the three were alone in one of the state-rooms. "I
played on his fears. He's in a mortal funk about the outbreak of
smallpox."

"But has he taken it?" asked Peter.

"Not to my knowledge," replied Mr. Heatherington. "It was pure bluff on
my part. As likely as not he'll have it. He's that type of person who
would develop an illness simply through thinking about it. At any rate,
he'll be a bit civil until he thinks the danger's past."

"I'm sorry we couldn't work it with Captain Holbaek," said Kenneth.
"He's a proper white man."

"I fancy he's got something up his sleeve," observed Mr. Heatherington.
"They'll probably treat him better in order to keep in with us."

During the next few days the captives had things much their own way.
Whenever they wished, they went on deck. The few simple precautions
that Mr. Heatherington had advised were scrupulously carried out by the
crew, with the result that no fresh case appeared. Mendoza, finding that
the prospect of a devastating epidemic was averted, began to pluck, up
courage and to think out a plan to wrest the secret from his prisoners.

In the small hours of the morning, Kenneth was awakened by a decided
alteration in the revolutions of the propeller. For days and nights past
the _Paloma_ had maintained easy steaming with practically unvarying
speed. Kenneth was in the habit of sleeping soundly, and was thoroughly
accustomed to the monotonous pulsations of the engines. The unusual
variation had the effect of rousing him instantly.

Instinctively his eyes sought the tell-tale compass on the ceiling. The
course was now nor'-west by north, or nine points different from the
course hitherto held by the _Paloma_ since leaving the Bay of Panama.

Slipping out of the bunk, Kenneth went to the open scuttle. It was a
bright starlit night, with no moon. Broad on the port-beam was a long
unbroken line of white water, showing ghost-like in the starlight at a
distance of not less than three-quarters of a mile. A low rumble like
that of far-away thunder greeted the lad's ears. It was the noise of
surf breaking upon the coral reefs.

"Hallo, old son!" exclaimed Peter drowsily. "What's up?"

"You awake too!" rejoined Kenneth.

"Yes, something seemed to wake me," declared young Arkendale. "What's
that noise?"

"Breakers," replied Kenneth. "I fancy they nearly piled the yacht on the
reefs. We've altered course, but goodness only knows why we've slowed
down."

"It's enough to make any vessel slow down," declared Peter, as he caught
sight of the long line of foam.

"But we aren't heading for it now."

"Possibly there are other reefs ahead," suggested Peter. "Well, if they
do put the ship on the rocks, I hope they'll remember to unlock this
door. Hallo! We're altering course again."

Slowly the _Paloma_ turned sixteen points to starboard and retraced her
course. A similar performance took place every half-hour until dawn
paled in the east, revealing a lofty, coco-palm covered island, with a
series of rugged, barren peaks standing out clearly against the growing
light.

"We're putting in there," declared Kenneth. "They were dodging about all
night until it was light enough to see the passage through the reefs.
I'll wake the Pater up and tell him."

When aroused Mr. Heatherington went to the scuttle.

"Now the fun commences, lads," he remarked. "This is Talai."

"I wish they'd unlock the door," said Kenneth. "We can't see much as her
head's pointing just now."

"It's not eight by a long way," Peter reminded him.

The mutineers evidently knew their work, for a man had been sent aloft
to the foremast cross-trees to con the yacht through the channel. The
leadsmen were in the chains, heaving the lead at frequent intervals,
while by the sounds from the fo'c'sle it was obvious to the prisoners
that preparations were being made to stream the buoy and to range the
cable preparatory to letting go the anchor.

Presently the engines stopped. Then, with a rush and a roar, the cable
rattled through the hawsepipe. The _Paloma_, carrying way until she
snubbed at the restraining chain, swung round and rode head to wind in
the shallow lagoon.

"By Jove, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherington in a low voice. "The rogues
are hot! They've brought up within two hundred yards of the black pearl
oyster beds."

Punctually at eight, the cabin door was unlocked, and the captives were
allowed to go on deck before breakfast was served.

Mendoza was on the bridge. He gave Mr. Heatherington a shifty,
triumphant glance, as if to indicate that he was well on his way to the
attainment of his quest. Miguel Fe, leering with excitement, was
standing just abaft the mainmast. Lopez, who had been superintending the
letting go of the anchor, was gazing steadily at the island--an
occupation shared by most of the hands--who by this time had an idea
that Talai was a veritable El Dorado.

Mr. Heatherington and his companions had hardly been on deck more than a
minute before Captain Asger Holbaek, with his wrists still fettered,
appeared, escorted by half a dozen armed mutineers.

The Dane sniffed the air, gave a quick glance in the direction of the
island, and then resumed his progress as if too dejected to take any
interest in his surroundings. One of his guards uttered a gibe in broken
English, but the Dane paid no heed.

Suddenly, when just abreast the mainmast, Captain Holbaek gave his
guards the shock of their lives.

With a quick jerk of his powerful arms he snapped the steel links of the
handcuffs, as if they were made of thread. Turning with the agility of a
whippet the Dane delivered two blows in rapid succession at the men
previously behind him. They crashed like logs to the deck, but before
they had measured their length, Holbaek had swung round and had seized
the foremost pair of Spaniards in a grip of steel. Before they realized
what had happened, they were swung apart and then swung together with
terrific force, their skulls meeting with a sickening thud.

A moment later Asger Holbaek leapt upon the low bulwark and plunged into
the placid waters of the lagoon.




CHAPTER IX

A Dash for Freedom


A howl of rage burst from the Spaniards when they realized the Dane's
desperate attempt to escape. Mendoza rushed to the lee side of the
bridge, and blazed away with the automatic. Those of the crew who had
their firearms handy also opened fire with an erratic and wasteful
expenditure of ammunition.

Asger Holbaek was a magnificent swimmer and diver. He made no immediate
attempt to break surface but swam with long, easy powerful strokes at a
depth of about twenty feet. Although in the marvellously transparent
water every movement of the Danish captain could be clearly discerned,
he was immune from the hail of bullets provided he kept well down.

The surface above and beyond him was churned by the ricochetting nickel.
On and on he swam until Kenneth, anxiously watching his progress, began
to marvel at the Dane's lung capacity. Nearly two minutes from the time
he plunged over the side Holbaek came to the surface at a distance of
about eighty yards from the anchored yacht. At that distance it was out
of the question to aim with any degree of accuracy, yet the infuriated
mutineers kept up the fusillade, feverishly reloading and emptying their
weapons at the fugitive.

All around the swimmer's head the water was torn by bullets. To Kenneth
it seemed impossible for all the missiles to miss their objective.

"He's hit!" exclaimed the lad involuntarily, as Holbaek slipped beneath
the surface; but the next instant Kenneth saw that the swimmer was still
going strongly, although, owing to the oblique angle of the spectators'
vision it was now no longer possible to obtain a clear view of his
movements.

The firing died away, the Spaniards waiting for the head of the swimmer
to reappear above the surface. The mutineers jabbered and gesticulated.
Above the babel Mendoza's voice could be heard shouting for someone to
bring him a rifle and ammunition. In the turmoil no one seemed to obey.

Again the blonde hair of the Dane appeared above the surface. The
fusillade broke out once more, the bullets flying wide of their mark.
This time, realizing that he had put a fairly safe distance between him
and his enemies, Holbaek showed no great haste to dive. When he did he
kept only a few feet below the surface.

The mutineers ceased fire. Mendoza, having been baulked in his wish to
obtain a rifle, was about to utter a string of maledictions when he
suddenly gave a shout of fiendish exultation. From his elevated post on
the bridge his keen eyes caught sight of a vee-shaped ripple on the
water, the apex of the vee terminating in a dark triangular object--the
dorsal of an enormous shark.

The tiger of the deep had marked its intended prey.

Asger Holbaek was now on the surface swimming strongly with a powerful
overhand stroke. He was still two hundred yards from the sandy beach.
Whether he saw his ferocious pursuer or not remained an unanswered
problem. If he did he gave no sign. He neither quickened his pace nor
looked behind him but maintained his easy yet sturdy strokes.

Kenneth wanted to shout a warning, but no cry came from his lips. His
throat was as dry as a lime-kiln. He could not utter a sound. He could
only watch with an unaccountable fascination the preliminaries to what
would appear to be a ghastly drama.

A strange silence fell upon the hitherto noisy mutineers. They, too,
expected to see the Dane seized by the enormous maw of the shark.

The brute was now within half a dozen yards of the swimmer. It began to
turn on its back, to make the best use of its triple row of teeth.
Asger Holbaek disappeared. So did the shark. There was a violent
upheaval of foam--foam tinged with blood.

Twenty yards from the centre of the agitated patch of water, the Dane's
head reappeared. He had boldly attacked the shark, using as a weapon one
of the jagged ends of the broken chains that were still secured to his
wrists. The shark, bleeding profusely from a deep gash nearly thirty
inches in length, was in no mind to persist in its endeavours to seize
such a formidable prey. It disappeared, leaving a trail of oil and blood
to mark its flight.

The Dane was now in shallow water. Finding his feet he waded shorewards,
ponderously, slowly, majestically, until he gained the edge of the
glistening sands. Then for the first time during his dash for freedom he
turned and looked in the direction of the _Paloma_, and then resumed his
way towards the coco-palms.

Suddenly the undergrowth appeared to be alive with practically naked
nut-brown natives. Thirty or forty of them rushed towards the white man,
but whether with demonstrations of friendship or hostility, Kenneth
could not determine. Half-way across the stretch of beach Holbaek held
up his hand. The natives gave vent to shouts of welcome, and surrounded
by a body-guard of exuberant islanders the Dane disappeared from sight
behind the dense scrub.

Almost at the same moment, Lopez, standing on the fo'c'sle gave a shout
to attract Mendoza's attention and pointed dead ahead. The lagoon was
dotted with the heads of swimmers. Taking full advantage of the
diversion caused by their captain's successful dash for liberty, the
Kanaka crew of the _Svend_ had slipped quickly over the off-shore side
of the _Paloma_. With praiseworthy discretion they did not make a direct
line for the island, but swam parallel to the beach until they were out
of pistol-range. Then, and only then, did they change direction and head
for the island.

Wild with rage at the Dane's escape, Mendoza went almost mad with anger
at the wholesale desertion of the Kanakas. He had set great store by the
native crew of the _Svend_. They would have been invaluable when the
time came for diving operations to secure the greatly desired black
pearls. So docile had they been during their stay on board the _Paloma_,
that Mendoza and the other mutineers never had any doubts regarding the
willingness of the Kanakas to do their bidding.

The mutineer captain shouted an order. Men rushed to the after side of
the boiler-casing, fumbled with and wrenched at levers. Down dropped a
large portion of the steelwork, revealing a 75 centimetre quick-firing
gun with mounting complete, together with a rack containing fifty rounds
of light armour-piercing shell.

The secret of the boiler-casing--an attempt to probe which had been
responsible for the premature outbreak of the mutiny--was revealed. The
_Paloma_, although classed as a private yacht, was an armed buccaneering
craft. Her absent owner, Count Cristoval Xarifa, was doubtless fully
acquainted with the fact that the vessel was armed, and had chartered
the craft with her original crew, mainly with the idea of kidnapping her
charterer, who, judging by the sum he was able to afford for the
charter, would be at least a moderately wealthy man.

In point of fact Xarifa, although a titled grandee, dared not show his
face in Spain. He had been implicated in an anarchist plot at Barcelona.
Financially at a low ebb, he had been an active partner in the "Spanish
Prisoner" swindle, until the credulity and cupidity of his intended
victims had been countered by a well-organized Press campaign in almost
every civilized country on the face of the globe. His next "stunt" was
to pose as a patriot, and to raise a sum of money to purchase and equip
a war-vessel to assist in the war against the Riffs. He obtained the
money, bought the vessel--the _Paloma_--and promptly left Spain for
good. The engagement of an English skipper was part of the game of
bluff; while Count Xarifa, although he professed his willingness to
charter his craft for pleasure-cruising anywhere, took good care to
instruct his agents to decline all offers until he received one that
would mean sailing the _Paloma_ to the Pacific. He had particular
reasons for choosing the Pacific for the furtherance of his cunning and
desperate scheme.

Even in his fury Mendoza had the sense to realize the futility of firing
shell at a few wretched Kanakas swimming across a lagoon. He ordered the
quick-firer to be loaded and trained on the beach. Then he waited.

The Kanakas were now making straight for the spot where Captain Asger
Holbaek had landed. No sharks appeared to attempt to seize the swimmers,
possibly because the fugitives were now making a tremendous splash and
shouting at the top of their voices. Could Mendoza and his men but
understand the native song they would not have felt flattered, for the
Kanakas were shouting an impromptu doggerel in which they ridiculed the
Spaniards for the way in which they had been utterly fooled.

Hurrying to the bridge Miguel Fe went up to Mendoza, spoke rapidly in a
low voice, and pointed first to Mr. Heatherington and his companions and
then to the gun.

The mutineer captain shrugged his shoulders--a gesture that indicated he
had "let the cat out of the bag". Then, having watched the Kanakas gain
the beach and disappear in the scrub, Mendoza gave orders for the gun to
be secured and the screens placed in position.

He realized that in the case of the _Svend_ and her captain he had cut
rather a sorry figure.




CHAPTER X

Miguel Fe's Offer


"Smart chap that Captain Holbaek," remarked Kenneth, when the two chums
regained the seclusion of their cabin. "But, by Jove! I had the wind up
when that shark went for him."

"I missed that part," observed Peter.

"What?" exclaimed Kenneth. "You didn't see the Dane tackle the shark?
What were you doing then?"

"I was busy."

"About what?" persisted his chum.

Just then Mr. Heatherington rejoined the two lads. Kenneth, unable to
account for his chum failing to witness the conflict between the man and
the shark, turned to his father.

"Fancy Peter not seeing it," he said. "He told me he was busy."

"So I was," reasserted his chum. "While almost everyone on board had his
attention fixed, I took the opportunity of pinching this."

He held up a small but powerful six-chambered revolver and a packet
containing twenty-five cartridges.

"Then take care Mendoza doesn't find the thing on you," said Mr.
Heatherington. "Where did you find it?"

"It belonged to one of the men who were floored by Captain Holbaek,"
replied Peter. "Judging by the state of the fellow's head I don't think
he'll require a revolver again--unless the use of firearms is permitted
in the infernal regions. I would have bagged two more only I thought
they would be sure to be missed. One might not. 'Tany rate, I hope it
won't. I say, that quick-firer in the boiler-casing looks a bit fishy,
doesn't it?"

"It does," agreed Mr. Heatherington. "And it's rather remarkable that
Gregory didn't twig it, when he was in command of the vessel. He smelt a
rat when it was too late."

"After we had put him on to it," added Kenneth.

"In any case they meant to seize the vessel," said Mr. Heatherington.
"Up to now I felt inclined to treat the business lightly. I thought that
Mendoza was a bit of a ruffian--in fact I still think so--but that he
was only bluffing to try and wrest the secret of the black pearls from
us. Now I'm inclined to think that he's not only a ruffian but a
black-hearted villain with some desperate purpose in view. He's as mad
as anything over Holbaek's escape, and in all probability he'll vent his
anger on us."

Further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the steward.

"Bad news, seores," announced the man. "Jos Nundico died half an hour
ago."

"I rather expected that he would," said Mr. Heatherington. "You might
tell Seor Mendoza from me that it would be advisable to dispose of the
body as soon as possible, and burn everything that it has come in
contact with. All that part of the ship should be sealed up and
disinfected with burning sulphur."

"I will tell him that, seor," replied the steward, "but I hope that he
will not entrust me with the task."

Luncheon was barely over when Miguel Fe entered the cabin.

"Mendoza has gone off in one of the boats to locate the oyster beds," he
declared. "Perhaps, seores, you would care to watch the operations from
the bridge? There are good marine-glasses available."

"We will do so," replied Mr. Heatherington.

"Of course, he will not find the spot," continued Miguel Fe
insinuatingly. "Come now, seor. Tell me the secret, and, while Mendoza
is away, I will have you all sent ashore in one of the boats. You will
be safe with the giant Dane. Afterwards I will return with some trusted
men--Mendoza and Lopez will not be of the party--fish up the black
pearls and take you back to either Panama or Callao, where the treasure
will be faithfully divided. Is not that a fair proposition?"

Mr. Heatherington gave no indication of agreeing to the proposal, but
looked the Spaniard full in the face.

Miguel Fe shifted his feet uneasily.

"Come, seor, it is a generous offer," he said wheedlingly.

Without a word of warning the Englishman sprang at the double-faced
rascal, and pinned his arms to his side before Miguel had time to grasp
either the hilt of his knife or the butt of his revolver.

"Cover him, Peter!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherington.

Peter Arkendale needed no second bidding. In a trice the muzzle of his
revolver was pointed straight at the centre of the Spaniard's forehead.
For a moment Mr. Heatherington wondered whether in his excitement the
lad would press the hair-trigger; but Peter kept a cool head and a
steady trigger-finger.

"Now, then," continued Mr. Heatherington sternly. "You made your offer.
I will make mine, but I'm afraid there'll be no option on your part.
You'll accept it without question. You will accompany us to the bridge.
There you will give orders to the remainder of the crew to weigh and
proceed. If there's no time to weigh, then the cable must be slipped. If
there's sufficient coal to take the _Paloma_ to Panama, to Panama we
will go. If not, we'll signal the first vessel we meet and get her
either to give us a tow or wireless for a tug. If you can prove that you
are not one of Mendoza's crowd, and that force of circumstances brought
you into this unsavoury business I'll pay you the sum of five hundred
pounds, but, remember, the treasure will not be divided under any
conditions--at least between you and me. Is that clear?"

"It is, seor," replied Miguel Fe.

"Skip across and warn Captain Gregory, Kenneth," said his father. "We
can't leave him down here if the rest of the mutineers give trouble.
We'll win through yet."

When Gregory joined the party Mr. Heatherington, who meanwhile had taken
possession of Miguel's revolver and knife, gave orders for the Spaniard
to lead the way.

"Seor, I have a bad head," expostulated Miguel, when they reached the
foot of the companion-ladder.

"No need to tell me that," rejoined Mr. Heatherington. "Lead on."

"I feel faint," declared the Spaniard, and by the look on his face, it
seemed as if the man was really on the verge of a collapse.

"Faint when you reach the bridge," said the Englishman bluntly. "There's
plenty of fresh air up there to revive you."

Miguel did not fall in with the suggestion. Instead, he promptly
collapsed, foaming at the mouth.

"Confound the fellow!" ejaculated Mr. Heatherington. "Bear a hand,
Kenneth; we'll carry him up."

Thrusting the revolver into Captain Gregory's hands, for the skipper's
wound prevented him lifting any heavy weight, Mr. Heatherington gripped
the Spaniard under the arms while Kenneth took hold of his legs.

It was now an awkward predicament. There were several of the hands on
deck. Had Miguel been all right they would have had no suspicions, but
since the man had to be carried there were good grounds for interference
on the part of the mutineers.

Yet as the little band moved for'ard towards the foot of the
bridge-ladder the men did not appear to take any heed of the unconscious
second in command--a fact that struck the Englishmen as being decidedly
ominous.

"Be on you guard, Gregory!" whispered Mr. Heatherington warningly.

Before Gregory could as much as nod in acquiescence there was a sudden
rush of mutineers from fore and aft. Peter raised his revolver. It was
knocked out of his hand. Mr. Heatherington and Kenneth, dropping their
burden, turned to face the nearmost of their assailants. As they did so,
Miguel Fe, abandoning his well-simulated ruse, gripped Mr.
Heatherington by the ankles. The Englishman stumbled, capsizing Gregory
as he did so.

Twenty seconds later the four were seized and secured. Facing them stood
Pedro Mendoza with a leer of fiendish satisfaction on his oily features.
Instead of being away in the boat, as Miguel Fe had declared, Mendoza
had schemed to lure his captives into a trap--and he had succeeded.




CHAPTER XI

The Ambush on the Shore


Too late Heatherington and his companions in misfortune realized that
they had been played with like a mouse in the claws of a cat. They had
staked their all on the chance that Mendoza and Miguel Fe were
antagonists--each trying to best the other and at the same time
pretending to be loyal comrades in villainy. Actually Miguel's proposals
were the direct result of an understanding between him and his superior
officer. Mendoza had not gone off in the boat. He had been hiding,
waiting for Miguel Fe either to announce that he had cajoled the
Englishman into revealing the secret bed of the black pearl oysters, or
failing that to incite the prisoners into an act that in Mendoza's
estimation would justify him in proceeding to extreme measures.

Since it was no longer necessary for him to play the part of Mendoza's
rival, Miguel Fe ranged up alongside of his chief.

"He offered me a thousand pounds in English money to take the _Paloma_
to Panama," reported Miguel. "You, Pedro, were to be left in the boat at
the mercy of the natives of Talai, to say nothing of the wrath of the
Dane, Holbaek."

"I'll have a great deal more than a thousand pounds out of him before
I've finished with him," declared Mendoza. "And as for Holbaek, I'll
have him in my power before the setting of to-day's sun. We'll have
those pearls even if we have to search every inch of the bed of the
lagoon. Now, Miguel, I'm going off with the boats to search for the
Dane. I'll take one of those English youths with me as a hostage for
Heatherington's good behaviour. The other youth you'll keep on deck. For
the present Heatherington and Gregory will be kept close prisoners. I'll
scare Heatherington into revealing the secret before many hours have
passed. You know what to do while I am away."

Miguel Fe nodded significantly.

Armed men seized Mr. Heatherington and Captain Gregory and led them aft.
Kenneth and Peter attempted to go with them, but were sternly ordered to
remain.

"Now, you young whelps," exclaimed Mendoza in broken English. "You will
do as you are told. If you refuse you will suffer for it--not you only
but the other prisoners as well. You"--indicating Kenneth--"will go with
the landing-party in the boats. Your friend will remain under the care
of Teniente Miguel Fe. If one of you gives trouble he will be punished
and his friend as well. Is that clear to you?"

Kenneth and Peter gave a grudging assent. Being separated was a
contingency that they had not hitherto taken into consideration. It was
useless to kick or even to protest. All they could do was to "knuckle
under" and bide their time when a favourable opportunity of
circumventing the mutineers presented itself.

Already three boats had been hoisted out, one a "twenty-foot"
motor-launch, which was to take the two whalers in tow. Into the launch
went Mendoza, taking Kenneth with him. Lopez was in command of the first
whaler, the second being in charge of the bos'n. With the exception of
Kenneth everyone was armed to the teeth.

Mendoza's intention was not to seek for the pearl bed at present, but to
recapture Asger Holbaek. He realized that with the Dane at large, there
would be an important witness against him should his plans go awry. It
was also essential that the Kanakas should be brought on board again,
not only because they might inform a warship of the _Paloma's_ piratical
acts but they were necessary in their capacity as divers. None of the
Spanish crew, although for the most part expert swimmers, could vie with
the South Sea Islanders in keeping long enough under water to bring the
oysters to the surface. More than once Mendoza regretted that he had not
the foresight to purchase diving dresses before leaving Panama. Had he
done so he would have been independent of Kanaka labour, and the reasons
that prompted him to seize and scuttle the _Svend_ would not have
existed.

Slowly the motor-launch and her tow approached the sandy beach, the men
ready at the first alarm to open fire upon any of the natives who might
resist their landing.

Not a man was visible, which was an ominous sign. Usually the natives,
either through irresistible curiosity, or with a desire to barter with
the crew of any visiting ship, would crowd down to the beach and even
swim off to welcome the arrivals.

Mendoza argued that there must be a village somewhere on the island.
This he meant to seize and, under threat of burning it to the ground,
compel the natives of Talai to give up the Kanakas and their white
leader. Overhearing scraps of conversation between Mr. Heatherington and
Captain Gregory before the mutiny had occurred, he had learnt that the
inhabitants of the island were inoffensive and good-tempered natives,
and not likely to give any trouble unless they were allowed on board--in
which case they would pilfer any article of value or otherwise which
took their fancy.

The motor-launch grounded on the sand about her own length from the
beach. The whalers, being of less draught, overran their tow and brought
up within leaping distance of the dry sand, with their sterns close to
the bows of the launch, thus forming a convenient double gangway for the
crew of the latter to jump ashore dry-shod.

Quite in ignorance of the nature of the operations--for he was under the
impression that Mendoza was going to undertake preliminary soundings in
an attempt to locate the pearl-beds--Kenneth was about to land with the
others, when the mutineer captain ordered him to remain in the launch
with the two boat-keepers. One man was also left in each whaler to keep
her stern-on to the slight swell.

Confident that he had an easy task, Mendoza led his landing-party along
the beach to a gap in the undergrowth, the seaward termination of a
foot-path leading to the village.

Suddenly a drum boomed out a threatening note. Almost simultaneously the
scrub seemed to be alive with brown figures. Stones and arrows hurtling
through the air.

Had the natives followed the advice of their white guest, Asger Holbaek,
they would have waited in ambush until Mendoza and his men were
helplessly entangled in the scrub and coco-groves; but discipline was
not the islanders' strong point. Having got the "black-birders" within
range of their missiles, they could not refrain from opening a premature
offensive.

Nevertheless Mendoza and his followers were in a tight corner. Three or
four dropped badly wounded. Almost all the others were hit by stones. In
the confusion that resulted the Spaniards let fly an erratic and
ineffectual volley of small-arms, which did little more than check an
impetuous charge by their assailants.

Mendoza, dazed by a stone that had inflicted a glancing blow on his
temple, turned and staggered back to the boats. Lopez promptly followed
his example. Those of the landing-party who possessed any degree of
pluck stood their ground, blazing away with their revolvers, while their
wounded comrades made good their escape. Then, their courage deserting
them, the remaining Spaniards took to their heels.

A swarm of natives rushed in pursuit, brandishing spears and clubs, the
latter being formidable weapons of hard green wood. It looked as if the
fleet-footed islanders would overtake and brain their assailants before
the latter could cover the distance between them and the boats.

Kenneth found himself wondering what would happen to him. It certainly
seemed rough luck to be brained by a native under the impression that he
was a foe. He could see no signs of Holbaek and the Kanakas in the
irregular ranks of the defenders of Talai. Had they been present they
might have recognized him, and saved him from the vengeance of the
natives, who, after all, could not be blamed for treating every
occupant of the boats as an enemy.

"Push off!" shouted Mendoza frantically, as he tumbled over the bows of
the whaler. The boat-keepers tried to carry out the order, but already
so many fugitives were crowding over the bows that both whalers remained
immovable. The mechanic in charge of the launch fumbled feverishly with
the starting handle, but the engine obstinately refused to fire.
Europeans and natives, the former discharging their fire-arms at
point-blank range, the latter clubbing and thrusting with their spears,
surged and jostled in a confused mle.

So far the motor-launch, being wedged between the whalers and farther
from the shore, had come off lightly. The mechanic, green with terror,
was feebly fumbling with starting handle and controls, his efforts being
still further impeded by Mendoza's frantic entreaties to get the motor
running.

A burly Spaniard leapt from the stern of one of the whalers into the
launch. As he did so a spear transfixed his back. He fell forward,
hurling Kenneth upon the stern-gratings. Winded by the blow the lad
remained pinned down by the Spaniard's ponderous and inert bulk, fully
expecting to find himself the victim of the club and spears of the now
thoroughly infuriated natives.

Suddenly above the turmoil of the hand-to-hand struggle came the crash
of a shell. Another and another, splinters of shrapnel flying
perilously close to the cluster of boats.

Miguel Fe, watching the rout of his comrades, had opened fire with the
_Paloma's_ gun.

The rapid shell-fire turned the scale. Although the missiles burst at a
considerable distance in the rear of the defenders of Talai, the natives
were terrified by the deafening crashes. To them shell-fire had been
hitherto unknown. It savoured of the super-natural.

They broke off the fight and ran helter-skelter for the undergrowth,
where the devastating shells took a heavy toll.

Lopez was amongst the first to grasp the new phase of the situation.
Mendoza, for the moment, was incapable of doing anything except to urge
the mechanic to start the motor. Most of the survivors of the
landing-party, all wounded more or less seriously, sat breathlessly in
the boats. The _Paloma_ still continued to shell the undergrowth,
increasing the range in order to keep the fugitives within the danger
zone of the flying shrapnel.

"Trim the boats!" ordered Lopez. "Get aft, you men. She'll float off
easily if you do. Juan and Leon," he added, addressing two of the hands
who had come through the conflict almost unscathed, "jump ashore and
bring off a wounded savage--one not too badly wounded. Do you hear what
I say? Then hasten."




CHAPTER XII

Lopez's Plan for Reprisals


Mendoza was too bewildered to question his subordinate's orders to bring
off one of the wounded natives. For the present he was trying to realize
that he had escaped from the ambush, and that he had come off
considerably more lightly than had the rest of the landing-party. He had
received only a few contusions, but the moral shock had given him a
nasty jar. Not only had he failed signally to achieve his purpose of
recapturing Captain Holbaek and the Kanaka crew of the _Svend_; he had a
fair proportion of his crew temporarily incapacitated through wounds
received in a fight that was nothing less than a gross error of judgment
on his part.

Meanwhile, the launch's engine had been started. The mechanic, ignoring
Mendoza's frantic appeals to back, kept the reverse gear in the neutral
position, thus enabling the whaler on her starboard side to remain with
her forefoot grounding on the sand.

The two hands told off by Lopez jumped ashore, and made their way to the
spot where one of the _Paloma's_ shells had burst with devastating
results. It took them some time to make their selection, for those of
the natives who were able to drag themselves away had done so. Those who
were unable to do so were for the most part too badly wounded to be of
use.

Finally the two mutineers discovered a native whose injuries consisted
of a badly lacerated leg, portions of shrapnel having torn the tendons
and prevented him from making good his escape.

There was no consideration for their prisoner on the part of his
captors. They dragged him by his arms down to the boats. The jolting
must have given him excruciating pain, but the native preserved a
stoical demeanour and hardly a groan escaped from him.

"He'll do," commanded Lopez, giving the prisoner a casual glance.
"Secure his arms in case he gives trouble, and drop him on the bottom
boards. All ready? Easy astern, then."

The motor-launch backed away from the beach, towing the whalers with
their complement of groaning, cursing and dejected mutineers. It was not
until the boats were nearly alongside the _Paloma_ that Mendoza showed
signs of reasserting his authority.

"Hoist up and turn-in the boats, Miguel," he ordered addressing his
second in command. "We'll wait until to-morrow before we start and
search for the pearls."

"Will it be safe to do so with the natives hostile to us?" asked Miguel
Fe. "The quick-firer filled them with terror; but that won't prevent
them interfering with the diving operations if they've sense enough to
avoid crowding together in the open. Besides, where are our native
divers? That is not one, I hope?"

Mendoza glanced in the direction of Miguel Fe's outstretched arm, and
noticed for the first time with any degree of comprehension the wounded
islander.

"No, sir," replied Lopez.

"Then why have you brought him off to the ship?" demanded the mutineer
captain.

"I have a plan," was the reply. "If we can discuss it between
ourselves--you, Miguel, and me--I think it ought to settle the problem
of how to settle with the natives. Then we can get to work with the
pearls without being interrupted."

In the captain's cabin, Lopez unfolded his scheme. He began by pointing
out that up to the present all attempts to gain possession of the secret
of the pearl beds were fruitless. Heatherington had refused either to be
frightened or to be cajoled into revealing the position of the beds;
they could not search for them without native divers; even if any were
available, there would be considerable risk of attack on the part of the
inhabitants of Talai, especially as they appeared to be guided by the
gigantic Dane, Holbaek. Meanwhile, Lopez pointed out, the crew of the
_Paloma_ were becoming discouraged. They had not bargained for wounds
and disappointments. They had anticipated a sort of get-rich-quick
business, with very little risk and every chance of making good their
escape. And coal was running short. Unless the _Paloma_ could rebunker
within the next few days she would be useless to remove the treasure
even if it were located.

Mendoza and Miguel Fe reluctantly admitted the truth of Lopez's
assertions.

"But what, then, is your plan?" asked Mendoza. "What has the wounded
native to do with it?"

Lopez hesitated. An unscrupulous young villain, even he had his doubts
as to how his superior officer would regard his suggestion.

"I am waiting," said Mendoza.

"Seor, Jos Nundico is dead," announced Lopez.

"That I know," rejoined the mutineer captain with a shudder, "and I have
no wish to be reminded of it. Also I fail to see what connection there
is between Nundico and the wounded savage."

"It is proposed to throw the corpse of Jos Nundico overboard,"
continued Lopez. "My suggestion is that the body be placed in the dory
we took from the _Svend_ and that the native be sent away to bear the
corpse of Jos company. The savage will to a certainty make for the
shore; the Kanakas will recognize the dory and run to take possession of
it. You know how smallpox decimates the South Sea Islanders. In a
month's time Talai will be deserted. Those of the inhabitants who have
not succumbed to the disease will have taken to their canoes, and made
for one of the islands to the west'ard. Then we shall have an
uninterrupted opportunity to search for the pearls."

"But what will happen to us, with Talai teeming with smallpox?" asked
Mendoza dubiously.

He had not the faintest hesitation to put Lopez's scheme into execution,
but for the possible consequences that might with poetic justice recoil
on him.

"There will be no risk--or at least not so much as we are running at
present with a bad case of the disease on board," replied Lopez. "We
need not land: we can conduct all our operations from the boats and give
the beach a wide berth."

"That's all very well," interposed Miguel Fe, who had hitherto been a
silent listener to the conversation, "but what are we to do during the
month's wait? The men will be out of hand; we're short of fuel, and
unless we are uncommonly fortunate we are not likely to obtain any.
Isn't that so, Capitn Mendoza?"

The Spaniard addressed nodded moodily.

"There's no reason why we shouldn't help ourselves from any vessel we
fall in with," resumed Lopez. "I know of an island less than eighty
miles to the south-east--we can make it easily with the coal still in
our bunkers--where we can be as snug as you please. It's an ideal
hiding-place. No vessel would dream of approaching it, because of the
reefs and the barren aspect of the island. I was there some years ago,
when I was serving on board a Chilean collier."

"I thought you said no vessel would risk making the island?" interrupted
Miguel Fe, eagerly seizing at the chance to catch his rival tripping.

"Yes, but you see we were on special charter," explained Lopez. "We were
taking a cargo of coal to the island to rebunker the German cruisers
from Kiau-Chau. We waited there a week or more but they didn't arrive.
Afterwards we learnt that they were in danger of being trapped by a
Japanese squadron; they went south and round the Horn, and were finally
destroyed by the British off the Falklands."

"So you took the coal back," remarked Mendoza.

"No, Seor Capitn, we did not," declared Lopez. "Our instructions were
to remain there for a definite period. If, at the end of that time, the
German cruisers did not appear, the cargo was to be sent ashore to await
their coming. We landed it in the ship's boats and by means of
rafts--and a horrible, back-breaking job it was, I well remember."

"And the coal should still be there?" asked Mendoza.

"It should be," replied Lopez.

"You know the approach?"

"I could take the _Paloma_ in with safety," asserted Lopez confidently.
"She draws one and a half fathoms less than the _Monoz_ when carrying a
full cargo of coal."

"Good!" commented Mendoza. "Fetch me the chart, Miguel. What is the name
of the island?"

By this time Mendoza's mercurial temperament had risen from zero to
blood-heat. Already his lively imagination was figuratively sweeping him
off his feet.

"The island is named Boya, Seor Capitn."

"Then," declared Mendoza, striking an attitude, "behold us--the
Buccaneers of Boya!"

The hands--or rather those who were not kept to their hammocks by reason
of their wounds, received in the encounter with the natives of
Talai--were thereupon mustered on deck. Mendoza, supported by Miguel Fe
and Lopez, harangued them, outlining in rosy terms a scheme whereby they
could enrich themselves and have plenty of adventure until the
unavoidable delay in the search for the black pearl beds became a thing
of the past.

The mutineers hailed the proposal with acclamation and gestures of
assent. Given a guarantee that Mendoza would attempt no piratical act
against a vessel likely to turn the tables on them, they were only too
keen to try their hand at buccaneering. The audacity of the business was
a factor in its favour. They were determined and unscrupulous ruffians
who would knife a man through sheer wantonness, or make him walk the
plank just to afford themselves a little amusement. Provided their
sinister, cowardly work was performed in a neat and effectual manner,
and care was taken completely to cover their tracks, they could raise
Cain in the Pacific for a couple of months, and then disappear from the
High Seas before suspicion was aroused on the part of the maritime
powers on account of ships failing to reach their destined ports.

As soon as the muster was dismissed, steps were taken to put the first
part of Lopez's plan into execution. This time no protests came from the
mutineers against the disposal of the dory. The boat was man-handled
from 'tween decks and placed on the starboard side ready to be hoisted
out. Two of the hands, clad in loose garments saturated with strong
disinfectants--their appearance resembling that of the "familiars" of
the Holy Inquisition--brought the corpse of Jos Nundico from below, and
dumped it into the boat with more caution than ceremony.

The wounded native was then told by means of signs that he was at
liberty to go ashore. His idea of how to do so differed vastly from
Mendoza and Co.'s plans; for in spite of his badly injured leg he made
preparations to dive overboard and swim to the beach.

"That will not do!" exclaimed Lopez. "Pass a chain round the savage's
sound ankle and shackle it to the thwart."

The native submitted to the treatment without protest. Outwardly his
features were calm and expressionless. Apparently he had not the
slightest notion of the risk he was running by being in almost actual
contact with the dory's gruesome cargo.

As soon as the boat was afloat the painter was cast off, and the native
told to make for the island. Using one of the oars as a paddle, he made
good progress against the light off-shore breeze until the dory was
about a hundred yards from the yacht. Then, without any apparent effort
he slipped his foot from the securing chain and dived into the water.
The dory, with the corpse of Jos Nundico rolling sluggishly with every
movement of the boat, began to drift seawards.

"Let us hope the savage will carry the infection," quoth Lopez.

"The salt water will act as an antidote," declared Miguel Fe, who never
lost an opportunity to be-little his immediate subordinate's remarks.
"What say you, Capitn Mendoza?"

Mendoza shrugged his shoulders, strode to the foreside of the bridge and
shouted for steam to be brought to the capstan.

Ten minutes later the stockless anchor, its flukes glistening with
particles of pulverized coral, was weighed and secured. The _Paloma_,
gathering way, glided through the gap in the reef and settled on her
course for the island of Boya.




CHAPTER XIII

The Reefs of Boya


"Do you think they've chucked the idea of finding the pearls?" asked
Peter.

Kenneth shook his head.

"Can't say, old son," he replied. "These dagoes are too deep for me. You
never know what infernal schemes they have up their sleeves, so to
speak. I don't suppose they are taking the _Paloma_ out for a joy-ride
and are putting back to Talai to-night. Perhaps Mendoza's got the wind
up over that scrap ashore. It put the wind up me, too, you take my word
for it! I thought I was done for when the natives started to rush the
boats."

"And the sight made me feel a bit queer," admitted Peter. "Of course, I
wouldn't have worried the faintest little bit if all the mob of
mutineers had been done in, but for the fact that you were there. In
fact I was jolly glad when old Miguel Fe gave orders for the gun to open
fire, even though it meant death to dozens of the islanders. It saved
the situation--and you."

The chums were yarning on the fo'c'sle. Two hours had elapsed from the
time the _Paloma_ weighed anchor, and they were still ignorant of her
destination. One thing, however, was clear enough. They were being
treated with scant consideration. The sort of pact between Mr.
Heatherington and Mendoza was evidently dissolved, for the former was
kept under lock and key in one of the cabins, and the two chums were not
allowed to rejoin him.

"You will work, see?" exclaimed Mendoza, addressing the lads in broken
English. "You will take your turn at performing whatever duties you are
called upon to do. If you refuse--then no food."

"Unfortunately we aren't cut out for hunger-strikers," remarked Kenneth
to his chum. "Mendoza's got us cold on that stunt."

"Strikes me the blighter's got to wind'ard of us," observed Peter
moodily, after the mutineer captain had delivered his ultimatum. "If
your Pater kicks, Mendoza takes it out of us. If we kick he docks our
grub. What's to be done?"

"Knuckle under and don't give trouble," counselled Kenneth. "We must
wait our opportunity: it will come, sure enough. When it does then we
must seize it with both hands."

"I'd rather seize that oily swab," muttered Peter wrathfully.

"Same thing," rejoined Kenneth.

"What's that fellow doing?" inquired Peter, pointing to one of the crew,
who was ascending the bridge-ladder with four lifebuoys under his arm.

The sailor took his burden to his skipper. Mendoza bent over the buoys.
The canvas screen prevented the lads from seeing what he was doing, but
they guessed--and guessed rightly--that he was writing something on the
buoys.

At intervals he handed one of the lifebuoys to the seaman who promptly
heaved it overboard. When the four were thus disposed of a party of men
swung out one of the whalers, which had had her gunwale badly damaged
during the fight on the beach. The boat was then lowered bows foremost,
so that she promptly filled. She was then cut adrift and was left
rolling sluggishly in the _Paloma's_ wake, and kept from sinking only by
her copper air-tanks.

The yacht herself was then subjected to drastic alterations. Her name
was painted out, and a fictitious one substituted. Her whole upperworks
were painted a dull grey, her buff funnel became red with a black top.
Her topmasts were struck and secured to the lowermasts, so that the
whole resembled a pair of stumpy masts with the characteristic derrick
of a tramp steamer. Finally the hull was partly covered with squares of
red-lead to give the impression that the ship had left port hurriedly
before she could be properly painted.

It was Mendoza's idea of covering his tracks. The lifebuoys and the
whaler all bore the name "_Paloma_--Barcelona". In due course some of
them might be sighted by a passing vessel and duly reported. What the
inference would be, he knew--the _Paloma_ would be posted as overdue and
missing.

The task of transforming the yacht was hardly completed when land was
sighted dead ahead--a single, uninviting, cone-shaped peak rising above
the horizon. As the _Paloma_ closed with the island its aspect became
more and more forbidding. North-east and sou'-west of the highest peak
rose others of a subsidiary nature, each being about four hundred feet
high, or two hundred less than that of the culminating point. Except on
the lower slopes and fringing the water's edge the island was destitute
of verdure. The hills were undoubtedly of volcanic agency and of no
remote date, judging by the size of the few coco-palms in evidence. At
distances varying from one to three miles jagged reefs--partly volcanic,
partly of coral--showed like sharks' teeth, just above the surface,
their seaward fringes thrashed by the ceaseless surf of the Pacific
rollers. Viewed from the offing there appeared to be no clear entrance
whatsoever, the milk-white foam extending in an unbroken line between
the extreme visible points of the shoals.

This was Boya--the one-time secret coaling base of the German Pacific
Squadron. To a stranger and indeed to those acquainted with that part
of the Pacific it presented no attractions. Apart from the menace of the
reefs there was nothing on the island to merit the attention of
traders--not even coco-palms in sufficient quantities to provide a
remunerative cargo of copra for a small schooner.

The island of Boya bore a sinister reputation, for on three occasions
during the present century pearling vessels embayed during a sudden
hurricane were smashed to matchboard in a few minutes with the total
loss of their crews.

Amongst the Kanakas there was a firm belief that the island was
inhabited by the _manes_ of departed evil-doers--a belief that added to
the reluctance of trading vessels, partly manned by natives, to risk the
intricate passage through the reefs.

"Surely the mutineers aren't making for that dismal, one-eyed show!"
remarked Peter.

"Looks like it," rejoined his chum. "Though why, I haven't an earthly.
Some new form of villainy, I guess. They've done with the black pearls,
so they are trying another wheeze."

"Making up on the swings what they lose on the roundabouts, eh?"
exclaimed Arkendale. "Well, it strikes me, old son, that you and I will
have to swim for it if she holds on this course much longer--and a
precious poor chance we'll stand in that broken water."

On the bridge, Mendoza was anxiously studying the expanse of reefs
through a pair of powerful marine-glasses. At frequent intervals he
lowered the binoculars and addressed a string of feverish questions to
Lopez, who, confident enough as the _Paloma_ raised the island, was
beginning to feel "rattled" by the nervous demeanour of his superior
officer.

"Have you picked up the leading-marks yet?" demanded Mendoza for the
twentieth time. "What if they have been removed?"

"If they have been we're doomed, unless we retrace our course," replied
Lopez, adding with thinly-veiled sarcasm, "though it is hardly to be
expected that anyone would go to the trouble to remove a fifty-ton
boulder just for the pleasure of piling us upon the reefs."

A long pause--horribly nerve-racking to the highly-strung Mendoza--and
Lopez gave a grunt of satisfaction.

"I've spotted it!" he exclaimed. "Port five, quartermaster--meet her--at
that!"

"I can't see any leading-marks," said the mutineer captain querulously.
"Where are they?"

"Over there," replied Lopez airily, indicating an indefinite arc of the
land. "Please don't interrupt or I'll make a mistake."

Lopez was now sure of the course, but he was determined to keep the
information to himself unless anyone else on board possessed sufficient
astuteness to discover the secret bearings. He realized that, like
himself, Mendoza was a crafty villain, and, if occasion arose, would not
hesitate to murder his Third Officer. Between the mutineer officers
there was a hardly concealed rivalry. Neither would scruple to plot
against the other, if there were a practically certain chance of
success.

By keeping the knowledge of the channel to Boya Island to himself, Lopez
realized that he held a strong card. It made him indispensable. Once the
_Paloma_ reached the anchorage she would not be able to leave it except
at enormous risk, if Lopez were not on board to act as pilot; and when
Mendoza grasped this fact it would compel him to keep on amicable terms
with his youthful but no less crafty subordinate.

The _Paloma_ had now eased down to five knots--a speed sufficient to
enable her to maintain complete steerage-way and yet to gather stern-way
under reversed engines in less than twice her own length. Leadsmen were
assiduously heaving the lead. This was a precaution taken at Mendoza's
behest. Lopez smiled to himself, because he knew that no bottom was to
be found until the vessel was within a cable's length of the outermost
reef, when the water shoaled with remarkable abruptness to six fathoms.

Silence now fell upon the group of officers on the bridge. Mendoza,
realizing that the matter was helplessly out of his hands, contented
himself by gazing at the expanse of foam on either side and ahead of the
vessel. Miguel Fe, guessing Lopez's intentions, was endeavouring to find
out for himself the leading-marks. Incidentally he was scheming to enter
into a compact with Lopez over the business, with a view to supplant
Mendoza when the favourable moment arrived.

Meanwhile Lopez kept his binoculars levelled, at one time ahead, at
another on the starboard beam. Occasionally he made a gentle movement
with his hand to let the quartermaster give the ship a few degrees of
the helm.

Suddenly he straightened himself and replaced the binoculars in the
case.

"Port eight, quartermaster!" he ordered.

Round swung the _Paloma_ to starboard, until she settled down on a
course at right angles to that she had previously held. The channel was
now only about eighty yards wide, foaming breakers on both sides and a
barrier of jagged rocks ahead. It was on one of these inconspicuous
rocks in line with the north-easternmost bluff of Boya that Lopez
steered. To edge off the mark more than ten yards meant disaster, while
to add to the dangers the high freeboard of the yacht being broadside on
to the wind caused her to make considerable leeway and necessitating
consequent compensation of helm.

At the end of this apparently blind channel the water widened and
deepened into a natural basin giving sufficient room for the _Paloma_ to
turn through ten points, or more than she actually required.

Motioning to the quartermaster to step aside, Lopez took the wheel,
glanced shorewards with apparent indifference, waited, and then put the
helm to starboard. His quick eyes had detected the next marks: one a
small, weather-beaten board that had once been tarred but was now a
rusty brown hardly distinguishable from the coco-palm trunks. This he
brought almost in line with a rock resembling a dog's head. Almost,
because had he done so the _Paloma_ would have crashed upon a half-tide
reef; but by keeping the rock its own width wide of the board a clear
course was assured.

Followed an anxious five minutes. Although the surf was not so heavy and
broken it still surged on one side of the channel. On the other the
water was so clear that Mendoza, gazing over the lee rail of the bridge,
could easily discern the fantastic coral formations thirty feet down,
their sides as steep as the wall of a house, and their upper edges as
sharp as a timber-feller's saw.

At length Lopez gave the wheel a careless spin, toyed with the spokes
with his left hand, while with his right he wiped the beads of
perspiration from his forehead.

"Is this the anchorage?" inquired Miguel Fe, breaking the prolonged
silence.

"Not yet," replied Lopez. "Will you go for'ard and stand by to let go?"

Miguel Fe went without a word, at his subordinate's bidding. Standing by
to let go the anchor was a duty that fell to the lot of the junior
officer. He wanted to dispute the point until he remembered that it was
policy to keep in with Lopez if he hoped to carry out his plan. Besides,
Lopez was virtually in charge of the ship in his present capacity of
pilot and navigating officer.

Mendoza, too, was beginning to take a livelier interest in things. He no
longer studied the bed of the lagoon--possibly because the danger of
making final and speedy contact with it was a thing of the past--and
transferred his attention to the forbidding face of the island, now less
than a cable's length away and towering high above the yacht.

Kenneth and Peter were fascinated by the stupendous mass of rock.
Although from a distance it had the appearance of being rugged, closer
acquaintance revealed the fact that the steep slopes were deeply pitted
and scarred by clefts in the old lava. In some of the shallow
depressions where soil had been deposited a scanty herbage grew, but as
a general rule vegetation was confined to a strip extending from the
water's edge to an average height of fifty feet, although in several
places the cliffs rose sheer from the lagoon.

Presently the two lads were aware that the _Paloma_ had ported helm, and
was now pointing straight for the cliffs. Leaning over the bulwarks,
they saw, however, that there was a chasm looking far less in width than
the yacht's beam.

"Surely they aren't going to run the _Paloma_ in there?" exclaimed
Kenneth.

"Unless they mean to beach her," added his chum.

As the yacht drew nearer the chums realized that they had been victims
of an optical delusion. The chasm was narrow enough, but the enormous
height of the wall of rock had tended to decrease the apparent width.

Dead slow the _Paloma_ glided through the gap, her wash rippling against
the granite-like wall of rock, and the muffled pulsations of her engines
echoing like distant thunder in the confined space. At one point the
width contracted to such an extent that had not the boats been swung in
they would have been smashed to pieces against the sheer faces of the
chasm. At another the face of the cliff overhung to a degree that had
the yacht had her topmasts up they would have fouled and no doubt
carried away. In spite of the brilliant tropical sunshine the shadows
cast by the cliffs were so black that the yacht was enshrouded in
gloom.

At the end of the gorge the _Paloma_ emerged into a natural basin nearly
a quarter of a mile across in its widest part and nowhere less than half
that distance. On all sides the ground rose to a height of two hundred
feet, the beach being steep-to almost everywhere except on the south
side where the ground shelved gradually. Here on a beach of light grey
sand a pier projected into the water. Judging by its weather-worn
appearance it was in the last stages of decay. At the shoreward end of
the pier were four store-houses or huts built of timber faced with coral
cement. From one of these a line of rusty tram-lines led to the pier
head. All around the buildings coarse grass and hibiscus plants grew
breast-high, the scarlet flowers presenting a riot of colour that tended
to compensate for the derelict condition of the place.

Stepping to the engine-room telegraph Lopez rang for "stop", then "easy
astern".

"Let go!" he shouted.

The cable surged through the hawse-pipe. The vessel strained at her
securing chain and began to forge ahead.

Lopez gave the word: "Finished with the engines", turned abruptly and
after the manner of his race bowed courteously to Capitn Mendoza.

"Seor Capitn!" he exclaimed. "The secret harbour of the Island of
Boya."




CHAPTER XIV

The Secret Base


As soon as the yacht was "snugged down", and moored and the fires drawn,
Mendoza and Miguel Fe went ashore, leaving Lopez in charge.

Of the three Spaniards, Kenneth and Peter detested Lopez more than the
rest, and tried to avoid him as much as possible. On this occasion they
found it impracticable to get out of his way. The cabins to which Mr.
Heatherington and Captain Gregory had been taken were locked so that no
communication with them was possible. The other state-rooms were barred
to the two lads. They had been informed that in future they were to
sleep for'ard.

"Ho, you English dogs!" exclaimed Lopez in his vile lingo, "now you will
have to work for your living. You are part of a pirate crew. You will
have to take part in the fight when we engage a likely prize. I'll make
you wade in gore, with a knife between your teeth, but no pistol. No
pistol! They are not safe in boys' hands."

He chuckled horribly, and drew his finger across his throat with an
expressive gesture.

"If you refuse to fight," he continued, "then we will make the
Englishman Heatherington pay for your disobedience. But you will not
refuse. You will fight with a rope round your necks, for if you are
captured then you will be hanged as pirates. So make the best of it."

"We'll see about that," replied Kenneth oracularly.

"So that's the wheeze, is it?" remarked Peter, when Lopez had swaggered
aft. "Foiled as thieves of the black pearls, they are taking to piracy."

"Have already done so," corrected Kenneth. "Remember the _Svend_. That
was out and out piracy, if ever there was. There's no doubt about it:
we're in a fine old hole. They're trying to get us into the swim; to
implicate us in this low-down business. I hope to goodness a British or
a Yankee cruiser butts in and spoils their little game."

"Hardly likely yet awhile," said Peter. "The rogues have laid their
plans only too skilfully. This island is an ideal buccaneer's lair. No
one would expect to find such a snug anchorage tucked away in an island
and absolutely invisible from seaward. They've laid a false trail to
give the impression that the _Paloma_ has been sunk. They've disguised
the yacht. Until some intended victim escapes to give information I
don't see how the existence of these pirates is to be suspected."

"I'm hoping that our chance will come from inside," said Kenneth.
"Meaning that the mutineers will have a jolly old bust up between
themselves."

"And they'd probably cut our throats in the process," added Peter
grimly. "Well, we're properly in the soup, but that doesn't mean that
we're not going to wriggle out of it if we've the chance."

Just before sunset Mendoza and his subordinate returned on board,
looking very pleased with themselves. They had discovered the coal,
nearly three thousand tons of it being stored and another five hundred
tons stacked in the open. There were also a number of detonators and
explosive charges, presumably intended by the Germans to send captured
merchantmen to the bottom without having recourse either to torpedoes or
guns. There were also stacks of clothing, but the latter had rotted
through exposure to the weather. Finally a number of air-tight tins of
Australian mutton in fair condition. In a few cases the tins had rusted
through, and the stench of their contents left no room for doubt as to
their perishable nature; but in the majority of instances the tinned
foodstuffs still retained their quality.

That night, after a coarse and meagre supper, the two chums slept on
deck, sheltered from the heavy dew by a piece of canvas. Nothing could
induce them to turn in on the lockers in the fo'c'sle, where the hands
existed in an atmosphere of cigarette fumes, card-playing and
profanity, with not infrequent quarrels ending in drawn knives and
ferocious scowls. The disputants never went further than that, for
Mendoza had threatened that, in the event of one of the crew stabbing
another, the assailant would be summarily thrown to the sharks.

Early next morning part of the watch fell in for duty ashore. Kenneth
and Peter were ordered to go with the party.

On the boats running alongside the pier, the lads noticed that the
structure was far more solid and substantial than it had appeared when
viewed from the yacht. It was constructed of ferro-concrete, and,
although the guard rails and chains had rotted through exposure and
neglect and the massive bollards were thick with rust, the pier itself
was capable of bearing almost any weight without danger of collapsing.

On arriving at the coal stack, each man was served out with a canvas
sack and a shovel. As soon as about a hundredweight of coal had been
placed in the sack, the man who had filled it carried it down to the
pier and placed it in one of the boats. It was a laborious task, and
could have been lightened considerably if the tram lines and rolling
stock had been in serviceable condition.

Kenneth and Peter worked with the rest. They could not well do
otherwise, since refusal meant punishment and stoppage of their none too
plentiful and unappetizing fare. They were kept at it so hard and
continuously that they had little opportunity to study the nature of
their surroundings.

During the extreme heat of the day work was suspended, the Spaniards
indulging in their customary _siesta_. With blistered hands and aching
backs the chums were only too glad to follow the men's example. Late in
the afternoon work was resumed and maintained at high pressure till
sunset. This went on for three days before the rebunkering of the
_Paloma_ was completed.

At the same time men were told off to prepare one of the empty
storehouses as quarters for the prisoners, the building being surrounded
by a high fence of barbed wire. When the task was finished to Mendoza's
satisfaction, Mr. Heatherington and Captain Gregory were conveyed
ashore.

Kenneth saw his father approaching. Dropping his sack of coal he hurried
towards him, heedless of the angry shouts of the bos'n, who was acting
as overseer of the coaling-party.

"What are they going to do with you, Pater?" asked his son anxiously.

"I haven't the faintest idea," replied Mr. Heatherington. "Mendoza has
been breathing out threatenings and slaughter, but as usual he's got
precious little change out of me. Take care of yourself, my lad, as well
as you can. I'll be----Look out, Kenneth!"

The lad turned at the warning. Bounding towards him was the bos'n,
brandishing a heavy stick and shouting excitedly in Spanish. Up went the
stick to deliver a ferocious blow. Kenneth realized that the fellow
meant mischief. He stood his ground until the blow was almost on the
point of falling upon his shoulder. Then, side-stepping with the agility
of a matador, Kenneth let the stick swish through the air within an inch
of his arm.

With a snarl the Spaniard made ready to repeat the blow. The lad
deliberately retreated a couple of paces, the bos'n pressing him hard.
Then, without the flicker of an eyelid to denote his purpose, Kenneth
rushed in, planted the fellow a straight right on the point of the chin
and sent him sprawling on the ground.

The guards escorting Mr. Heatherington stood stock-still with
astonishment. They had never seen a man knocked clean off his feet by a
blow with a fist. A knife-thrust was more in their line to settle an
argument. They made no effort to molest the bos'n's victor, possibly
because they had no liking for the man with his hectoring methods.

"I'll come along with you, Pater," said Kenneth quietly. "Peter's up
there."

The party moved on, Kenneth walking between his father and Captain
Gregory, the Spaniards forming their escort offering no objection.

"How is young Arkendale sticking it?" inquired Mr. Heatherington. "I
feel sorry for him--inviting him to get mixed up in this business."

"He's all right, so far," replied Kenneth. "Lopez has promised to make
the pair of us into pirates or something of that sort. He hasn't done so
yet, and he never will. Hallo, there's Peter."

Arkendale dropped his spade and came to meet them. Like the rest of the
working-party he was perspiring profusely and covered with coal-dust. He
made an attempt to force a cheerful smile, but the result was anything
but a success.

More mutineers, desisting from their labours, strolled up and joined the
armed guard, but no attempt was made to interrupt the conversation
between the captives. Kenneth's drastic resentment of the bos'n's
treatment had created a favourable opinion of him amongst the lawless
mob. They might have admired the youth's pluck: they certainly were glad
that the bos'n had been floored.

Suddenly the guard stiffened. The man in charge of the party motioned to
the two chums to stand back, and to Mr. Heatherington and Captain
Gregory that they should resume their progress. The reason was soon
apparent. Mendoza had just come ashore.

Saying a hasty good-bye, Peter picked up his burden and made towards the
pier, Kenneth walking by his side until he came to the place where he
had deposited his load of coal.

"Stop!" ordered Mendoza, addressing Kenneth. "What do you mean by
knocking down the bos'n?"

"He threatened me with a stick and I had to defend myself," declared the
lad.

"That is no excuse," said the mutineer captain.

"Isn't it?" retorted Kenneth. "What would you have done in the
circumstances? The attack was unprovoked, and I merely used my fist
against a man with a cudgel."

Mendoza nodded.

"So?" he ejaculated. "Well, we will see how you can fight with and not
against us. For the present I say no more."

"What does he mean, I wonder?" remarked Kenneth, after the mutineer
captain had passed out of earshot. "Is it a threat?"

"I rather fancy he thinks he'll make pirates of us," suggested Peter.
"If he does he'll find out his mistake. Look here, old son; what's to
prevent us doing a bunk? The island isn't very big, but it's
honey-combed with hiding-places."

"Might," admitted Kenneth dubiously. "But what then? We can't get away
from the place. We've no food, unless we can exist on coco-nuts. And if
the blighters didn't find us they'd make it doubly hot for my father and
Gregory. 'Tany rate the idea's worth considering. We'll have to find out
how the land lies."

[Illustration: THE BOSUN IS SURPRISED     _Page_ 134]

But the opportunity was not yet; for on the following day the chums were
not allowed to land. They were kept hard at work on board, trimming the
coal in the bunkers, under the orders of a swarthy, ill-tempered
individual, who held the rank corresponding to that of chief stoker in
the British Navy.

There was no doubt about it: Mendoza was "hustling some". The _Paloma_
was being prepared for sea at high pressure. The hands were regularly
drilled at small-arms practice and with the quick-firer. Each man had
his battle-station, most of them being out of sight until the moment
came for the vessel to reveal herself as a modern corsair. Those of the
crew who were not sufficiently recovered of their injuries received at
Talai were sent ashore to undertake light duties, such as providing
guards for the prisoners. Day and night operators were listening-in on
the _Paloma's_wireless, endeavouring to intercept messages from shipping
in the vicinity that might give a clue to a possible prize. With coal in
abundance the vessel could now bank fires ready to work up to forced
draught as soon as it was necessary to weigh and proceed.

At three in the morning, a week after the _Paloma's_ arrival at Boya,
Mendoza was roused from his sleep by the news that a message had been
intercepted from the S.S. _Talca_ of Valparaiso, homeward bound from
Nagasaki with a general cargo. She had taken a cargo of nitrates to
Japan, this being her maiden voyage. According to the wireless message,
which gave her position, the S.S. _Talca_ had broken her tail-shaft, and
was appealing for aid in the form of a tow into the nearest port, where
the requisite repairs could be effected.

Leaping from his bunk, Mendoza began to dress hurriedly. The buccaneers
of Boya were about to fall upon their unsuspecting prey.




CHAPTER XV

Compulsory Pilotage


According to the latitude and longitude reported by the _Talca's_
wireless, the distressed vessel was only eighty miles from Boya--little
more than five hours hard steaming. During that time the call might be
answered by other ships in the vicinity; but up to the present the
_Paloma's_ operator had not picked up any such message. So far
everything was in the buccaneers' favour.

Lopez, in a very bad humour at being called for duty after having only
just turned in on the completion of his "watch-on", came surlily up to
the bridge where Mendoza was already at his post. In the small hours of
the morning even the prospect of easily-gotten booty paled before the
knowledge that his night's rest had vanished. He began to realize that
being in sole possession of the secret of the channel through the reefs
had certain disadvantages.

"We must wait till daylight before we get under way," he declared.

"There is plenty of starlight," countered Mendoza. "And, if necessary,
we can run the searchlights."

"Bearings look totally different by night," objected Lopez with a shrug.

"Nevertheless we proceed," declared his superior officer. "Come, now; do
your duty. Our prize is waiting."

"Let her wait," retorted Lopez insolently. Confident in his own
exclusive qualifications he added: "If you want the _Paloma_ taken
through the reefs take her yourself. It's my watch below."

Mendoza realized that Lopez had the advantage of him. By daylight he
might have risked the passage, sending boats on ahead to take soundings.
It would be a slow, laborious task and one fraught with danger, for more
than likely the boats would be capsized in the breakers. Yet his
subordinate's studied insolence stung him to ungovernable fury.

Without warning he hurled himself against the younger man and bore him
to the deck, his hands clutching at Lopez's windpipe with relentless
violence.

"Pig! Son of a pig!" spluttered Mendoza. "I'll teach you a lesson. Juan!
Enrico! Come here and secure the rascal."

The quartermaster and one of the hands went to the captain's assistance.
Between them they bound the now terrified Lopez hand and foot and
bundled him down the bridge-ladder.

Mendoza then addressed the mutineers on deck, pointing out that their
chance of gaining a rich and easy prize was being jeopardized by
Lopez's refusal to pilot the vessel out to sea. Naturally the men's
sympathies were not on the side of the defaulter.

"He will pilot us all the same," concluded Mendoza. "Take him for'ard
and lower him from the cathead. If the vessel strikes the rocks he will
be the first to show the way to the sharks!"

The commotion as the wretched Lopez was dragged for'ard aroused Kenneth
and Peter, who, worn out by their prolonged and arduous task, were
sleeping soundly under a tarpaulin on the fo'c'sle.

"Lopez is properly in the soup," declared Kenneth.

"Serves the brute right," rejoined his chum. "Wonder what he's been up
to?"

"I hope they don't murder him," said the other lad, who, although he had
suffered many indignities at Lopez's instigation did not carry his
animosity to such an extent as to wish to see the Spaniard put to death.

"No fear," asserted Peter confidently. "They're merely putting the wind
up him. He's too valuable as a pilot, although he may be an utter
wash-out as a pirate."

The crew had by this time fastened a bowline round the luckless Lopez's
waist, and had him dangling midway between the cathead and the surface
of the water. Already the fellow's bombastic attitude had deserted him.
He was completely cowed. In frantic accents he appealed to be allowed to
speak to el Capitn Mendoza.

"What does he want to say?" demanded Mendoza, when the request was
conveyed to him. "Ask him that."

Presently the messenger returned to the bridge.

"Seor Lopez is quite willing to give all information concerning the
pilotage," he reported. "Only he wishes to point out that, since
stern-bearings are necessary, he cannot get them in line from his
position over the bows."

"That is so," agreed Mendoza. "I quite see the point of his argument.
Nevertheless he will remain where he is until the vessel is clear of the
reefs--and longer if I deem it advisable. He will give the correct
courses from time to time, and that information will be transmitted to
the bridge, when I will act upon it. What are those English boys doing
on the fo'c'sle, Manuel? Order them right aft: tell them to keep below
until they are called to fall in with their proper watch."

Already Manuel, the sailor who was to act intermediary between the
captain and the counter-mutineer, was scurrying down the bridge-ladder.
In the din caused by the hiss of escaping steam he failed to hear the
latter part of the captain's instructions and merely ordered Kenneth and
Peter aft.

By this time one anchor had been weighed and the cable of the other hove
short. On either side of the bridge searchlights were playing dead ahead
to enable the _Paloma_ to feel her way between the side of the gorge
that formed the approach channel to the secret harbour.

Almost at the last moment before the vessel got under way a boat ran
alongside with Miguel Fe. It had been Mendoza's original plan to leave
Miguel Fe on the island in charge of the buccaneers' base; but Lopez's
defection had made it necessary for another officer to be on board.

"What has happened to Lopez?" inquired Peter of one of the
English-speaking seamen--the man who had previously acted as cabin
steward to Mr. Heatherington, and who was rather inclined to treat the
lads with a certain amount of consideration.

"He refused to pilot the ship," replied the man. "Therefore the Capitn
Mendoza make him. He will have to shout his directions so that all will
know and the secret will be secret no longer."

"Pity we don't understand Spanish," said Peter, when the two chums found
themselves alone just for'ard of the taffrail. "If we learnt the leading
marks the information might be jolly useful later on."

"Although we don't speak Spanish, there's no reason why we shouldn't
keep our eyes open and see what the ship is steering for," declared
Kenneth. "But I must admit that we can't see where she is heading for
from here."

"Quite so," admitted Peter. "As a matter of fact no one on board will.
They took bearings ahead when they brought the _Paloma_ in: I'm positive
of that. If they have to use the same marks for going out, they'll
either be astern or abeam, so we are in the right place to see. Hallo,
we're forging ahead."

The passage through the gorge by day was a nerve-racking experience; by
night it was still more so. Right ahead the jagged walls looked like
masses of glistening silver in the rays of the twin searchlights. Abaft
the bridge the darkness was intensified to such an extent that the
cliffs even at five yards distance were invisible, yet their presence
could be felt and heard. The mass of rock radiated heat stored up during
the day; it magnified and threw back the sounds of the vessel's engines
till the noise became almost deafening. Once there was a rending of
woodwork as the _Paloma's_ port quarter ground against a projecting
bluff, the shock, although she was going dead slow, causing her to list
violently to starboard until she rasped past the obstruction.

In saner moments Mendoza would have hesitated to undertake the passage
perilous; but so eager was he to snap up the tempting and helpless prize
that he ran risks with the utmost recklessness. The attitude was typical
of the man. In moments of less danger he had been unnerved and
panic-stricken. Possibly because darkness hid most of the dangers his
mercurial temperament was well above blood-heat. At all costs he
determined to gain the offing and start in search of his quarry.

Standing aft the two chums had the most unpleasant place on board with
the exception of the luckless Lopez, who, strictly speaking could not be
considered as being on the ship. He was dangling over the bows, running
the risk of being crushed like a fly should a false movement of the helm
send the _Paloma's_ stem crashing into the wall of the gorge.

The coal with which the _Paloma_ had rebunkered had not improved with
keeping. Inferior in the first instance when it was brought from South
America for the use of the German Pacific squadron, it was now emitting
dense volumes of smoke that hung low in the tropical air and eddied
sluggishly in the vessel's wake, until the atmosphere which Kenneth and
Peter breathed was like that of an ill-ventilated railway tunnel. They
were not sorry when the _Paloma_ emerged from the narrow passage and
curtsied to the gentle heave of the breakers on the still distant reefs.

The ominous booming of the surf announced that the buccaneers of Boya
were not yet roving on the high seas. In the starlight the spectacle of
the heaving, tumbling, breaking waters over the chaos of uncharted and
for the most part submerged reefs, was an awesome one.

Presently one of the searchlights was trained abeam until it played upon
the coco-groves. The _Paloma_ began to swing to starboard under full
port helm, but the beam continued to be directed on a particular spot
ashore.

"I've got it!" ejaculated Peter. "Look!"

"Not so loud," cautioned Kenneth, "what is it?"

"There's a board fixed to a palm trunk. See it? Evidently that's a mark
of some sort. We've been keeping it dead astern for the last half
minute."

"You're right, old son," admitted Kenneth. "If we find out nothing else
we've learnt something. Hallo, they're reversing engines."

Quickly the _Paloma_ lost way, the second search-light the while
frantically sweeping the jungle of jagged rocks to port.

Lopez's directions had not been understood. Mendoza realizing the
danger, had promptly taken way off the ship, and had ordered the pilot
to be released from his ignominious position and to be brought up to the
bridge.

After a seemingly interminable delay, during which the vessel was
drifting to leeward and in dangerous proximity to the reefs in that
direction, Lopez arrived on the bridge; managed to collect his wits
sufficiently to indicate which of the half-tide rocks were the proper
leading marks, and once more the _Paloma_ forged ahead.

"We're done this time," confessed Peter. "The blighters have some sort
of bearing on this course, but I'm dashed if I can twig it."

"Same here," agreed his chum. "It takes some knowing to make sure which
of those chunks of rock are to be kept in line astern. Lopez is some
pilot whatever else he might be."

"I wish I had his chances," sighed Peter.

"And what then?"

"I'd put the helm hard over and run the old hooker hard on the rocks,"
replied young Arkendale. "That would put the lid on Seor Mendoza."

"And ourselves as well, I fancy," said Kenneth. "No, I know a better
plan than that."

"What is it?" inquired his chum.

Kenneth told him. Peter agreed whole-heartedly that the scheme was
absolutely top-hole.




CHAPTER XVI

A Compact of Piracy


With the suddenness characteristic of the Tropics, dawn broke just as
the _Paloma_ was clear of the reefs of Boya. Speed was increased to
fifteen knots, and a course shaped to bring the buccaneering craft to
the position indicated by the distressed _Talca_.

Mendoza was in high spirits. For the present he felt inclined to be
tolerant with his insubordinate officer; and when Lopez, now thoroughly
aware of the enormity of his offence, apologized profusely and craved
forgiveness, Mendoza, with his tongue in his cheek, accepted his
assurances of loyalty.

"When we return after capturing the _Talca_," he added, "I will pilot
the _Paloma_ through the channel between the reefs. You will stand by me
and correct me if I make an error; but with the information you have
imparted, I do not think my navigation will be much at fault."

"Assuredly not, Seor Capitn," replied Lopez, with well-assumed
humility. "It is necessary, after all, that someone, other than myself,
should know the channel. I might be put out of action, for instance."

"Quite possible," rejoined Mendoza, with brutal candour.

"And so might you be," thought Lopez. "You will be if I see a chance!"

Going to the wireless cabin, Mendoza inquired if there were any reports
received concerning the S.S. _Talca_.

"Wireless her and inform her that she need not send out further S.O.S.
appeals," he ordered. "Inform her that the Peruvian S.S. _Mendex_ is
coming to her assistance and will tow her into port. Keep in touch with
her at intervals and give her our position every half-hour."

Rapidly the _Paloma_ drew near the spot where the _Talca_ was in
distress. A look-out man was sent aloft to scan the horizon in case
other vessels might be bearing down in response to the S.O.S. signals;
but no sign of another craft was to be seen.

"What have you done with the English boys?" demanded Mendoza of Miguel
Fe. "To what action station have you posted them?"

"They refused to fight," replied the second in command. "I could see
that it was useless to compel them to do so--or even to induce them to
handle the ammunition. I believe they would warn the _Talca_ if they had
the slightest opportunity; so I sent them to the stokehold."

"I'll send them to a hotter place than that before I've done with them,"
remarked the captain angrily. "Can't you realize, Miguel, that if we
compromise them we'll have a tremendous lever to use against that
mule-headed Heatherington. Bring them along----"

Before Mendoza could complete his orders, the look-out reported a sail
on the port bow, adding that the vessel appeared to be a steamer, but
was not making way.

"She's the _Talca_!" ejaculated Mendoza. "All hands to stations!"

In order to avoid suspicion, for a supposed tramp would not be expected
to do fifteen knots, speed was reduced to a mere eight. Peruvian colours
were then hoisted and the International Code Signal XYP, signifying:
"Have a tow-line ready", was toggled to the halliards, to be hoisted
when within visual signalling distance. Fenders were put out ostensibly
to mitigate damage, should the vessels touch during the preparations for
taking in tow. Actually they were for a very different purpose.

A number of the crew were stationed in conspicuous positions, as if to
undertake the task of bringing the towing hawsers to the bitts; but by
far the greater portion of the hands lurked under the lee of the dummy
boiler-casing, where the quick-firer with its gun's crew waited its
opportunity should the intended prize offer a strenuous resistance.

It was not Mendoza's desire to force a fight. His crew were none too
numerous to risk further losses. The affair on the beach at Talai had
been a lesson. He reckoned on taking the Chilean vessel completely by
surprise, and scoring an easy and practically bloodless victory. If so,
well and good; if not, he would sheer off and pump shell after shell
into the _Talca's_ bridge and upperworks until she surrendered.

The two craft were now but half a cable's length apart, when the
_Paloma_ gave three blasts on her syren to indicate that her engines
were going full astern. Still carrying way she ranged up alongside the
_Talca_ with the apparent idea of getting a towing hawser passed from
the Chilean vessel's bow to her quarter.

Suddenly, above the hiss of steam, came the shrill blast of a whistle
blown three times in rapid succession. Mendoza's pre-arranged signal to
board was two blasts. His men, puzzled by the three, became irresolute.
Some of them sprang from their place of concealment, and with brandished
knives and flourished revolvers sprang for the ship's side to find that
a good ten feet separated them from their would-be prize. The prospect
of leaping short and tumbling into the sea to be either crushed between
the two hulls or to be devoured by sharks acted as an effectual cold
douche to their ardour.

But the surprise of the buccaneers was greater still when they found
themselves covered by four machine-guns mounted on the _Talca's_
upperworks. Simultaneously the latter's upper deck was crowded by a
swarm of desperate-looking ruffians clad in red shirts, loose blue
trousers, and scarlet caps, each man armed with an automatic pistol and
a keen-edged machete.

The surprise was mutual. Each vessel had imagined that the other was a
harmless merchantman; both were piratical craft.

"Surrender yourselves!" shouted the Chilean captain.

"Surrender yourselves!" retorted Mendoza, at the same time frantically
thrusting the engine-room telegraph to "Full ahead". At the same time,
Miguel Fe yelled to the crew of the concealed quick-firer to drop the
screens.

The Spaniards manning the gun, unable to see what was going on and
thinking that the supposed Chilean tramp was giving trouble, lowered the
dummy portion of the boiler-casing and swung the gun abeam. As they did
so, the _Paloma_ forged ahead. So did the _Talca_, gathering way with
more celerity than her antagonist. Far from being a disabled merchantman
with a broken tail-shaft, she was a twin-screw vessel capable of doing
twenty knots with ease.

The result was a deadlock. Not a shot was fired, although it wanted but
the pressure of a finger to start the combat. The captain of the pirate
_Talca_ knew that he could rake the _Paloma's_ decks with machine-gun
fire; but that would be futile if the _Paloma_ sent his lightly-built
craft to the bottom with one shell from her quick-firer discharged at
point-blank range at the _Talca's_ water-line. Mendoza, on his part, was
aware that he was out-manoeuvred in speed, and even if he sent his rival
to the bottom, the machine-guns of the latter would take heavy toll, and
reduce the already none too numerous crew of the _Paloma_ to a mere
handful, most of whom would be killed or wounded by the hail of bullets.

The opposing captains were ready to wound and yet afraid to
strike--because they feared to be wounded themselves. Their hot-blooded
Spanish temperaments cooled with remarkable rapidity under the stern
argument of an evenly-balanced combat, in which neither side had a
decisive advantage, and one that might well result in both vessels going
to the bottom of the Pacific. The _Paloma_ could not outstrip the
_Talca_ in speed; nor could the latter hope to elude the former, without
being raked by the powerful quick-firer's shells as she attempted to do
so.

"I see that I have made a slight mistake," shouted the captain of the
_Talca_.

"So you have," replied Mendoza. "And I, too, for that matter."

The rivals laughed. The laughter became infectious, and the two
Spanish-speaking crews exchanged ribald jests.

"It would be well to come to an amicable understanding," continued the
captain of the _Talca_. "Get way off your ship and let us discuss
matters."

"Certainly," agreed Mendoza, ringing down for "Stop", and at the same
time cautioning the gun's crew to stand fast in the event of treachery.

Both vessels lost way and rolled sluggishly in the long Pacific swell,
at a distance of a cable's length from each other. Through a megaphone
the Chilean skipper shouted an invitation to Mendoza to come aboard;
Mendoza courteously refused and suggested that the other should visit
him. At length they compromised matters by agreeing to meet at
mid-distance.

Promptly the _Paloma's_ gig was lowered and manned. The crew were
unarmed, but Mendoza carried his automatic in his coat pocket. With
equal smartness the _Talca_ lowered one of her boats, the crew of which
bent to their oars as they made the little craft slip through the water
to the rendezvous.

The boats met and were soon rubbing their fender-protected gunwales
together. The rival captains offered each other cigarettes and proceeded
to get to business.

"I did not know that there was another gentleman of fortune in this part
of the Pacific, Seor," began the captain of the _Talca_.

"Neither did I," rejoined Mendoza. "It was a strange trick to lure me
all this way."

"Equally strange for you to do so," rejoined the other. "I was under the
impression that you were the _Corada_. No, this is not the _Talca_. It
is a name I borrowed. The real _Talca_ was sighted three days ago, going
east; but as there was a cursed Yankee cruiser barely hull down, we had
to let the _Talca_ slip through our fingers. My name, Seor Capitn, is
Hernando Paquilla, otherwise known as 'The Mystery man of Valdivia'. And
yours?"

Mendoza told him.

"There is not scope for two corsairs working at cross-purposes,"
remarked Paquilla tentatively. "Acting in concert they might do
much--very much."

"That is so," agreed Mendoza.

"But on the other hand," continued Paquilla, "the greater the number of
participators the smaller the individual share of the booty. Where is
your base?"

"Boya," replied the captain of the _Paloma_.

"Boya!" ejaculated the other. "_Caramba!_ Do you mean to tell me that
you shelter yonder vessel at Boya? Why, a pearler couldn't find enough
water between the reefs."

"We can," declared Mendoza vain-gloriously. "And where is your base?"

"I have none," admitted Paquilla. "When I have to rebunker and
reprovision I have to take what I can find on the high seas. Look at my
craft: observe she is well down to her water-line. That is her cargo of
valuable booty. I have had to start tons of water ballast to make space
for my loot, and now the difficulty arises how am I to dispose of it?"

"That is an easy matter if you know the way," remarked Mendoza. Then he
broke off abruptly, thinking hard the while. "Come to Boya," he
continued. "Accept the hospitality of my secret base. Since you suggest
it, working in partnership will be a satisfactory business for us both."

Paquilla stretched out a slim but horny hand. Mendoza grasped it.

"May the hand rot if I play you false," declared Paquilla.

"And mine also," rejoined Mendoza.

"And now for Boya, Seor Capitn," said Paquilla. "Before nightfall may
we drink together at your base to the success of our joint enterprise."




CHAPTER XVII

The last of the "Het Volk"


Down below the water-line in the stokehold of the _Paloma_, Kenneth and
Peter were kept hard at work by the chief stoker. They had little time
for conversation. As they toiled they could not help wondering what was
going on on deck. The experience was very similar to that of the "black
squad" of a warship during action. Although the possibility of being
sent to the bottom was in this instance fairly remote, there remained
the natural anxiety as to what was taking place between the two vessels.

They could hear little in the terrific din of the engines; they could
see nothing beyond the limits of the steel bulk-headed boiler-room.
Occasionally the sonorous clang of the engine-room telegraph-bell,
followed either by an acceleration or slowing down of the machinery,
told them that the _Paloma_ was manoeuvring. They expected to hear the
crash of gunfire, the shouts and shrieks of the combatants--failed to do
so and were still further mystified. The while they toiled, grasping
warm shovels that blistered their hands as they shovelled fuel into the
rapacious maws of the furnaces.

At length their trick came to an end with the arrival of their reliefs.
Stripped to the waist, oozing perspiration at every pore, covered with
coal-dust and with their hands galled and blistered, and every muscle
aching under the effect of the strenuous work in a confined space, the
chums literally dragged themselves up the vertical steel ladder and
gained the deck.

By the position of the sun they realized that the _Paloma_ was
practically retracing her course for Boya. About a mile astern was
another vessel--the craft that had assumed the name of _Talca_.
Naturally the chums concluded that she was a prize, although they were
puzzled to see her afloat. They expected that when the merchantman had
been systematically looted she would be sent to the bottom with all
hands, except those who volunteered to join the buccaneers.

Still in the dark as to the real nature of the developments, Kenneth and
Peter made their way to the salt-water pump where, as best they might,
they removed most of the effects of their two hours' trick in the
stokehold. Then they donned the clothing they had wisely discarded
before going below. As they put on their coarse and grubby shirts and
jumpers, they remembered with whole-hearted regret the bountiful supply
of garments they had brought with them--now lost to them for ever; and
contrasted the hardships and discomforts of the fo'c'sle with the
lavishly fitted state-rooms that had been at their disposal before the
mutineers showed their true colours.

Then to a meal, helping themselves to the remains of the coarse fare
which their boorish mess-mates had left in the stew-pan; eating under
conditions that would have appalled them but for their hunger. The while
the mutineers were chattering vociferously, discussing the new phase of
the proceedings; but owing to their total ignorance of Spanish, the
chums were unable to gather any idea of what had taken place.

There were no fresh faces amongst the crew, so the theory that recruits
had been obtained from the prize was knocked on the head. Nor did there
appear to be any reduction in the numbers of the buccaneers. That
pointed to a bloodless capture, which was another remarkable item. It
could hardly be possible for the crew of a vessel like the _Talca_ to
surrender tamely--yet not a man in the _Paloma's_ fo'c'sle bore signs of
even so much as a recent scratch.

The meal over, the chums kept out of sight of the bridge as far as
possible. Quite naturally they did not want to catch the eye of Captain
Mendoza and his subordinates. Had they done so, they would be given
another task to perform, and already they were feeling utterly worn out.
They were too dog-tired even to discuss the presence of the _Talca_,
which was still following the _Paloma_ at an almost unvarying interval.

Shortly after one bell in the first dog watch, a sail was reported hull
down on the starboard bow. A hurried exchange of signals by semaphore
between the _Paloma_ and the _Talca_ took place, in which Paquilla
suggested that Mendoza should close and investigate the stranger, and,
if deemed prudent, attack. The _Talca_ meanwhile was to steam away, and
by virtue of her superior speed, circle and come up to the stranger
while the latter's attention was attracted by the _Paloma_.

Again the buccaneers were ordered to action stations. In the bustle and
confusion Kenneth and Peter escaped notice, and, having no wish to be
sent to the stokehold again, they took refuge in the lamp-room--a
compartment under the bridge, from which they had a fairly extensive
range of vision through the scuttles.

The _Paloma_ "made her number"--a purely fictitious one. The stranger
replied, announcing that she was the Dutch S.S. _Het Volk_, of and from
Batavia, and bound for Rotterdam via the Panama Canal.

"Be careful," cautioned Miguel Fe, addressing Mendoza. "She may have
Dutch troops on board. They often send small detachments home from
Batavia in craft of this description. In any case these Dutchmen fight
like dogs at bay."

"If she has soldiers on board, she'll be bound to have a doctor,"
rejoined Mendoza.

"We will quickly find that out. Signalman! Make a signal requesting
medical assistance!"

The flags WP, meaning "Will your doctor come on board?" were hoisted; to
which the _Het Volk_ replied with WM--"No doctor available".

Having gained one useful piece of information, Mendoza signalled to know
whether the _Het Volk_ could take off an injured passenger. To this the
Dutchman replied that she had no accommodation for passengers.

By this time the two vessels were only half a mile apart, and if their
respective courses were maintained, they would pass, port to port,
within a quarter of a mile of each other. The _Talca_ was now hull down
and commencing to turn in order to come up under the Dutchman's
starboard quarter.

Raising his whistle, Mendoza gave a long shrill blast. Up to the
_Paloma's_ foremast rose the signal letters ID--"Heave to; or I will fire
into you". Simultaneously the screens concealing the quick-firer were
dropped, and the powerful weapon trained upon the _Het Volk's_ bridge.

It took the stolid Dutch skipper a considerable time to grasp the
significance of the peremptory command. After the manner of his
countrymen he was slow to act, but when he did act, he did so with a set
and grim purpose.

Thrusting his helm hard-a-port he steered the ponderous _Het Volk_
straight for the _Paloma_ with the intention of ramming her amidships.
Manoeuvre and counter-manoeuvre could be likened to a huge Frisian bull
charging a first-class toreador.

Round swung the _Paloma_, her relatively small turning circle enabling
her to avoid the _Het Volk_ with half a cable's length to spare. The
quick-firer barked viciously, sending a shell at point-blank range into
the Dutchman's upperworks. Chart-house, wheel-house, and the greater
part of the bridge vanished in a cloud of acrid-smelling smoke, from
which fragments of charred woodwork were hurled in all directions. With
the bridge went the gallant Dutch skipper, the quartermaster and two of
the hands. Others of the crew were wounded by slivers of metal from the
bursting projectile.

The gun's crew saw red. Shell after shell they planted in the _Het
Volk's_ upperworks, shattering boats, ventilators, deck-houses,
derricks, and other top-hamper, and riddling the funnel like a sieve.
Regardless of Mendoza's frenzied orders to cease fire they continued to
work the gun until the upperworks of the Dutchman were blazing
furiously.

The _Het Volk_ lost way and came to a standstill, broadside on to the
wind. Either one of the surviving deck officers had given an order for
the engines to be stopped, or else the demolition of the bridge had
resulted in the engine-room telegraph indicator being set to "stop".

"Away boats!" ordered Mendoza. "Look lively and bring off everything of
value before she's burnt out. _Dios!_ She must be a rich prize or they
would have surrendered at once."

With Miguel Fe as boarding officer, about twenty buccaneers all armed to
the teeth went away in the boats and headed for the victim. Even then,
although not one of the Dutchmen possessed a firearm, the crew of the
_Het Volk_ put up a desperate resistance. Fire-men, no longer required
in the stokehold, joined in the defence, hurling firebars and scraps of
iron at the boarding-party, while the deck-hands, wielding capstan-bars,
boat stretchers, and other improvised weapons, prepared to give a warm
reception to the first Spaniard who came within reach.

Thrice under the cover of a volley of revolver shots the buccaneers
attempted to gain the side of the _Het Volk_. Each time they were
repulsed, for after the first onslaught the hot-blooded Spaniards learnt
to respect their stolid opponents, and pressed the attack with less
impetuosity. Even the presumption that the Dutchman carried a valuable
cargo ceased to be an attraction when the boarding-party realized that
in the attainment of Mendoza's plans they might not be left alive to
participate in the distribution.

The boat backed away, most of the buccaneers bearing marks of the
encounter, Miguel Fe losing interest in the business owing to a painful
and permanent parting from four of his front teeth.

The moment the attackers sheered-off the Dutchmen promptly took cover,
the steel bulwarks of the _Het Volk_ being proof against either rifle or
revolver bullets. Yet sooner or later they would be compelled to give in
or else perish in the steadily increasing flames.

Watching from the bridge the discomfiture of his men, the pirate captain
almost cried with rage and mortification. But for the belief that the
Dutchman was a highly valuable prize he would have sunk her by gunfire.
He dared not run the _Paloma_ alongside and board by reason of the fire
that was consuming the _Het Volk's_ upperworks. Her wireless had been
amongst the first things to be knocked away, but there was always the
possibility of other vessels, attracted by the cloud of smoke, hurrying
to the spot to render aid. And if one of those succouring vessels
happened to be a warship--. Mendoza heartily cursed the Dutchman and his
unsuccessful boarding-party with the utmost impartiality.

He dared not steam off and leave the _Het Volk_ afloat. He must sink
without a trace, acting on the principles adopted by the Huns in their
submarine warfare. The Pacific was not the Atlantic in the vicinity of
the British Isles. A ship could be utterly destroyed without the risk of
the cowardly act being witnessed by aircraft or swift coastal
motor-boats. Still he hesitated, his decision influenced by the prospect
of lucrative booty even from a fiercely burning ship.

Mendoza's outburst of rage was in full blast when the _Talca_ came
pelting up at full speed. Her appearance was hailed with joy by the
surviving Dutchmen, who imagined her to be a haven of refuge from the
assaults of the buccaneers, especially as the _Paloma_ began to steam
away. They crowded to the bulwarks cheering and waving to their supposed
rescuers, until half a dozen machine-guns sprayed death and wounds
amongst the hapless men.

The surviving Dutchmen, with the exception of three too badly wounded to
move, rushed below, where they prepared to sell their lives dearly.

"Help yourself to what is left!" semaphored Paquilla to his partner in
piracy.

This time Mendoza went off in the boats, leaving Lopez in charge of the
_Paloma_, since Miguel Fe was still too dazed to undertake any
responsibilities.

Gaining the well-deck, Mendoza surveyed the scene. Amongst the wounded
was a junior officer, whose legs had been riddled with bullets, as he
stood on the bulwarks in order to signal to the supposed friend in need.

"Do you speak Spanish?" demanded the buccaneer.

The Dutch officer maintained silence.

"English? Do you speak English?"

Still no reply.

"French, then? Young man, you are obstinate. Let me see if this will
make you open your mouth."

He levelled his automatic at the wounded officer's head. The Dutchman
never flinched, although he was suffering acutely from his wounds.

"No matter," continued Mendoza, lowering the weapon. "It would be too
easy a death for a mule-headed fellow like you. Wait till the flames
devour you."

This possibility had a chastening effect upon the wounded man.

"I speak Spanish and five other languages," he announced. "What do you
want to know?"

"Where are the ship's papers?" demanded Mendoza.

"They went when the bridge and captain's cabin were demolished."

"What cargo have you?"

"Jute."

"And what else?"

"Nothing. All our holds are packed with jute."

Mendoza uttered a furious oath. Jute! What was the use of jute to him?
It was a valuable cargo, but even if he was able to break bulk and
remove most of it from the _Het Volk's_ holds it would be labour wasted.
It would be practically impossible to dispose of the stuff without risk
of almost certain detection.

"Take anything of value, men!" he ordered. "All the food you can find.
Be sharp! The fire's gaining rapidly."

Already the hatches were closed and battened down upon the luckless
Dutchmen who had survived the _Talca's_ machine-gunfire. Braving the
smoke the buccaneers ransacked the after cabins and the spirit and
provision rooms. Beyond a fair quantity of food there was little of
value to reward their efforts.

"A good haul, I hope?" inquired Paquilla, who had just come over the
side.

"A good haul!" repeated Mendoza wrathfully. "She carries nothing but
jute. I'll be hanged if I touch a Dutch craft again. If they resist like
this over a cargo of jute what will they fight like if they carry a rich
cargo?"

Paquilla shrugged his shoulders.

"Fortunately there are few Dutchmen in these waters," he observed.
"You've burnt your fingers, amigo Mendoza, and I have burnt much coal in
standing by and finishing off the business for you. I'll have to sample
some of the German coal at Boya. After that we'll cruise in company,
starting from the island with empty holds and returning thither with
bulging hatches. Let us be going, unless you wish to roast in a Dutch
oven."

Mendoza recalled his men, and the buccaneers lowered themselves into the
boats and returned to their respective vessels. By the time the boats
were hoisted up and swung in, the _Het Volk_ was a mass of flames from
stem to stern.

The captain of the _Paloma_ took no chances over the blazing vessel. He
gave an order. The quick-firer was again manned, and a number of shells
were plastered amidships and on the water-line of the doomed craft. Five
minutes later she plunged to the bottom, leaving a pall of smoke
trailing miles to lee'ard of the spot where she had disappeared.




CHAPTER XVIII

Lured to her Doom


The two pirate craft made the outer reefs of Boya without sighting any
other vessel. Mendoza's chief anxiety was not the doubt of his ability
to find his way through the intricate channel, but the question whether
the _Talca_ had sufficient coal to enable her to make the lagoon under
her own steam.

He was loth to have to tow Paquilla's vessel. That would seriously
interfere with his sinister plans, for already Mendoza had determined
that the _Talca_ would never drop anchor at his secret base.

The run had been decidedly disappointing and unprofitable. First the
fiasco over the _Talca_, and then that of the _Het Volk_. He blamed
Paquilla for the whole business. Paquilla had lured him out under false
pretences: Paquilla would have to foot the bill. He, Mendoza, did not
want to act in concert with another piratical craft; still more was he
reluctant to play second fiddle to the captain of the _Talca_. And the
dominating factor of Mendoza's schemes was the knowledge that the
_Talca_ was chock-a-block with rich booty.

Mendoza had no scruples over the dastardly, treacherous plan. He had not
the faintest doubt that Paquilla would not hesitate to despoil the
_Paloma_ if she carried a considerable quantity of loot and the _Talca_
had none.

It was a fine, windless afternoon when the two vessels approached the
outer fringe of reefs. Although the sea broke heavily over these, there
was hardly any disturbed water in the inner channel. Consequently
Mendoza realized that if his plan were to be successful he would have to
act before the _Talca_ was fairly within the outer barrier.

According to a previous arrangement, the _Paloma_ was to precede the
_Talca_ by half a cable's length, the former signalling to the latter
when a change of course became necessary.

"I will make a wider sweep round the bends in order to give you more
room to manoeuvre," added the captain of the _Paloma_. "We draw five feet
less water than you and can afford to borrow on the shoals."

"That is very kind of you," semaphored Paquilla in reply.

"I wonder whether he means it or whether he is sarcastic," thought
Mendoza. "If he has suspicions there will be trouble in store for me;
but one thing, when he's inside the outer reefs, he's at my mercy."

The two vessels closed to the pre-arranged distance, and reduced speed
to eight knots. Mendoza was on the bridge, conning the _Paloma_, with
Lopez standing by to check any error on the part of the captain. At each
extremity of the bridge were stationed signal-men, whose duty it was to
semaphore alteration of helm and compass course for the _Talca_ to make.

As the _Paloma_ passed between the narrow gap in the outer reef,
Mendoza's heart began to thump violently. He had plenty to occupy his
mind. He had to observe the correct leading marks and give the necessary
directions to the quartermaster. He had also to keep an eye on the
_Talca_, and to use his judgment when the critical moment arrived.

There was no doubt that Paquilla was also feeling the strain.
Nevertheless, although dependent upon his partner in piracy, he left
nothing undone that a good seaman should do in similar circumstances.
The leadsmen were in the chains, and a look-out man stationed aloft to
give warning when the change of colour of the water indicated an
otherwise unseen alteration in depth.

Once the _Paloma_ increased speed to nine knots, Mendoza hoping that the
vessel astern would not notice the change; but the alert Chief Officer
of the _Talca_ noticed the decrease of the mast-head angle by means of
his sextant. Almost immediately the _Talca_ gathered speed and regained
the half-a-cable's interval between the two craft.

Presently Mendoza moistened his parched lips and addressed the signalman
on the port side of the bridge.

"Signal the _Talca_ eight points starboard helm!" he ordered.

"But it is too soon," protested Lopez.

Mendoza snarlingly told the interrupter to remain silent, and repeated
the order. At the same moment the _Paloma_ began to turn eight points to
port.

All unsuspecting, Paquilla gave the signalled order to his
quartermaster. Both vessels swung round simultaneously, the _Paloma_
missing the angle formed by an abrupt change of channel by about ten
yards on her port beam, while the _Talca_ headed bows on to the reef.

Too late her masthead look-out shouted a warning. At that point the surf
broke well beyond the reef, giving no indication to those on the
_Talca's_ bridge of the peril that awaited her.

At the agitated warning, Paquilla, realizing that something was amiss,
rang for full speed astern. Promptly the order was executed, but the
vessel carried too much way to gather sternway. With a dull rending
crash she piled herself up hard against an almost perpendicular wall of
coral, tearing out her keel plates to the extent of between twenty and
thirty feet before she came to a standstill. Lifted by the huge sullen
rollers she ground and pounded upon the vice-like reef, the while water
poured into her like a gigantic sluice.

This much Mendoza saw. Then his whole attention swung back to his own
piece of intricate navigation. Under the lee of a right-angled bend of
breakers, scraping by a few mere yards the outflung spurs of jagged
coral, the _Paloma_ held on. Once and once only did the pirate skipper
have any doubts, and that was when he brought the vessel's head on with
one of several almost identical rocks. He glanced inquiringly at Lopez.

"Excellent, Seor Capitn!" exclaimed his subordinate fawningly.

Mendoza said nothing. Mentally he made a confirmatory note of that
inconspicuous leading-mark. He would know it all right next time,
without having to refer to Lopez.

After that, the channel was comparatively simple to follow, for Mendoza
knew when to look for the board fixed to one of the palm trunks. Five
minutes later, the _Paloma_ lost way and brought up in the outer lagoon.

Mendoza had no intention of taking the vessel into the inner and secret
harbour until he was able to assure himself that the _Talca_ was
properly accounted for, and that none of her crew escaped.

Already the wrecked pirate craft was breaking up under the relentless
pounding of the terrible breakers. The stern was below water, the
midships portion was already awash, while the bow remained constantly
visible above the breaking seas. On the fo'c'sle were about thirty men,
hanging on like grim death. The others had disappeared. Attempts had
been made to get away the boats. The first was crushed like an eggshell
against the ship's side. Another swung out, but before she could be
lowered a swarm of frantic pirates rushed at her, fighting desperately
in their efforts to tumble into the boat. Knives and pistols were used
with deadly effect, and when at length the boat was lowered she shared
the fate of the first.

A third managed to get clear, but instead of keeping head on to the seas
and making for the open her crew tried to pull for the island. The
trough of a big but not broken wave dropped her on top of a jagged rock.
She split asunder, throwing her crew into the water. Not one gained the
sheltered lagoon. The eddying water and the knife-like reefs accounted
for them all, although the last to perish managed to struggle to within
a hundred yards or so of the _Paloma_, when he threw up his arms and
disappeared.

Just before high water, the breakers attained their maximum violence.
While water poured ceaselessly over the _Talca's_ foredeck--with each
receding wave the number of survivors diminished until at length the
last of the Chilean pirates went to his doom.




CHAPTER XIX

Lopez's Attempt upon the Captain


During the final scene of the destruction of the _Talca_, the buccaneers
on board the _Paloma_ gazed awe-stricken at the grim tragedy. They could
not understand the motive that prompted their captain deliberately to
run his consort on the reef. They were fully aware that he had done so,
and their perplexity grew more and more as they realized that Mendoza
was gloating over his treacherous act.

Mendoza, although he was satisfied with his work of destroying the
_Talca_, was far from confident over the question of recovering most of
her precious cargo. He had hoped that the _Talca_ would pile herself
aground so firmly that the greater portion of the hull would remain
embedded on the reef. Even if she split asunder, the valuable contents
of her fore and main hold would be spread over the rocks, when the booty
could be recovered at low tide. He was now not so sure that the major
portion of the wreck was fairly atop of the reef. The bow part certainly
was, but from the relative position of the _Paloma_ and the remains
of the _Talca_, it was difficult to observe with any degree of accuracy
the actual condition of the shattered hull.

[Illustration: "TACKLE HIM LOW!" EXCLAIMED KENNETH     _Page_ 180]

It then occurred to Mendoza that some explanation ought to be made to
the crew.

He addressed them from the bridge:

"Men," he exclaimed, "you are wondering why I put yonder craft ashore.
She was supposed to be our consort. The arrangement was not of my
seeking nor was it my wish. Paquilla, I discovered, had a scheme to make
us a cat's-paw. He meant to use our reserve of coal, to appropriate Boya
as his base, and to still further enrich himself as the result of an
enterprise against shipping of all nations.

"Sooner or later either Paquilla or myself would have to go under. My
opportunity to score against a dangerous rival arrived, and I took it.
To-morrow, if the weather holds fine--and there is every indication of
it so doing--we will commence operations at low water on the wreck and
help ourselves to Paquilla's hoard."

A cheer greeted the announcement, although in the silence that ensued
one of the hands remarked in an audible tone that a precious lot they'd
find after the hammering the wreck was getting.

A dark flush overspread the features of the pirate captain. For a moment
or so he looked as if he meant to deal severely with the dubious man;
but holding his feelings under control, Mendoza turned to Lopez and
ordered him to take the _Paloma_ into the inner harbour.

As soon as the vessel cleared the caon-like entrance, Kenneth looked in
the direction of the huts, hoping to catch a glimpse of his father. He
was disappointed, although he derived some small measure of consolation
from the fact that armed guards were patrolling in front of the
building, which had been surrounded by barbed wire and was obviously
intended as a sort of prison. Mr. Heatherington and Captain Gregory were
the only two captives on the island when the _Paloma_ sailed in quest of
the _Talca_, and as it was improbable that other prisoners had been
brought to Boya, Kenneth concluded that his father was still alive and
in captivity.

The two chums were in a condition of utter perplexity over the events of
the last few days. The inexplicable alliance between the _Paloma_ and
her intended prize, their joint attack upon the _Het Volk_, the
deliberate wrecking of the _Talca_, and Mendoza's jubilant speech on the
return of the buccaneers formed a tangled skein that was past Peter's
and Kenneth's skill to unravel.

They were so utterly in the dark in a figurative sense that they were
unable to form any plans to extricate themselves from their unhappy
plight. As far as they were concerned, they were helpless. They
realized that Mendoza, by keeping before them the threat to make Mr.
Heatherington suffer for their delinquencies, held them as firmly as if
they were bound hand and foot. They were willing enough to run risks on
their own account in an attempt to regain their freedom; but the
responsibility for Mr. Heatherington's safety acted as an effectual
check to their activities. The ruthless manner in which Mendoza had
destroyed first the Dutch vessel and then the _Talca_ made the lads
realize that they were "up against" a gang of desperate ruffians to whom
the crime of murder was of no account.

The _Paloma_ had hardly completed mooring when a sudden commotion
attracted the chums' attention.

Lopez, having left the bridge, was still pursuing the conciliatory
attitude towards his skipper, although his wish to revenge the insult
when Mendoza ordered him to be lowered over the side was as fierce as
ever. There was hardly the slightest doubt that the pirate captain read
his subordinate's thoughts, and when Lopez, smirking and frowning,
offered to congratulate him on having brought the _Paloma_ safely
through the shoals, Mendoza sarcastically admitted that he knew all that
was required concerning the secret approach to Boya.

"And since you are no longer useful in the capacity of pilot," he added,
"you can sling your hammock in the fo'c'sle with the _other_ hands. And
mark well: the next time you refuse to carry out my orders or those of
the officers, including the one I am about to appoint in your place,
you'll dangle from the cathead again--with a running noose round your
neck instead of a bowline round your waist. Is that clear?"

Kenneth and Peter, standing within twenty paces of the two pirates, were
quite unprepared for what was about to take place. Mendoza had spoken
without raising his voice, and, in their ignorance of Spanish, the chums
merely thought he was giving customary orders to his subordinate.

A sudden scuffle riveted their attention. Lopez, with the snarl of a
wolf, had drawn a knife and had hurled himself upon his captain. To a
certain extent Mendoza had expected the attack, for the moment Lopez
leapt the skipper threw his cap at his assailant's face, and, taking
advantage of the temporary check to the distracted officer's movements,
gripped him by the wrist.

A brief struggle ensued. Several of the hands were standing by, but made
no attempt to go to their captain's assistance. Lopez, being younger and
more active than Mendoza, bore the latter to the deck, although the
captain maintained a strong hold on the other's wrist, and prevented him
dealing a fatal thrust.

Neither Kenneth nor Peter would have shown much compunction had Mendoza
been killed by any other hand than that of Lopez; but of the two
pirates, Mendoza was the less disliked. Existence on board under Mendoza
was a dog's life as far as the chums were concerned; under Lopez it
would be infinitely worse.

"Tackle him low!" exclaimed Kenneth. "Mind the knife!"

The chums rushed to separate the combatants, Peter gripping Lopez round
the waist, while Kenneth with a twisting movement seized Lopez's wrist
and compelled him to drop the knife. Relaxing his hold, Kenneth picked
up the weapon and threw it over the side. Then he proceeded to drag
Mendoza farther away from his assailant, at the same time preventing the
captain from taking advantage of Lopez's helpless condition.

For helpless Lopez was. For the first time he realized the strength of
the English lad who held him in a vice-like grip--a hold learnt on the
playing fields at school and developed by dint of hard, forced manual
labour during his detention by the buccaneers of Boya.

"Keep him back!" panted Peter, observing that Mendoza, quickly aware of
the powerless state of his attacker, was about to wreak vengeance upon
his subordinate.

Pluckily Kenneth diverted the pirate captain's designs, kept him at bay,
while half a dozen of the hands relieved Peter of his task and carried
Lopez to the hatchway.

"That's right!" shouted Mendoza. "Keep him secure. Put him in irons.
Death is too easy a punishment for a mutineering dog. I'll deal with him
in due course."

Possibly it never occurred to the pirate captain to realize what he
said. His sense of humour failed to grasp the fact that he too was a
"mutineering dog".

Suddenly, he turned to the two British lads, but not to thank them for
undoubtedly saving his life.

"Perdition take you for baulking me!" he exclaimed, in his quaint and
broken rendering of the English tongue. "What do you mean by laying
hands on me? In future, for your presumption, you will work double
shifts while the _Paloma_ remains in harbour. That will teach you a
lesson not to interfere when I wish to punish a traitor."

The chums made no reply. It seemed useless to point out that had they
not acted promptly, Lopez might be reigning in Mendoza's stead. Mendoza
seemed to have forgotten that part of the incident, and remembered only
the fact that he had been forcibly withheld by one of the lads from
either knifing or shooting Lopez out of hand.

Early next morning at three-quarters ebb the _Paloma's_ boat proceeded
to the scene of the wreck of the _Talca_. Even with the tide low and in
fair weather the boat had a hazardous passage, and, when they reached
the spot, they found that any attempt to close the battered remains of
Paquilla's craft meant certain destruction. No boat could live in that
constantly breaking sea, and even at dead low water, tremendous crested
waves surged in chaotic masses of milky foam over the highest part of
the ledge. Only a few feet of the bows of the ship remained. The rest,
including Paquilla's ill-gotten booty, had been swept far and wide, to
find a secure resting place fathoms deep in the jagged fissures in the
coral reefs.

The disappointment hit Mendoza heavily. So far the buccaneering business
had failed dismally. The only bright spot, according to his views, was
that he had rid himself of two rivals--Paquilla and Lopez. Both were
dangerous in different ways. The _Talca_ was out of the running for all
time; the disrated officer of the _Paloma_ was in Mendoza's power; he
would make Lopez bitterly rue the day when he sought to usurp the
command of the piratical crew.

He had also to deal with a growing sense of discontent amongst the
hands. They knew that the promised guerdon of unlimited wealth had not
materialized. They had worked hard, run risks, and had nothing to show
as the result of the unlawful endeavour. A shortage of provisions tended
to add fresh fuel to the smouldering fires of discontent. Yams and
taro-roots grew on the island, but not in sufficient quantities to feed
a swarm of men with healthy appetites; besides, yams and taro-roots with
a somewhat bounteous supply of coco-nut formed a diet that was bound to
pall unless it was varied by more staple food. There were no pigs on the
island. Fish were caught, but some of those cooked and eaten proved to
be of a distinctly unwholesome kind, and many of the crew were taken ill
with a mild form of blood-poisoning. After that the hands drew the line
at fish except those recognized as non-poisonous.

Food had to be procured. The idea of looting the island of Talai, where
provisions were abundant, occurred to Mendoza, but he remembered that to
his belief the whole population was infected with the germs of
small-pox. Talai was _tabu_. Until the danger of infection was over
neither the foodstuffs nor the black pearls of Talai were open to the
pirate's activities.

In the circumstances Mendoza decided to replenish coal-bunkers and put
to sea again, with the intention of capturing one of the comparatively
slow and small vessels homeward bound from either Australia or New
Zealand, with cargoes of frozen meat. One such haul would provision
Boya Island for months; and with an abundance of coal the buccaneers'
lair would be a secure base for further operations.

Meanwhile the crew of the _Paloma_ tightened their belts and thought
longingly of the flesh pots and olive groves of sunny Spain--their
native land whence they had voluntarily banished themselves on a
chimerical quest for easy-gotten gold.




CHAPTER XX

A Dash for Freedom


"I'll take jolly good care not to make another voyage in the rotten old
_Paloma_!" exclaimed Kenneth resolutely. "Look here, Peter, old son;
what's to prevent us doing a bunk and lying doggo until the yacht sails?
There are dozens of secure hiding-places in the island."

"What about your Pater?" inquired his chum. "Mendoza will be as wild as
anything when he finds we've given him the slip. 'Sides, if we escape
from the yacht, how do we get clear of the island?"

"We might be able to release the Pater and Captain Gregory," replied
Kenneth. "You see, there are only five men left to look after things
ashore while the _Paloma's_ out on a raiding expedition. Four against
five isn't long odds by any means, especially as we have the element of
surprise on our side. I've been observing things pretty closely since we
came ashore."

"And it strikes me that the pirates are observing us pretty closely,"
rejoined Peter, as he prepared to resume his arduous work. "Get a move
on, old thing, or they'll suspect we're up to some dodge or other."

It was the second day following Mendoza's unsuccessful attempt to
retrieve the _Talca's_ precious cargo. Replenishing the depleted coal
bunkers of the buccaneering vessel was in full swing, and, as before,
Kenneth and Peter had to perform more than their fair share of filling
and transporting sacks of coal from the store to the pier-head.

Of Lopez they saw or heard nothing from the moment when he was
unceremoniously bundled below. Of his fate they were in complete
ignorance. Whether Mendoza had caused the would-be superseder to be
shot, or whether he was carrying out his dark threat to wreak a terrible
vengeance upon the man was a question that the chums had no means of
solving.

During the long working hours, they had little opportunity for
conversation. It was only when they passed and repassed each other that
they took the risk of placing their burdens on the ground and exchanging
a few words.

Although Kenneth kept a watchful eye upon the store-house that, judging
by the presence of a triple line of barbed-wire fencing, evidently was
used as a prison, he saw nothing of his parent or Captain Gregory. The
prisoners never appeared at the barred windows facing the coal depot; if
they were allowed out for exercise it was never during the hours in
which the working-party was on the island. Except for the armed guards
who constantly patrolled the now well-worn path surrounding the prison
hut, there was nothing to indicate that the building contained prisoners
against whose escape special precautions were taken.

Mindful of Peter's warning, Kenneth shouldered his sack of coal--he had
now learnt the art of transferring it to his back with the minimum of
effort--and tramped stolidly towards the beach; while his chum, laden
with a number of empty coal-sacks, trudged up the hill towards the
steadily diminishing but far from exhausted stack of fuel.

As Kenneth continued his way, he covertly studied the land. Instinct
prompted him to make for the highest of the three peaks when the time
arrived for the chums to risk a dash for freedom, or at least a brief
spell of restricted liberty. Caution urged him to keep to the lower
ground. There were hiding places in scores amongst those volcanic
fissures. Their pursuers, presuming that the flight were discovered
before the _Paloma_ unmoored and proceeded to sea, would devote their
energies to overrunning the high ground and more than likely leave that
part of the island nearer the harbour out of their calculations. At any
rate, he decided, it was sound reasoning.

The ideal hour for making the attempt was in the bustle that took place
just before the _Paloma_ got under way; only it seemed improbable that
Mendoza would again risk a night passage through the reefs, since he was
not hurrying to intercept a supposed easy prey. It seemed a forlorn hope
to attempt to swim ashore in broad daylight.

At length the last sack of coal required to fill the bunkers was sent
off, and the working-party was ordered to return to the ship. Peter and
Kenneth made their way to the pile together, under the watchful eye of
the bos'n; who, judging by his demeanour, was still anxious to get even
with the English lad who had caused him to bump the back of his head
upon the hard ground.

As the chums passed over the side they were greeted by Miguel Fe.

"You will keep middle watch in the stokehold," he ordered curtly.

Peter gave his chum a lugubrious glance at the information. The _Paloma_
was about to raise steam. It looked as if the chums were to engage upon
another involuntary cruise.

"Very good," replied Kenneth. "Are we sailing at once?"

The question was put so naturally that Miguel Fe was taken off his
guard.

"No," he replied. "At daybreak."

After partaking of the unappetizing supper served out to the hands, the
chums stole off to their sleeping quarters under a winch tarpaulin on
the fo'c'sle. They made no attempt to sleep. They discussed in low tones
their plan of action.

At a quarter to four the reliefs were mustered for the morning watch,
the deck hands and firemen falling in separately. Kenneth and Peter took
their places with the latter: half a dozen ruffianly-looking men whose
sole clothing consisted of a pair of canvas trousers and rope-soled
shoes.

The chief fireman read off the names, each one answering with a curt
_s_, and the roll having been called the watch tumbled down the
vertical steel ladder leading to the hot, ill-ventilated stokehold.

The next hour passed slowly, the chums toiling with shovel and rake to
keep the furnaces burning well and to ensure the removal of clinker and
cinders. So painstaking did they appear that the leading stoker had no
cause to complain, and left them to themselves to attend to the furnace
of No. 3 boiler, which happened to be nearest to the ladder leading on
deck.

At a quarter to five--it was still pitch dark without and dawn would not
break until twenty minutes past the hour--Kenneth and Peter deserted
their post. Unseen by any of the other toilers in the steam-laden
atmosphere of the stokehold they darted up the ladder, paused only to
see that the deck in their vicinity was deserted, and stole cautiously
under the lee of the dummy boiler-casing.

Five yards away was the accommodation-ladder, which for some reason had
not yet been topped-up and secured. Close to the grating at the head of
the ladder stood a figure faintly silhouetted against the phosphorescent
light from the placid waters of the harbour. It was Mendoza. The pirate
captain was standing almost motionless and peering shorewards.

For a seemingly interminable time he remained cutting off the lads' path
to freedom, but at length with an exclamation of impatience, he went
aft. The chums heard him shout an order. Above the hiss of escaping
steam came the sound of many footsteps.

"Quick!" hissed Kenneth.

With their hearts thumping violently the fugitives crept across
the intervening space of deck between the casing and the
accommodation-ladder. Down they stole, the suspended structure swaying
and groaning at every step, until they gained the platform at the foot
of the ladder.

Fifteen feet above them, and on the very part of the deck they had just
left were the hands summoned by Mendoza. The tackle supporting the
accommodation-ladder was violently jerked, as if preparation were being
made to hoist up. Simultaneously others of the crew were swinging out a
pair of empty davits.

Above the turmoil came the sound of oars. One of the _Paloma's_ boats
was returning to the ship from the shore. Judging by the sound she could
not be more than ten times her length from the accommodation-ladder, for
which she was making.

"We're clean bowled!" thought Kenneth.




CHAPTER XXI

Scaling the Cliffs


"Lower yourself and hang on!" whispered Peter, and without hesitation he
dropped feet foremost into the black water, edged round to the underside
of the lower platform of the ladder and waited.

Kenneth followed with more haste than discretion, sending up a shower of
phosphorescence as he took the water. For a few moments the chums waited
breathlessly, expecting that they had been spotted by the buccaneers on
deck; but either the sound of the splash was deadened by the commotion
on board or else the phosphorescent swirl was mistaken for the splash of
a fish.

With a bump that made the accommodation-ladder shake violently the boat
came alongside. Between the treads the chums could see the head of the
bowman's boathook obtaining a hold on the teak grating within eighteen
inches of their faces. The boat forged ahead a few feet. Two men stepped
out and ascended the ladder. The boat then dropped astern, so that the
remaining members of the crew could be discerned with far too much
clearness to be appreciated by the chums, as they hung on with only
their heads above water. But the Spaniards in the boat were far too
busily engaged in hooking on the lower blocks of the fall to notice
them.

An impatient voice hailed the boat from the ship. A necessary reply was
given and the boat rose to the davit-heads, dropping a shower of
luminous water from her keel.

"Now for it!" whispered Peter. "Keep close alongside until we're round
her stern, but look out for the prop.!"

The warning was fully justified, for almost at that moment the
_Paloma's_ propeller began to churn the water. To be caught in the
suction of that powerful screw meant death; to strike out frantically
away from the ship's side meant detection.

Fortunately the fugitives had not to choose either alternative. Just as
Kenneth thought resentfully, "So they call this getting under way at
daybreak!" the revolutions of the propeller ceased. Mendoza had ordered
a few turns of the screw to assure himself that all was well in the
engine-room.

Nevertheless the chums gave the stern a wide berth. It was fairly safe
to do so, since most of the hands were busy preparing to unmoor and
shorten in both cables before weighing.

"No hurry!" whispered Peter. "Don't splash."

Using the breast-stroke and keeping their hands below the surface, the
two lads struck out for the shore, moving at a funeral pace, lest the
ripples in their wake might attract notice. The water was very warm:
they had no fear of cramp. It was so salt that the swimmers were
surprised at its unaccustomed buoyancy. Foot by foot, yard by yard they
drew clear of their floating prison. Occasionally a fish, breaking
surface, would cause a phosphorescent swirl on the dark waters. Big
fish, some of them. Vaguely Kenneth wondered whether they might be
sharks. He had not seen sharks in their enclosed anchorage. There were
plenty in the outer lagoon, and there was no guarantee that some of
these tigers of the deep might not find their way into the inner
harbour. He remembered being told that in the event of being attacked by
a shark the best thing to do was to flounder violently and splash with
arms and legs, but in the present circumstance silence was highly
desirable. It depended, he thought, on self-discipline, and whether the
risk of being recaptured by the _Paloma's_ crew did or did not outweigh
the peril of being seized by a ravenous shark.

The while both lads swam strongly and with slow, deliberate strokes. The
_Paloma_ was quite invisible in the darkness. Ahead, and most deceptive
as to distance, could be discerned the summit of the low cliffs nearly
surrounding the anchorage. The rest of the rocky walls was in utter
darkness. It was impossible to gauge with any degree of accuracy how far
the beach was, or whether there was any beach at all at the point for
which the swimmers were making.

Suddenly Peter uttered a surprised cry. His bare foot had struck against
a slimy object. For the moment he thought a fish had attacked him, until
he discovered that it was a trailing length of seaweed he had
encountered.

A few yards farther on and the chums found themselves in a kelp-bed.
There were slippery and yet tenacious tendrils of seaweed everywhere,
through which the swimmers must make their way if they were to gain the
shore, unless they were compelled to make for the pier-head.

"We're nearly there!" exclaimed Kenneth. "Keep your feet up and don't
get flurried. If you do you'll get caught up."

"Easier said than done," replied his chum breathlessly, as he stopped to
disengage a particularly adhesive tendril from his left ankle. "Think
we'll get through it?"

"'Course," rejoined Kenneth, but after a few more strokes, he too found
the formidable nature of the kelp-bed. Heedless of his own advice he
commenced to struggle. The more he strove to shake off the tendrils, the
more they hampered his movements.

"Peter!" he exclaimed. "I've stuck!"

Moving cautiously, young Arkendale swam to his friend's assistance.

"I'll hold you!" he said reassuringly. "Put your hand down and try to
free your ankle."

Kenneth attempted to do so. Failing, he kicked violently. His bare foot
came in contact with hard ground. The water was only four feet deep.

By this time dawn had broken with characteristic swiftness of the
Tropics.

"It's quite shallow," announced Kenneth.

"And about time too," added Peter, as he too was glad to rest his feet
upon the firm bottom. "Be careful, don't raise your head too much. Look
behind you!"

Standing out distinctly against the reddish hue that stole over the
crests of the peaks of Boya was the _Paloma_. Her foredeck was enveloped
in steam as the capstan performed the task of "Breaking-out" the
remaining anchor. Mendoza had lost no time in getting under way at
daybreak.

"Keep your head down, you ass!" cautioned Kenneth. "Close to the weed.
They might take your hair for seaweed, but they won't if they see your
face."

For Peter in his eagerness to see what the pirate vessel was doing had
neglected to take the precautions that he had only a few seconds before
urged upon his chum.

Amidst the broad expanse of dark-brown kelp, the lads' hair could
hardly be distinguished unless any of the crew were on the look-out for
them and were sweeping the surface of the harbour by means of
binoculars; but apparently the flight of the two British "firemen" had
not been discovered, for none of the crew paid any attention to matters
beyond those in connection with their duties on board.

The _Paloma's_ anchor, covered with weed and shedding gallons of water,
was hauled up and stowed snugly in the hawse-pipe. Her propeller gave a
few flicks astern, stopped and then began to revolve steadily. The ship
gathered way, steadied on her helm and headed for the narrow,
cliff-bordered channel leading to the outer lagoon. A few minutes later,
the intervening rocks hid her from view, although the pulsations of her
engines, the sound enormously increased by the confined space between
the walls of stone, remained audible for a considerable time.

"Tide's rising," declared Kenneth.

"It's slow: only about seven feet rise in six hours," rejoined his chum.
"Think it safe to carry on?"

"Yes," said Kenneth. "No: hold on--look up there--a little more on your
left."

Seated on a ledge of rock were four men, gazing indifferently in the
direction of the departing _Paloma_; for from their elevated position
they could command a view of the greater part of the outer lagoon, and
the channel through the reefs.

Four men! That meant that a larger number had been left ashore than on
the previous occasion, since one, or possibly two were supposed to be
constantly on guard over the huts and storehouses. The odds were
increasing.

"Think they've been warned to keep a look-out for us?" asked Peter.

"Hardly; they haven't once looked this way since we first spotted them,"
replied his chum. "They're merely basking in the early morning sun,
bless them! I wish they'd get a move on. We can't land till they do."

"Why not?"

"'Cause we'll leave a watery trail, and on their return to the huts
they're bound to cut it somewhere. Ten to one they'll keep close to the
cliffs."

"We might chance it," urged Peter. "Once we can get to the base of the
cliffs we are safe from observation."

"From that direction--yes," admitted Kenneth. "But supposing the guards
spot us? We've cut things a bit finely. I didn't bargain on dawn so
soon."

"Let's chance it, then," suggested the other. "We'll have to start
swimming through the stuff if we wait much longer."

Slowly and with the utmost caution, both against being seen and being
entangled in the kelp, the fugitives progressed towards the shore. After
covering about twenty yards they found that the water deepened
considerably, but with the compensating advantage, that the bed of weed
ended abruptly. They had still about fifty yards of sunlit water to
cover, with great risk of discovery should the four Spaniards happen to
look in that direction.

The men, however, continued to evince a careless interest in the
_Paloma_. They seemed in no hurry to move from their resting-place; nor
did they appear to be engaged in conversation. They merely sprawled,
each smoking the inevitable cigarette.

At length the swimmers reached the base of the cliffs. Here they were
screened from observation, but a fresh difficulty confronted them. The
water was several fathoms deep, the wall of rock rising sheer from the
bed of the harbour. Although the wall was rugged and scarred by
innumerable vertical fissures, there was nothing to afford means of
scaling the cliff.

By this time the lads were feeling rather exhausted by their prolonged
stay in the water, and by their efforts to extricate themselves from the
kelp-bed. They were glad to hang on to a projection and rest.

"What now?" asked Peter. "Make for the pier-head?"

"Must; unless we can find a way up," replied his companion. "The trouble
is that the nearer we get to the beach, the more likely we are to be
spotted. Those fellows up there can overlook the landing-place."

"Risk it," exclaimed Arkendale. "I'm not a cross-Channel swimmer."

Again they struck out, keeping almost within arm's length of the rocks
on the left. Before they had covered another fifty yards they noticed a
deep but narrow cleft in the cliff, somewhat resembling what is known to
mountaineers as a "chimney". There were numerous irregular projections
that gave promise of a means of ascent.

"It mightn't lead to the top," objected Peter.

"P'raps not," agreed Kenneth. "'Tany rate it will take us clear of the
water. After all, there's no hurry."

"Isn't there?" rejoined his chum. "I want my breakfast--even if it is
only taro. Right-o: I'll go first. You keep clear in case I come a
cropper."

Using hands and feet and occasionally obtaining assistance by placing
his shoulders against the opposite side of the "chimney", Peter
clambered up for a height of nearly twenty feet. Then he disappeared
from his companion's gaze.

"All right up there?" asked Kenneth, in a low voice hardly above a husky
whisper.

"Top-hole," replied Peter. "It's quite a decent sort of dug-out. Up you
come."

Kenneth scrambled up, barking his knees against the hard and rugged
stone, until wellnigh breathless he flung himself down upon a broad,
natural bench formed by a deep horizontal recess in the cliff. The floor
was roughly thirty feet in length and about ten in width at its widest
part, ending flush with the face of the cliff. In one part the rock was
green with lichen and moss, and there was a suspicion of a faint trickle
of water.

"This is all right," declared Kenneth, "but there's no grub. We can't
stay here indefinitely."

"It's all right for the present," said Peter, as he wrung the salt water
from the legs of his dilapidated pair of canvas trousers, which, with a
threadbare singlet, comprised his entire wardrobe.

For the next half-hour hardly a word was exchanged. The chums were
content to sit down and rest, secure in the knowledge that nothing short
of a freak of chance would reveal their hiding-place.

Kenneth was the first to stir. Rising, he walked cautiously towards the
southern end of the ledge and peered in the direction of the hill on
which the four Spaniards were seated. He could just catch sight of their
heads and shoulders. They were still there, but had abandoned their
indolent attitude and were deeply engrossed in a game of cards.

"They'll keep that up for hours," thought the lad, who by this time was
fully aware of the absorbing interest a Spaniard finds in card-playing.

It was now growing insufferably hot. Although the ledge was sheltered
from the direct rays of the sun, which were now rapidly increasing in
power, the whole of the rock seemed to radiate heat. The chums'
saturated clothes were dry again. They had passed through a chilly
period, during which the garments were drying, and now they were feeling
the extreme heat; and with the heat came a terrible thirst--a thirst
rendered still more acute by reason of the salt water they had swallowed
in small quantities during their swim from the ship.

To a certain extent they quenched their thirst by chewing lumps of moss,
but this had not the same satisfying result as if they had drunk fresh
water. A diligent examination of the rocks failed to discover the
precious liquid. In fact the moss had dried considerably since the chums
had taken up their quarters on the ledge.

"I believe there's a trickle of water every night and that during the
day it dries up," declared Kenneth. "Otherwise the green stuff wouldn't
grow."

"Rough luck if we have to wait till to-night for a drink of water,"
added his companion. "What are those fellows doing? Still playing
poker?"

"Yes, and likely to carry on with it," replied Kenneth, after another
brief glimpse at the card-players. "Their eyes seem glued to the cards.
What do you say? Ready for another move?"

"Move where? We can't climb up."

"No; but we can take to the water again. There may be a better means of
ascent farther along. In any case there is the beach by the pier. Our
best plan is to make for the coco-groves. Then, after we've had
something to eat, we can keep the huts under observation. You see, if we
find out the habits of these fellows, we may discover a means of
communicating with my Pater and Captain Gregory."

Peter nodded.

"M'yes," he admitted grudgingly. "How many pirates are there on the
island, I should like to know? If those fellows are some of the armed
guard, they don't seem in any hurry to relieve those on duty. It strikes
me that Mendoza has left a tidy mob here this time."

"Not more than he could possibly spare," said Kenneth. "He's
short-handed as it is."

"And more so than he thinks," added Peter with a grin. "I wonder whether
he's discovered he's two firemen short? Well, if he has, he hasn't
troubled to put back and look for us."

"Unless he thinks we're hiding away on board. Ready?"

The chums tackled the descent of the "chimney". It was a far more
difficult business than that of the ascent. One false step--and this
cleft was too narrow to enable them to see the footholds--would mean a
plunge into the water, which in itself meant little, but there was a
risk of sustaining a broken limb by coming into violent contact with the
granite-like projections.

Taking to the water once more they struck out, skirting the cliffs in
the direction of the beach and pier. The harbour, being roughly circular
in outline, made it certain that beyond a definite point the swimmers
would be in full view of the card-playing Spaniards. The lads knew the
risk and took it, staking their chances on the intentness of the
gamblers upon their game blunting their senses as far as everything else
was concerned.

Presently Kenneth, who was swimming a few yards in front of his
companion, trod water and pointed to another gap in the cliffs. This was
of a similar nature to that of the "chimney" they had just descended,
but with one important difference. The fissure extended to the summit of
the cliffs instead of terminating at a broad bench midway 'twixt base
and edge.

"Try it!" prompted Peter, and without delay Kenneth essayed the ascent.
It was easier than the former, the projections being more frequent and
giving a firmer foot- and hand-hold.

With very little exertion Kenneth gained the summit of the cliff, threw
himself down in a slight hollow and waved to his chum to follow.

Peter was within a few feet of the summit when Kenneth, chancing to turn
his head, was astonished and dismayed to find a tall, heavily-built
pirate standing at about twenty paces away, and facing the spot where
the British lad crouched in the slight depression by the side of the
fissure.




CHAPTER XXII

Across the Danger Zone


Startled by the sight, Kenneth was for a few moments unable to act. All
his senses seemed benumbed. He stared dully at the unwelcome figure,
striving, but in vain, to collect his scattered wits. Some vague impulse
urged him to warn his chum, but he could do nothing but keep perfectly
still and gaze.

At last his vision became less blurred. His brain was beginning to act,
and answering to the dictates of caution he signalled to Peter to stop.

Fortunately Arkendale obeyed without asking the reason. Propped up
against one of the walls of the "chimney" and with his feet firmly
braced against the opposite side, he remained perfectly quiet, watching
with considerable anxiety the partly averted face of his chum.

Kenneth, taking stock of the unwelcome interrupter of their flight,
noticed that the Spaniard was tall, burly and particularly ill-favoured.
He had discarded the canvas clothes usually worn by the crew of the
_Paloma_, and was dressed in a blue cotton shirt, loose trousers
reaching to midway between his knees and ankles, and a yellow scarf tied
round his head. He was barefooted. He also appeared to be unarmed,
although he might have had a knife or pistol concealed in his sash,
unless the heavy stick on which he leant could be described as a weapon.

Even as Kenneth looked, the man prodded the hard rock with his stick and
shouted: "Enrico! Enrico!"

At the hail, Peter, guessing that his chum had been spotted, scrambled
up the remaining portion of the fissure and rejoined Kenneth. Neither
spoke, but the same thought flashed through their minds: that it would
be better to tackle the fellow at once before Enrico, whoever he might
be, came to the pirate's aid.

Before the opportunity offered to close with the Spaniard, the latter
turned half round and shuffled a few steps, sounding the while with his
stick.

"Enrico!" he shouted again, in an impatient tone. The point of his stick
rasped the rocky edge of a deep hole. He stopped and sounded with
increased vigour.

The chums understood. The man was either stone blind or his vision was
so seriously impaired that he could not see objects more than a few
inches from him.

A voice shouted in reply to the man's appeal. The fugitives stole
silently away, and crouched in a sheltered fissure close to the brink of
the cliffs.

[Illustration: THE FUGITIVES CROUCHED IN A SHELTERED FISSURE
_Page_ 208]

They were not a moment too soon. Hurrying in the direction of the
blinded man was another of the pirate crew. His right arm was in a
sling, while a strip of dirty, blood-stained linen was fastened round
his head. The newcomer was more to be feared than the other, for,
although his right arm was disabled, he wore an automatic in his sash in
a convenient position to enable him to grasp it with his left hand. And
what was more, the fellow had piercing, alert-looking eyes, and during
the time he was talking to the blinded man he seemed to look about him
as if searching for something.

Talking rapidly as he approached--he was evidently chiding his comrade
for his foolhardiness in straying so close to the edge of the
cliffs--the newcomer took the other by the arm and led him away.

"More of them," said Kenneth, when the sound of the Spaniard's voice
died away in the distance. "We've struck a sort of hospital recreation
ground. My word! That blind chap gave me a stiff scare. He appeared to
be looking right at me."

"Jolly good thing we didn't make a noise," remarked Peter. "And a lucky
thing for us the man was blind. Sort of 'what's one man's meat is
another's poison'. Wonder what the gamblers are doing?"

Cautiously Peter raised his head and peered between two adjacent
boulders.

"Thank goodness, they're off!" ejaculated Kenneth fervently. "The
island's stiff with them. Now, suppose we make a dash for the
coco-groves?"

Peter measured the intervening distance with his eye, noted the almost
total absence of cover for quite a hundred yards, and decided to sit
tight.

"We'll have to stick it until those card-playing rascals clear out," he
declared. "We might escape detection from the huts--most probably we
shall--but if those fellows----"

"They're moving," interrupted Kenneth.

It was the rapidly growing heat of the sun that made the four pirates
abandon their exposed perch. Listlessly they began to descend the hill,
and to make their way back to the buildings.

They passed within twenty yards of the fugitives, but never once did
they glance in the direction of the hollow sheltering the two lads. Each
Spaniard was armed with a pistol or revolver, and a short bayonet-like
knife. In addition two had electric torches slung by a cord over the
shoulder. These were apparently the guards who had been relieved at
day-break and had taken advantage of the opportunity for a game of cards
before going to sleep in the heat of the day.

Kenneth and Peter watched them gain the path leading from the pier,
ascend the now well-trodden path to the huts, and disappear from view.
Presently one of the four came out, paced up and down before the barred
windows for a few minutes, lit a cigarette, and sat down upon a pile of
sacks under the veranda.

Very soon the same cause for the card-players' change of position made
it painfully necessary for the chums to follow suit. The hollow was
becoming an oven. Not only were the sun's rays beating fiercely down
upon the hard rock, the ground was throwing out heat.

"It will be a case of sunstroke for the pair of us if we stop here,"
declared Kenneth, after a vain attempt to shield his head and neck with
his hands. "I think it's safe to make a dash for it."

Peter grunted assent. He was feeling too hot and his throat was too
parched to talk.

Taking full advantage of every bit of available cover, often crawling
snake-like on their stomachs; dragging their thinly covered bodies and
limbs over the sun-scorched rock; never daring to raise their heads more
than a few inches from the radiating rocks, the fugitives made slow
progress until they reached the belt of open ground. To gain the
coco-groves this belt had to be covered. There was only one alternative:
to skirt it on their right, but that meant having to approach within a
few yards of the path between the pier and the huts and within full view
of the latter.

It was literally _adhaesit pavimento_. The lads would have given almost
anything for the delight of rolling in the mud of a football ground at
home in exchange for that horrible nerve-racking crawl across the
volcanic-dust-covered terrain.

They were about half-way across when the stillness of the sultry air was
rent by the whip-crack report of a rifle. A bullet whined so close to
the fugitives' heads (that is what it seemed to do) that they ducked and
brought their faces in actual contact with the dust.

"Spotted!" thought Kenneth, and a similar thought flashed across his
chum's mind. Both were seized by an almost irresistible desire to leap
to their feet and sprint across the remaining distance of about fifty
yards to the shelter of the palms.

But before the impulse could be acted upon a heavy whirring sound almost
overhead caused them with imprudent recklessness to look up.

Immediately above them was a huge bird, a member of the eagle family. It
was the first feathered creature the chums had seen since their arrival
at Boya, but it was no stranger to the pirates who had been left to take
charge of the island during the _Paloma's_ absence. Already the men had
suffered from the depredations of the bird of prey, for it had flown off
with a half-empty sack of maize on one occasion and, on another, with a
bag of tobacco. The loss of the latter had roused the buccaneers to
action, and they vowed vengeance upon the bird that had despoiled them
of a much-prized luxury.

"Keep flat!" exclaimed Kenneth. "They're not potting at us!"

It was indeed fortunate that the fellow on guard outside the prison-hut
had seen the bird, for the latter, flying silently, had been hovering
over the two fugitives with the intention of attacking them, should the
prone figures give promise of an easy prey.

Startled by the report and the whirr of the bullet the creature flew
off, beating the air with its powerful wings. Followed by two more
equally unsuccessful shots, it disappeared from sight behind a spur of a
cliff.

Quick to take advantage of the situation and realizing that the man
using the rifle was concentrating all his attention upon his winged
target, Kenneth and Peter lost no time in crawling across the danger
zone and gaining the shelter of the coco-palms.

For quite half an hour, they were too exhausted to speak or move. All
they could do was to stretch themselves at full length on the
comparatively cool earth, and enjoy to the full the grateful shelter
afforded by the foliage.

They were thirsty. There was no water to be had. The growing coco-nuts
contained plenty of cool and refreshing liquid, but as the nuts were
thirty feet from the ground and the chums had not the strength to essay
the difficult task of shinning up a trunk absolutely devoid of branches,
the nuts were merely tantalizing objects.

Slight relief to their parched throats was obtained by chewing plucked
herbage. A quarter of a mile away yams grew in fair quantities, together
with a few taro roots, which, known to Canadians as sweet potatoes,
formed an appetizing meal--only, like the coco-nuts, they were for the
present unapproachable. To get to them meant traversing another belt of
open ground within view of the huts.

"Think it safe to go to sleep?" inquired Kenneth.

"Yes; if we don't snore," replied his chum bluntly. "Bad habit of yours
at times."

"You can't talk," retorted Kenneth. "'Tany rate, we'll risk it."

Crawling under a clump of brushwood, the two lads lay down and were soon
in a dreamless slumber.




CHAPTER XXIII

A Good Night's Work


The shadows had lengthened considerably when Kenneth awoke. Peter was
still slumbering serenely, oblivious of the fact that he was in an
almost destitute condition on an island in the hands of a band of
unscrupulous ruffians.

Kenneth did not attempt to rouse his chum. He still felt so drowsy that
he was inclined to go to sleep again, with the slight comfort of knowing
that he would not be unceremoniously turned out to stand a trick in the
hot, confined stokehold of the _Paloma_.

As he lay gazing up at the tangled brushwood overhead, he noticed what
appeared to be a detached mass of green foliage entangled in sun-dried
scrub. It was a coco-nut. Kenneth could have sworn that it was not there
when the chums crawled to their sleeping-place in the undergrowth.

Overjoyed at their good-fortune, Kenneth woke his companion. Peter took
the nut, stripped off the enclosing leaves and regarded the green husk
dubiously.

"It's like having a tin of bully-beef and no opener," he remarked. "How
are we going to get at the thing?"

"Break it against a stone," suggested Kenneth.

"And lose the milk. That won't do at all," protested his chum.

"I can't think of any other way," rejoined young Heatherington. "If we
had a knife----"

"No use wishing," said Peter. "Smash the thing, then. We may save some
of the juice, and there's the nut to eat."

Without further delay, beyond reassuring themselves to the best of their
belief that no one was about, they pounded the nut against a piece of
rock. At the third attempt the shell broke. They saved about half a pint
of the liquid, looked for the nut and found nothing! Accustomed to
coco-nuts as sold at home they were not aware that in its growing state
the shell contains nothing but milk.

"Rotten swiz!" exclaimed Peter disappointedly.

"Better than nothing," replied his companion, as he finished his share
of the refreshing liquid. "Next time we'll have a knife to work the
oracle."

"Knife!" ejaculated Peter. "What do you mean?"

"I said 'a knife'," declared Kenneth deliberately. "As soon as it gets
dark, I'm going to pay a visit to the huts. All we've got to look out
for is the sentry, and ten chances to one he'll be asleep. They don't
seem to have been warned we're adrift, so the _Paloma_ sailed without
our disappearance being discovered."

"Bit risky, isn't it?"

"Yes," agreed Kenneth soberly. "But we can't hang on here indefinitely
without things. If I can find a bag of meal--I know where the provisions
for the shore-party are kept--the pirates will find it missing in the
morning."

"I'm on it," said Peter.

"You're not," protested his chum. "You can stand by. It's a one man
show. Two run more risk of being spotted, and besides I know the place
better than you do, I fancy."

"I don't like the idea," remarked Peter.

"Neither do I," agreed Kenneth. "But that's neither here nor there. I'm
going to have a jolly good shot at it."

For the rest of the remaining hours of daylight the fugitives kept a
watch upon the collection of huts. Most, if not all, of the buccaneers
left on the island were lounging in the open, enjoying the cool of the
day. All were smoking, including the man on guard over the prison hut,
while most of them were either playing cards or a game resembling
dominoes.

Just before sunset a couple of men strolled down to the pier-head and
descended a ladder on the side farthest from the watchers. Presently a
boat with the same men put out from the pier.

"Hallo!" ejaculated Peter. "I didn't know there was a boat here."

"One of the _Paloma's_," said Kenneth. "By Jove! I'd like to collar that
boat, and make a dash for it."

"And get collared by the _Paloma_ on her return run," added Peter
caustically. "Now what are those fellows up to? Are they going to spoil
our night's entertainment?"

The chums watched the boat move slowly towards the centre of the secret
harbour. One of the men threw overboard a large stone to which was
attached a grassline. Having thus anchored the boat, its occupants
proceeded to fish.

"They may be all night at that game," hazarded Peter.

"We'll hear them coming back, never fear," said Kenneth. "In any case
there are two men the less up at the huts."

"What! Do you mean to say you're going to tackle the others?" asked his
chum.

"My lad! There's a time to fight and a time to lie doggo," replied
Kenneth. "It all depends upon opportunity and circumstance. For the
present we'll have to go slow and see how the land lies."

While daylight lasted the watchers could see the two pirates hauling up
fish at frequent intervals. Even then they found time to play cards.

"The island's a regular poker-den," observed Peter. "Well, that's in our
favour. They'll start quarrelling before long; out knives and all that
sort of thing. We'll win through yet."

"We'll have to carry out our plans before the _Paloma_ returns," added
his chum. "That is, within the next week."

Darkness fell. Within ten minutes of the setting of the sun, the night
was as black as pitch. Not a star was visible. The air was heavy and
motionless. The branches of the palm trees no longer sighed softly in
the breeze. Only the ceaseless booming of the surf upon the far-flung
reefs broke the silence.

A light appeared in one of the buildings--a steady yellow glare,
obviously from a kerosene lamp. A few minutes later a dancing white
light played upon the outside of the prison hut. One of the guards,
carrying an electric torch, was perambulating the building. The
perfunctory inspection finished, the torch was switched off.

The chums waited another hour before attempting a visit to the
buildings. There were no signs or sounds of the men in the boat--not
even the glimmer of a lighted cigarette.

Before setting out, Kenneth gave his final instructions, at the same
time sticking to his resolution to undertake the hazardous task alone.

"You can wait in that shallow cave half-way between the pier and the
barbed-wire fence," he said. "You know the place. I pointed it out when
we were lugging that coal down to the beach. I may be gone an hour.
Whatever happens, don't leave the spot except if it's necessary to make
off away from the huts. I won't be longer than I can possibly help."

Without being disturbed by suspicious sounds, the two lads crossed the
open expanse and struck the beaten track. A few minutes' stealthy walk
brought them to the cave, which was little more than a recess formed by
a violent disruption of the rocks. It was about twenty feet in height
and six at the base, the width diminishing to a few inches at the apex
of the triangular-like entrance. In daylight it would be useless as a
hiding-place; by night it served admirably as such.

"Cheerio!" whispered Kenneth.

"Good luck!" whispered Peter in reply.

Treading softly and with the utmost caution, Kenneth followed the path
until he came to the nearest building, where a light was still burning.
From within came the sounds of voices. It sounded as if a dispute were
in progress and that someone was making an attempt to pacify the
opposing parties.

Giving that building a wide berth, Kenneth continued his way until in
the darkness he almost blundered into the barbed-wire fence. Bearing
away to the left he followed the rectangle of fenced enclosure. The
gate, usually left open during the day, was secured by a massive padlock
and chain. He concluded that the fellow on guard must have been locked
in until relieved by the next for duty.

Presently Kenneth almost stumbled over a dark object lying on the
ground. It was the sentry, fortunately sound asleep. The lad threw
himself flat upon the hard, grassless soil and waited, fervently hoping
that the pirate was not a light sleeper. Lying close to the ground,
Kenneth could discern the fellow fairly clearly. He was face-downwards,
his head supported on his arm. His rifle and bayonet were by his side,
while hanging from his belt was his electric torch.

Then Kenneth did a risky and seemingly unnecessary thing. Why he did it,
he knew not. It might have been the result of sudden impulse, or an
irresistible desire to bring back some tangible proof of his adventure.

On hands and knees he cautiously approached the sleeper and deliberately
opened the spring-hook that fastened the torch to the man's belt. Thirty
seconds later, Kenneth regained his feet with the torch in his
possession.

"Now, if that had been a pair of wire-cutters, it would have been worth
collaring," he thought, as he resumed his walk round the outside of the
formidable fence.

For formidable it was, standing quite eight feet in height, with double
rows of horizontal wires concealed by a criss-cross of subsidiary wires
all bristling with aggressive spikes. It was unscaleable, impenetrable,
and set too firmly in the rock to afford any means of tunnelling under
it. In the circumstances it seemed as if the presence of a sentry were
totally unnecessary: possibly the sentry thought so too, or else he
would not have slept at his post. Also, it occurred to Kenneth that
discipline must be lax amongst the pirates left behind on Boya Island,
otherwise the fellow would not have run the risk of being discovered
asleep.

"Does he keep the keys, I wonder?" thought the lad.

As if in answer to his question a torch gleamed in the distance. The
beam drew nearer. Someone was approaching--more than likely the
relieving sentry.

Again Kenneth threw himself flat. He was then about thirty yards from
the still slumbering guard. On his left were the remains of a corrugated
iron hut that had fallen into decay since it had been erected by the men
who constructed the secret base for the German Pacific fleet. Towards
the debris the lad made his way, and, sheltering behind the rusty
sheeting, awaited developments.

The newcomer did not seem at all surprised to find the sentry sleeping.
There was no vehemence in the manner in which he roused the fellow.

The sentry stood up, bent and fumbled for his rifle, and the two pirates
made their way towards the gate. Here, they paused, and although the
distance between them and Kenneth had increased considerably, he was
still near enough to see the sentry produce a bunch of keys and hand
them to his relief.

It was not until then that he missed his torch. The two retraced their
steps, the new sentry flashing his torch on the ground in the hope of
finding the missing article.

Arriving at the scene of the man's slumbers, his companion began
flashing the torch in all directions, the pair talking excitedly the
while, as if their suspicions had been aroused.

Kenneth began to wish that he had not taken the torch. Its loss was
giving rise to complications. Still more did he regret the action, when
the electric ray played upon the heap of rusting corrugated iron behind
which he lay.

At length the search was abandoned. Still arguing the pair went to the
gate, unlocked it and threw it open. The new sentry entered, while the
other made his way in the direction of the hut from which a light still
showed. Kenneth could hear him cursing, as he stumbled over the uneven
ground in the darkness.

In a few minutes, having made a casual examination of the barred window
of the prison building, the sentry on duty came out of the gate, locked
it, and made his way to the spot where the other had slept. He too, lay
down, and was soon snoring.

"He's safe for the next four hours," thought the lad. "Now for some
grub. Let me see; how does the store bear from here?"

In the darkness, Kenneth lost his sense of direction. Had it been
starlight he would not have blundered; but blunder he did, for, instead
of making for the store, he found himself in the open space where the
coal was stacked.

Making a fresh start he eventually found the object of his search--a
long, low building with one end in a ruinous state. The doors were shut
but not bolted or locked. In the sub-division nearest to a double-door
the provisions were kept. He had previously seen men going in and out
while the coaling of the _Paloma_ was in progress.

The stock was low. It was all that Mendoza could spare from the ship's
stores, and consisted of half a dozen sacks of maize, flour and rice.

Kenneth was discriminating on his choice. Neither he nor Peter cared for
rice; besides, they had no means of boiling it. Flour would be
acceptable if they could make bread and bake it--but a fire was out of
the question. Maize, pounded and mixed with coco-milk or yams, would
make an appetizing and sustaining meal.

Modestly contenting himself with about twenty pounds weight of maize,
Kenneth prepared to rejoin his chum. He felt well satisfied with his
night's work; not only had he gained possession of an electric torch
and sufficient food to last the pair for at least ten days; he had
gained valuable information concerning the lax routine carried out by
the guards on the prison hut.

"Have those fellows come back?" he asked, when he rejoined Peter in the
cave.

"No; at least I haven't heard or seen anything of them," was the reply.

"Then we'll have to be very much on the alert," rejoined Kenneth,
reshouldering his booty.

Without interruption the chums regained their shelter under the
brushwood, and made a satisfying repast from the maize and taro, and
were about to go to sleep, when the stillness of the night was rent by a
hideous yell of agony.




CHAPTER XXIV

Freeing the Captives


The chums hurriedly left their shelter and peered through the darkness,
their ears strained to catch any sounds that might give a clue to the
reason for the blood-curdling scream. They heard nothing but the thunder
of the surf.

"Wonder what it is?" asked Kenneth.

"It came from down there," said Peter, pointing towards the harbour.
"Those fellows in the boat, I should imagine. Well, it's all quiet now;
let's turn in."

In spite of his night's activities, Kenneth awoke with the first shaft
of sunlight over the peaks. Curiosity prompted him to creep to the edge
of the scrub and peer into the harbour, the greater portion of which was
visible from the spot the lads had chosen for their retreat.

Four of the pirates were standing on the beach and looking in the
direction of the boat in which their comrades had gone fishing. The boat
was adrift, and within twenty yards of the shore. It would be quite an
easy swim to get to her, but none of the men attempted to do so. Then
Kenneth saw the reason that daunted their efforts to take to the water.

Lying on the shore was the body of one of the two who had taken the
boat--or, to be more accurate, the trunk, head, and arms. The legs were
missing. They had been bitten off by a shark, and the brute was still
swimming round the boat. Kenneth could see its dorsal fin and the
shadowy outline of the enormous body.

Shudderingly the lad recalled the fact that he and Peter had been
swimming in the harbour and exposed to the same peril. In their case
ignorance was bliss, for during the _Paloma's_ stay not a shark had been
seen in the secret anchorage. The crew had bathed at all hours without
being attacked; and it was on this fact that the chums based their faith
in their ability to swim ashore without risk of falling victims to these
ferocious fish.

Presently the pirates began to hurl stones into the water with the
intention of scaring the shark; but the brute merely dived and continued
to circle the motionless boat as if seeking more food.

One of the men then hurried back to the huts. He moved with more haste
than any of the crew had previously done while ashore.

Returning he brought with him a coil of light line. To one end he
attached a stone, which he whirled round and round until it acquired
sufficient impetus to carry as far as the drifting boat.

At the third attempt the weighted line fell athwart both gunwales.
Cautiously the Spaniard hauled until the derelict grounded.

Her painter was secured. Two of the men scrambled on board and lifted
some object from the stern gratings. It was the companion of the man who
had fallen a victim to the shark. He, too, was dead; killed by a knife
thrust under the lower rib.

The pirates appeared to take the business lightly. Without ceremony they
dug a hole in the sand, and, having taken from the bodies everything
likely to be of value, bundled the victims into the hastily constructed
grave and filled it in. Then, having hauled the boat out and washed the
gratings, they returned to their quarters.

Kenneth found Peter awake on his return.

"Hallo!" exclaimed the latter drowsily, "where have you been. I was just
coming to look for you."

Kenneth told him.

"Well, there are two villains the less," commented Peter. "I suppose
they quarrelled and had a scrap. One stabbed the other, but how did the
second fellow get nabbed by the shark?"

"Probably the other chap knocked him over the head at the same time as
he received the knife-thrust," hazarded Kenneth. "If this sort of thing
goes on, we'll have a walk over."

"When do you suggest tackling the prison hut?" asked his chum.

"To-night," replied Kenneth. "If we can free my father and Captain
Gregory, we can collar that boat and be on our way through the reefs
before sunrise."

"That's all very well," objected Peter. "But we'll have to provision and
water the boat. It's a long way to Talai; and if Mendoza's taken it into
his head to go there to look for the pearls, we'll be out of the
frying-pan into the fire with a vengeance."

"But we'll be able to spot the _Paloma_ before she sights us in a small
boat," persisted Kenneth. "At any rate, once we release the Pater and
Gregory, we'll not spend another minute longer than we can help on this
horrible island."

"You seem pretty sure about it," remarked Peter. "I hope we'll pull it
through all right; but what happens if the _Paloma_ returns before we've
carried out our plans?"

"She won't," replied Kenneth confidently. "It will be a week or more
before she shows up again. By that time we'll be miles away."

The morning passed quietly. The chums could see the pirates either
strolling round and about the buildings or else indulging in their
all-absorbing poker playing. They made no attempt to scale the steeply
rising ground whence they could command a view of the sea--a fact that
confirmed Kenneth's belief that the _Paloma_ was not expected to return.

During the extreme heat of the day the Spaniards disappeared from view.
The chums took advantage of the pirates' _siesta_ to make for the
palm-groves. There it was cooler than in the scanty shade of the
undergrowth, and Kenneth, agilely swarming up a tree, managed to secure
half a dozen coco-nuts.

After that the lads slept till nearly sunset.

It was a dark, starless night, much the same as the previous one. The
air was heavy with moisture. Not a leaf moved. The off-shore breeze
would not be likely to spring up until well after midnight. When it did
the stars would be visible--and that would be unfavourable to the
proposed operations.

At ten o'clock--that was the hour the lads took it to be--the sentry was
relieved to the accompaniment of the usual display of torch-flashing. A
period of tedious and uneventful watching ensued, until once more the
flicker of an electric torch announced that the guard for the two hours
from midnight was being posted.

"All ready?" asked Kenneth.

"Quite," assented his chum.

Armed with short heavy sticks, the two lads set out upon their nocturnal
adventure. All was quiet at the huts. Although a light still burned in
the pirates' living quarters the sound of revelry had died away, and
the twanging of the guitars had ceased.

Treading softly and cautiously with their bare feet, the lads gained the
pile of rusty ironwork that had sheltered Kenneth on his previous
expedition. It was so dark that it was impossible to discern the figure
of the sentry, but Kenneth staked his chances upon the probability of
the fellow being asleep in his customary spot.

A reddish glimmer destroyed that belief. The fellow was awake and was
smoking a cigarette. Moreover, by the fact that the glowing end of the
cigarette was visible, he was either facing the spot where the chums
lurked or else he was side-faced to them. His back was to the fence, and
in that case it was impossible to spring upon him from behind.

"Isn't the fellow ever going to finish smoking?" thought Kenneth. It
seemed as if more than an hour of the sentry's time for duty had passed,
although in reality he had been "on" only twenty minutes.

At last a parabolic curve of light told the watchers that the Spaniard
had thrown away the burning end of the cigarette. He did not light
another, but after a brief pause he switched on his torch.

The light revealed the fact that the man was now sitting down and that
he was consulting a watch. Finding that he had got nearly an hour and a
half to complete his turn of sentry-go, the fellow lay down to snatch a
brief rest.

Kenneth touched Peter on the shoulder. Together they began to crawl
towards the spot where the man was--crawling so slowly and silently that
Kenneth could feel his heart thumping against his ribs.

The Spaniard was breathing heavily, but whether he was actually asleep
the chums were unable to discover, nor were they aware of the distance
they had traversed until Peter's hand came in contact with the sentry's
rifle.

By this time their eyes had grown so accustomed to the darkness that
they could make out the huddled figure of the man; but not until they
were within a yard of him did they spring to the attack.

Kenneth struck hard. He could afford to take no chances. He wanted to
stun the fellow. He did. Without a groan the sentry rolled over on his
side, and with the utmost dispatch the chums bound his ankles and wrists
with his belt and scarf.

Holding his torch close to the man's face Kenneth switched on the light.

"By Jove! I believe I've killed him!" he muttered.

"No fear; he's too tough," said Peter, as he removed the Spaniard's
knife and revolver. "Where are the keys?"

"I've got them," announced Kenneth, holding up a bunch consisting of one
large and five smaller keys. "Hold on a minute while I gag the chap."

This little service performed, the chums groped their way to the gate,
found the right key and swung the barrier open.

The outer door of the hut gave more trouble. The lock was stiff and
obstinate. The hinges creaked dismally, but at last the chums found
themselves inside the heavily-barred building. Closing the door, they
switched on the torch, and found that they were in a sort of ante-room
from which a corridor ran the whole length of the building and separated
two rows of cells.

One key fitted each of the locks. The first cell was empty; so was the
second. As the key was inserted into the lock of the third cell someone
could be heard moving about.

"Don't make too much noise," said Kenneth warningly. "It's Peter and I."

The door swung open. Kenneth flashed his light into the dismal place,
and in his surprise he nearly dropped the torch. The prisoner was
neither Mr. Heatherington nor Captain Gregory.

Looking as terrified as a trapped rabbit was the chums' pet antipathy,
Lopez!

Unable to recognize the two British lads--he was too agitated to grasp
the fact that they had spoken to him in English--Lopez literally
grovelled in the dust. Aroused in the dead of night he felt convinced
that he was being summoned to execution.

Hitherto under the impression that Lopez was a prisoner in the
_Paloma_, Kenneth was at a loss how to deal with the villain. At the
same time the thought flashed through his mind that all the hazardous
work the chums had done might be thrown away. The guards on the building
might not have been posted on his father's and Captain Gregory's
account, but solely to make sure that Mendoza's doubly-treacherous
lieutenant was in safe custody. The real objects of the lads' quest
might not be in the building, or even on the island.

"Pull yourself together, Lopez!" exclaimed Kenneth. "We aren't going to
harm you!"

At the sound of young Heatherington's voice, the Spaniard looked up,
blinking in the dazzling beam. Kenneth swung the light round and shone
it upon his own features.

"_Dios!_" ejaculated Lopez.

Words failed him. He writhed like a stranded carp, trying to make up his
mind how to bargain with the lads he had so vilely abused.

"Where is my father?" demanded Kenneth.

"In here--somewhere," replied the Spaniard. "Let me help, I will
assist."

"No doubt," rejoined young Heatherington drily.

"Yes," continued Lopez, plucking up courage. "I will have revenge. Help
you fight. I am no pirate. As for Mendoza, if I find him I will cut his
throat."

"Lock him up and let's try our luck with the other cells," suggested
Peter. "We've none too much time."

"Seores, believe me: I am your very good friend," said Lopez.

"Dry up!" interrupted Peter. "We've heard that yarn before."

"All the same I mean it. Let me go free and I swear by all the saints I
will help you to regain your liberty. If I remain here then I must
reveal everything to Sancho and the others."

"Very well, then," agreed Kenneth. "Clear out and make yourself scarce.
I'd advise you to keep out of Mendoza's way. He'll be in a very bad
temper when he finds us gone."

Kenneth held open the door. Lopez waited for no second bidding. He went.

"Isn't it rather unwise?" asked Peter. "He may give us away in order to
curry favour with the other pirates."

"He's too much afraid of meeting Mendoza again to risk that," declared
Kenneth. "Now for the other cells!"

The next two were empty, but on unlocking the door of the fourth to
Kenneth's joy he found Mr. Heatherington sleeping soundly.

His son roused him.

"Come along, Pater," he exclaimed. "We've a lot to do and not much time
to do it in. Where's Captain Gregory?"

"I'm here," replied the British skipper from the adjoining cell.

Peter released him. Gregory, his wounded shoulder almost healed, seemed
none the worse for his detention. In fact he was physically fitter than
when he had been sent ashore from the vessel he had once commanded.

Briefly Kenneth outlined the situation, and his future plans.

"If the boat's seaworthy, I'll navigate her to Talai," declared Captain
Gregory confidently. "I suppose the rogues haven't removed her compass?
There was one in the stern locker."

"That I can't say," replied Kenneth. "But we must be on the move. We
have to provision and water the boat, and get clear of the island before
daybreak--or rather make for the outer harbour and lie there until it's
light enough to see our way through the reefs."

"But why make for Talai, Kenneth?" asked his father.

"'Cause the black pearls are there."

"Bother the black pearls," exclaimed Mr. Heatherington. "They are the
cause of all this unfortunate business."

"It's a pity to miss the opportunity," persisted his son. "Now that we
are so near, we may have a shot at getting hold of them. Besides there's
that Dane. He's rather a decent fellow. I'd like to meet him again."

"We aren't there yet," observed Peter Arkendale. "And we won't reach
there, if we stay here talking. Now for the provision store."

The four left the building, and found their way to the still open gate
in the barbed-wire fence.

"I'll have a look at the sentry, and see if he's coming to," said
Kenneth, who felt rather sorry for the Spaniard he had felled.

He made his way to the spot where the sentry had been stunned, bound,
and gagged. He flashed his torch into the fellow's face and immediately
recoiled. The man's head had been battered in with his own rifle-butt.

"That's Lopez's dirty work," thought Kenneth. "Well, that proves anyway
that he's not going to betray us. I wonder where the rascal is?"

Unchallenged the four Britons gained the hut in which the provisions
were stored. They helped themselves liberally, for when contemplating a
long voyage in an open boat it was necessary to lay in enough food for
an ample margin against risk of starvation. They also took two breakers
of fresh water, each containing about five gallons, and heavily laden
they continued their way to the beach.

When they arrived at the place where the little craft had been hauled up
high and dry, Kenneth gave an exclamation of dismay.

The boat was no longer there.




CHAPTER XXV

Their Retreat Cut Off


Feelings akin to consternation assailed the four adventurers. Kenneth
and Peter were particularly dismayed. They had seen the boat high and
dry on the beach at sunset. No one, apparently, had left the hut and
proceeded to the harbour up to the time the chums set out to free Mr.
Heatherington and Gregory.

In the intense darkness, it was impossible to see more than a few yards,
and it was extremely hazardous at this stage of the proceedings to
switch on an electric torch.

"Sure this is the place?" asked Captain Gregory.

"Positive," replied Kenneth. "It was close to these stumps."

"Was she tied up to them?" inquired the Captain.

"That I cannot say," answered Kenneth.

Gregory said nothing at the time, but kneeling down he groped in the
sand.

"Wet," he announced at length. "Tide's made up well above where we are
standing. It's even levelled the bed she made for herself."

"But the tide never comes so high as this," declared Kenneth. "We've
watched it. It doesn't run more than a few feet, and there's nearly ten
yards between high-water mark and the boat's heel. Isn't that so,
Peter?"

"That's correct, old son," replied Arkendale.

"You're both wrong," said Captain Gregory flatly. "It's been an
extraordinary high tide, or, if you like, a tidal wave. They aren't rare
in these parts. Some people maintain that they are the effect of a
submarine volcanic disturbance. At all events----"

Gregory's explanation was interrupted by a rifle shot, followed by
others in quick succession.

"They've missed us!" declared Mr. Heatherington. "They're raising an
alarm."

"Then we must make a dash for our hiding-place," declared Kenneth. "This
way."

He was about to set off across the sands in the nearest direction to the
lads' lair in the brushwood, when Peter gripped him by the shoulder.

"They'll spot our footprints in the sand," he exclaimed. "Make for the
hard rock before you start in that direction."

The whole nest of pirates was disturbed. A regular fusillade of rifle
and pistol shots disturbed the stillness of the air. It was quite
impossible to judge with any degree of accuracy from how far off the
sounds came--whether from the huts or from some point between them and
the beach. The flashes were directly invisible, although there was a
succession of reddish lights in the sky as the fusillade continued.

It required a considerable amount of self-restraint for the fugitives to
make straight in the direction of the firing; but everyone of the little
band realized the soundness of Peter Arkendale's warning.

Hurrying along the well-beaten track they left it at the nearest point
where the volcanic rock converged upon the path. Here their footsteps
left no distinguishable impression upon the barren ground. A skilled
tracker might have been able to follow their "spoor", but it was
unlikely that any of the pirates possessed sufficient knowledge of the
art of following up a faint trail.

"Here's our cubby-hole, Pater," announced Kenneth, when the party were
snugly in possession of the hollow under the dense scrub.

"And very nice, too," said Mr. Heatherington appreciatively.

"But it's too dark to see anything," added Peter, with a chuckle. "So
you cannot admire our furniture."

"I can be thankful for the surroundings as they are," rejoined Mr.
Heatherington gravely. "When a man has been cooped up within four walls
he can appreciate to the fullest extent the joys of liberty, even though
in a restricted sense. You see we aren't out of the wood yet. What do
you propose to do, Kenneth? This is your undertaking, you know."

"We'll have to hang on till daylight to see how things are shaping,"
replied his son. "Losing the boat is a bit of a staggerer. No doubt, the
rascals removed it."

"Why should they?" asked Peter. "They hadn't any reason till they
discovered your governor and Captain Gregory were missing. That was
after we were clear of the huts."

"They are such cunning fellows that one doesn't know how much they do
know," said Kenneth. "Lopez might have given the show away: it's just
the sort of thing a rotter like that would do. And, of course, the
pirates might have spotted us and decided to play with us like a cat
with a mouse."

"If it comes to the worst we must fight for it," declared Captain
Gregory.

The others agreed.

"We've a revolver, a knife, and an unlimited supply of bludgeons,"
reported Kenneth. "There are four of us. Goodness only knows how many
Spaniards there are on the island. We thought there were only half a
dozen. Two were killed in the boat. The sentry's dead. Yet there were at
least seven strolling about yesterday."

"I can't help you to form an estimate," observed Mr. Heatherington. "We
never saw more than two men at one time during our imprisonment. What
was Lopez doing there?"

Kenneth explained, relating his account of the struggle between Mendoza
and the counter-mutineer.

"You ought to have let 'em fight it out," declared Gregory bluntly.
"There would have been one villain the less, at any rate."

"Possibly Mendoza would have gone under," rejoined Kenneth. "Of the two
I prefer him. In any case I couldn't stand by and see a man knifed."

Captain Gregory shrugged his shoulders. His feelings towards Mendoza and
company were decidedly of a vindictive nature.

"It would have saved a length of brand new hemp," he remarked.

By this time all was quiet in the vicinity of the huts. The lamp in the
men's sleeping quarters had been extinguished. No torches flashed their
inquiring beams. Evidently the mutineers had abandoned their search for
the missing prisoners until daybreak.

"You lads had better turn in," suggested Mr. Heatherington. "And you,
too, Gregory. I'll keep watch. I've had a decent sleep already. You
haven't. You've two and a half hours before dawn."

"You'll be sure to wake us then?" asked Kenneth.

"Certainly."

The chums needed no second bidding. They were feeling the reaction of
the previous few hours, which, combined with the lack of sufficient
sleep, had made them feel decidedly worn out.

With the first flush of dawn, the sleepers were aroused. Cautiously the
four emerged from their retreat and surveyed the island in the direction
of the huts. All was quiet.

They then made their way towards the cliff from the top of which a clear
view of the inner harbour was obtainable.

"There's the boat!" exclaimed Peter.

Looking in the direction of Arkendale's outstretched hand the others
could see the missing boat. She had floated off on the top of an
extraordinary spring tide, and had drifted across the circular basin.
The receding waters had left her high and dry on a fairly flat-topped
ledge of rocks, within twenty or thirty yards of the deep natural
cutting that formed the approach to the secret harbour. To get to her by
water meant a detour of nearly a mile and a quarter, ending with a
scramble down the cliffs and the risk of a hundred yards' swim in water
now known to be the haunt of at least one ferocious shark.

"We'll have to get her soon or the pirates will spot her," declared
Kenneth. "It's a pity she's there, 'cause our water and provisions are
on this side of the harbour."

"Lucky for us she's there at all," said Peter. "Our best plan, I think,
is to get the boat afloat, bring her back and load up here."

The four set out. Provided they could cross the open expanse bordering
the track between the pier and the huts, they were sheltered from
observation in that direction for almost the entire distance. On the
other hand the pirates, aware of the escape of the prisoners, would
doubtless be keeping a strict watch upon the landing-place. In fact, Mr.
Heatherington remarked upon their apparent lack of enterprise in
neglecting to send an armed guard down to the harbour already.

In single file the adventurers made their way through the coco-groves
and across the boulder-encumbered barren ground, until they descended
almost to the level of the path. Kenneth led the way, choosing a
sheltered track between two almost parallel ledges of old lava rock,
which terminated in a six-feet drop upon the actual roadway.

Suddenly Kenneth halted and held up his hand The others stood stockstill
until the guide motioned them to proceed cautiously.

Then he pointed over the edge of a rock.

Ten feet beneath them was the villain Lopez.

He was sitting on the ground with his shoulders hunched and his arms
clasping his knees. His head was bent, his eyes fixed upon the dry sand
at his feet. It was hardly the attitude of a hunted man.

Well beyond reach of his hand and resting with its muzzle against a
rock was the rifle he had taken from the unfortunate sentry. Close to it
were four leather cartridge pouches bulging with ammunition--a thing
that struck Kenneth as being decidedly significant.

The pirate was bare-headed. His red shirt was turned down at the neck
and up at the sleeves. Just below the left shoulder was a dark stain
that was hardly distinguishable from the colour of his soiled and ragged
clothing.

"He's tried to stop a bullet," thought Kenneth.

The four exchanged glances. Here was a problem that required careful
handling. They could not trust Lopez, especially as he had a small
magazine of cartridges and a rifle. The affair looked like developing
into a three-cornered contest between Lopez, the other pirates, and the
four Britons. No doubt Lopez would be agreeable to a temporary alliance
with Mr. Heatherington's party; but the presence of the villain would be
a source of continual anxiety. Even if they succeeded in getting clear
of the island, they would feel it their moral duty to take Lopez with
them, away from the vengeance of Mendoza and the crew of the _Paloma_;
but what then? In a civilized country Lopez would be brought to trial.
Would he risk his neck? Hardly. The chances were that he would seize the
first opportunity of murdering the Englishmen, and attempt to hide
himself in one of the South American republics.

Holding the revolver handy in case of resistance, Mr. Heatherington
raised his head and shoulders above the intervening ledge of rock, and
called the pirate by name.

Lopez looked up listlessly. He seemed utterly worn out. His sallow
features were drawn, his eyes blood-shot. Dust and dry blood matted his
face and hair.

"Finished!" he exclaimed in a harsh, croaking voice. "Finished! Lopez
has won the fight. Pirates up there all dead. Lopez shot them."

"Good heavens!" muttered Mr. Heatherington involuntarily.

It was one solution to a part of a tangle of difficult problems upon
which he had not reckoned. Lopez, armed with the rifle taken from the
gagged and bound sentry, had surprised the rest of the pirates in their
sleeping quarters. Apparently resistance had been made, but taken by
surprise the rascals had fallen victims to their compatriot's deadly
skill with a magazine-rifle.

"Wounded--badly," added Lopez listlessly.

Need for further concealment for the present at an end, the four
descended the low cliff and gathered round the Spaniard.

"It's slight," declared Mr. Heatherington, after a brief examination of
a clean puncture of the pirate's left arm. "You'll be all right in a few
days, especially if we can find medical stores, or even a first-aid
outfit up there."

Lopez shook his head.

"That is nothing," he declared. "This is what matters."

He pointed to a small dark stain just above his belt. Quickly Mr.
Heatherington examined the tiny dark blue mark, where a bullet had
entered the man's body just below his ribs. He realized that nothing
could be done: Lopez was mortally wounded. He was bleeding internally.

"I die," said the Spaniard. "I know it. Ramon, he fired the shot. Ramon
is dead. Now Lopez die and Mendoza still lives."

Ten minutes later, Lopez had gone to his last account. Almost to the end
he muttered regrets that Mendoza had escaped his vengeance. That was his
sole concern, and with a curse on his lips against the pirate captain of
the _Paloma_, Lopez died.

"Another villain the less," said Gregory. "And he took good care to send
a crowd of black-hearted ruffians on ahead to pipe the side for him."

"And we have the island to ourselves," declared Kenneth.

"Until the _Paloma_ returns," added the cautious Peter.

"The sooner we clear out the better," said his chum. "Come on, let's get
the boat back to the beach. We can provision her with anything we want
from the store, and make a start well before sunset."

The four were now in high spirits. They were able to walk with freedom.
No longer had they to crouch and move like hunted animals. They were,
temporarily at least, lords and masters of an island domain. The two
chums ran, leapt, and shouted with sheer exuberance of youth from which
a heavy load had been lifted.

To reach the spot nearest to the boat they were obliged to take to the
top of the cliffs, as the beach ended abruptly at a short distance from
the pier. Beyond that the wall of rock rose sheer from the water.

At length the adventurers arrived at the summit of the highest of a
series of hills from which a view to seaward could be obtained.

It was Captain Gregory's experienced eyesight that detected a faint
smudge of smoke on the otherwise unbroken horizon.

"There's a vessel making for the island!" he declared.

The others looked first at the smoke and then at each other.

"P'raps it's a craft passing a long way out," suggested Peter.

"Let's hope so," added Kenneth.

Gregory made no remark until he had watched the smoke for some time.

"She's making this way," he announced. "The smoke's going up pretty
straight. It's a craft end on to us."

The four made no attempt to move. Half-hoping against hope they waited
until the vessel showed above the horizon. A few minutes later they were
no longer in doubt.

The _Paloma_ was returning to Boya.




CHAPTER XXVI

The End of the "Paloma"


"To the shore!" exclaimed Kenneth, breaking into a run.

The others followed, wondering what possessed the lad to make for the
water's edge rather than seek shelter in the rugged interior. Even Mr.
Heatherington was content to let the leadership of the party rest with
his son. Kenneth had done so well up to the present that his father
realized the lad had a natural gift for initiative combined with sound
judgment.

Kenneth had not made up his mind on the spur of the moment. Already he
had worked out a plan--a desperate one that was only to be taken in dire
necessity, should the _Paloma_ and her villainous crew put in an
appearance before the four Britons got away.

That plan had to be executed now!

What was more, it must succeed entirely. There could be no half
measures. Short of absolute achievement the result would recoil with
dire consequences upon the instigator and his companions. It was the
Rubicon of their adventure.

A quarter of an hour's strenuous exertion, involving climbing and
descending precipitous ravines and forcing their way through patches of
undergrowth, brought the four to the beach fronting the outer lagoon,
and about half a mile to the nor'-east of the channel between the rocks
leading to the inner harbour.

"Keep out of sight," exclaimed Kenneth. "Let the palm trunks screen
you."

They looked seaward. Already the _Paloma_ had slowed down before
attempting to negotiate the intricate and winding passage between the
outer reefs. From her foremasthead was displayed a three-flag hoist of
signals.

"What does that mean?" asked Kenneth appealing to Captain Gregory.

"Can't say," replied the skipper. "It may be an International Code
signal, but without a code-book I'm done. Asking if it's O.K. to come
in, I should think."

"I never counted on that," thought Kenneth. "Since that signal will
remain unanswered the pirates may smell a rat."

"What are we waiting here for anyway?" asked Peter.

Kenneth, lying flat on the ground and peering along the fairly regular
line of palm trees, had found what he was looking for.

"You'll see in half a shake, old son," he replied. "We're going to
shift the position of one of the leading marks. See that tarred board?
As it now is, they keep in line with yonder rock, and that takes the
_Paloma_ through the narrowest part of the channel. If we shift it ten
yards--not more--they'll pile the yacht on the reefs."

"Good business!" ejaculated Peter. "My word, Kenneth, you're a terror!"

"Am I?" rejoined his chum. "Come on. There's a lot to be done, and
precious little time to do it."

Arriving at the spot where the board was fastened to one of the palm
trunks, the four found that the task of shifting the leading mark was
easier than they expected. The salt air had rotted the iron fastenings.
The board came away at the first wrench.

"How are you going to secure it again?" asked Peter.

The question was a poser. Kenneth had counted upon using the original
spikes.

"We'll have to take turns to hold it," he declared. "If you keep behind
the trunk and hold the edge of the board they won't spot the
difference."

"With a good glass they'd pick up your fingers at two miles distance,"
said Captain Gregory. "Stick the knife into the back of the board and
hang on to that. Five minutes spell for all hands ought to do it."

Preparations were barely completed when the _Paloma_ appeared in sight
again, for a projection of the cliff had hidden her from view during one
part of her course.

Evidently she had decided to come on notwithstanding the fact that her
signals had been ignored. Already she was abreast of the heap of scrap
iron that marked the spot where the _Talca_ had piled herself upon the
rat-trap-like ledges.

"Mendoza's got some pluck to attempt it on a day like this," observed
Peter. "It's blowing fairly hard."

"No one but a fool would try it," declared Gregory. "It's a good thing
we didn't get away in the boat. She'd be matchwood by this time."

During the last twenty minutes the hitherto flat calm had given place to
a stiff on-shore breeze that could hardly be considered dangerous to a
vessel, except when steaming slowly in a narrow channel and with the
wind broad on the beam. As it was, the whole expanse of reef was swept
with white-crested breakers, which presented a spectacle calculated to
cause the greatest anxiety to the most experienced mariner. Yet, in
spite of the adverse conditions, the _Paloma_ was coming in.

With her generous top-hamper she was rolling heavily. Now and again she
had to be given lee helm to bring her head up to meet the staggering
blows from the rollers that swept over the reefs to wind'ard.

At last she successfully passed through the most intricate and
dangerous part of the channel. Under ordinary circumstances she would
starboard helm and, with the wind astern, make straight for the outer
lagoon, keeping the leading marks in line until within a cable's length
of the beach.

Confident of having won through, the captain of the _Paloma_ rang down
for increased speed. Still wallowing in the following sea the ship swung
round and steadied on her course--keeping the rock and the purposely
altered leading mark ashore in line.

Breathlessly three of the party hidden in the palm-groves watched the
_Paloma_ rushing to her doom. The fourth, who happened to be Kenneth,
was unable to watch the scene of destruction. It was his turn to support
the decoy board, and resisting an almost overpowering desire to peer
round the edge of the woodwork, he stuck gamely to his task, although he
found himself wishing that the _Paloma_ would not strike before his
spell of duty had expired.

A succession of heavy crashes announced that the pirate vessel had run
almost bows-on upon the rocks.

"She's done for!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherington.

Kenneth threw the board to the ground. It had served its purpose.
Concealment was no longer necessary.

The impact had broken the back of the comparatively lightly-built yacht.
Her bows were high above water. From the foremast the rest of the vessel
had already dipped back and disappeared in deep water. Her funnel and
mainmast had gone by the board when she struck. Terrific rollers were
breaking over her fore deck, sending clouds of spray fifty feet or more
into the air.

Of her crew not one was to be seen. Most of the pirates had gone down
with the major part of the ship. Those who happened to be for'ard at the
time of the impact had been swept overboard by the irresistible force of
the waves.

The four remained patrolling the beach for the next two hours in order
to render assistance should any of the _Paloma's_ crew contrive to reach
the shore alive. Wreckage--in spite of the comparatively small quantity
of wood used in the construction of the vessel--drifted to the island,
but nothing sufficiently intact to be of service. Even the stoutly-built
boats were shattered, either when they were wrenched from the davits or
else during their passage across the multiple ledges of breaker-swept
coral.

"It's no use hanging on any longer," declared Captain Gregory. "They
never had a dog's chance in that sea. A fine craft gone, although she
was built foreign; but as for the rascals in her----"

Words failed him.

The others showed no signs of elation. They had gained freedom. Their
victims were ruthless pirates who did not hesitate to commit
cold-blooded murder; yet there was a kind of sentiment--it could hardly
be termed regret--over the tragic end that had overtaken the villains.

The four were on the point of returning to their hiding-place--for
nothing would induce them to make use of the buildings--when Mr.
Heatherington turned to his son.

"I suppose you don't want to remain on the island of Boya for the rest
of your natural life, Kenneth?" he remarked.

"Rather not, Pater."

"Then, in the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well if we replaced
that mark in its original position," continued Mr. Heatherington.




CHAPTER XXVII

The Perils of the Reefs


After a satisfying meal, eaten in the open air and without having to
copy the furtive habits of a wild animal in constant dread of being
surprised by a pitiless foe, the task of regaining possession of the
boat was discussed.

"We'll have to get her before to-night's tide," declared Gregory. "I
don't suppose it will rise high enough to float her off, but we can't
afford to take chances."

"Then let's go at once," suggested Kenneth.

Mr. Heatherington did not view the proposal with particular enthusiasm.
Both he and Captain Gregory were feeling the effects of their activities
after days of captivity. Their feet were blistered and swollen, and
their muscles ached with the strenuous exercise of scrambling over rough
and hilly ground.

"Why not get to her by water?" asked Mr. Heatherington.

"Sharks," objected both lads.

"Not by swimming," resumed Kenneth's father. "There are several empty
barrels in one of the huts. We could knock up a rough-and-ready raft
for the purpose."

The idea of a raft appealed to the chums immensely.

"Right-o, Pater!" exclaimed Kenneth. "Peter and I will roll four barrels
down to the beach--won't we, old son? You and Captain Gregory can stand
easy. It won't be at all hard getting the things down. It's a steady
slope all the way down."

Accordingly the chums set off on the now well-known track between the
pier and the storehouses. Arriving at the huts, curiosity prompted them
to look into the building formerly used as the pirates' living and
sleeping quarters. A hurried glance was quite enough. Lopez had done his
work only too thoroughly. Seven corpses lay in various attitudes upon
the dried earth that formed the floor. Of these only two had firearms
when they were shot down; the others had been slaughtered as they
tumbled from their beds.

In another building the lads found the barrels, but a brief examination
revealed the disappointing fact that they were totally unfit for the
purpose of providing buoyancy. The hoops had rusted, the wood was dry,
the seams gaped.

"It seems as if this is a wash-out," remarked Kenneth.

"We may find some water-tight ones," said Peter, optimistically. "Even
if we have to empty their contents. Hallo! How will these do?"

He pointed to a tier of oil drums made of iron, each holding about ten
gallons.

"Just the thing!" declared Kenneth. "Give me a hand and we'll roll this
outside."

The next problem was to get at the contents. The drum was provided with
a metal screw-plug, with an hexagonal recess for the purpose of
inserting a key. In vain the chums tried to coax the stubborn plug to
turn. They searched for a suitable implement, but nothing was to be
found.

"Hang on a minute!" exclaimed Kenneth.

Leaving his chum, Kenneth made his way to the pirates' quarters and took
possession of a rifle and bayonet.

"Going to drill a hole with a bullet?" asked Peter when Kenneth rejoined
him.

"No fear," replied his friend, fixing the bayonet to the rifle.

Peter watched him curiously.

Inserting the point of the bayonet between two timbers of the hut
Kenneth gave the blade a sharp jerk. It snapped off within a couple of
inches of the point.

"Now hang on," said Kenneth, placing the pointless bayonet in the recess
of the plug. "Twist. That's doing it. Here it comes!"

The plug was removed. A stream of oil flowed from the drum.

"Best lubricating oil, by Jove!" exclaimed Peter. "What a waste! And to
think I may have to buy oil for my motor-bike within the next two
months!"

"You'll be lucky to be able to use the bike at all," rejoined Kenneth
with a laugh. "Now, another barrel!"

Having emptied the contents of six drums, they rolled the empty
cylinders down the path with hardly any exertion, beyond an occasional
push with their feet.

Arriving on the beach they found that Mr. Heatherington and Captain
Gregory had not been idle. From a locker on the pier they had obtained
an axe and some cordage. They had felled four palms, and had also prised
up half a dozen planks from the decking of the pier.

All hands now set to work to construct the raft. Strength in its
construction was not necessary, since it was to be employed for a few
hours only and on sheltered water.

When completed the raft took the united efforts of the four men to
launch her, but once afloat the structure rode lightly and could be
propelled with slight effort by means of a couple of short planks.

"She'll only carry two," declared Kenneth.

"She'll take the lot of us," affirmed Captain Gregory. "Sixty gallons
represent six hundred pounds or thereabouts, and we don't top the scale
at that."

"You aren't taking into consideration the dead weight of the metal,
Captain," said Mr. Heatherington. "Suppose we split the difference and
let one of us remain?"

The arrangement was agreed upon, Mr. Heatherington stopping ashore. Even
then the raft had quite as much as it could comfortably support.

Arriving at the ledge on which the boat rested, they found the craft
undamaged beyond a slight chafing of one of the bilge keels. She was
almost balanced on the edge of the rock, the water being only four or
five feet below her keel.

"Do you think the tide will make much higher, Captain Gregory?" asked
Kenneth.

"Matter of a few inches at most," was the reply. "It's not much use
waiting on the off chance of it rising above ordinary high-water mark.
We'll have to topple her over."

"Won't she be damaged?" inquired Peter.

"No fear," affirmed Captain Gregory. "She's strongly built and full in
the bows. She may ship a drop of water but not much. We'll take the gear
out of her to give her a chance."

They removed oars, mast, and other articles of her equipment.

"Where's her canvas?" asked Captain Gregory. "She had a couple of
sails--nice light ones they were, too--when I had her. Don't say the
rogues have cut them up to make shirts."

A search in both lockers failed to find the missing sails. Captain
Gregory was almost beside himself with rage. In his eyes the destruction
of the boat's canvas was the greatest crime the pirates had committed
during their brief and inglorious career.

"Perhaps they're stowed away in one of the huts," suggested Peter.

Captain Gregory snorted.

"You don't catch a crowd of rascally Dagoes going to that trouble," he
exclaimed. "They'd sooner let 'em rot. Now, lads! Use the loom of that
oar to prise her forefoot up a bit. Stand by with the painter, Mr.
Arkendale. Ready? Off she goes!"

The boat trembled in the balance until, aided by a vigorous shove with
Peter's broad shoulders, she slid over the edge of the rock into the
water. Beyond taking in a few gallons she took to her native element
without a hitch.

"How about the raft?" inquired Peter, after the boat's gear had been
reshipped. "We don't want her now, do we?"

"We never know," rejoined his chum. "It may come in handy and it's no
trouble to tow. Suppose the boat breaks adrift again?"

"She won't," affirmed Captain Gregory, with deep conviction. "You can
trust me to see to that, Mr. Heatherington."

Kenneth was content to leave matters of this description in the hands of
the experienced master-mariner. His own experience of boats and their
management was limited, and although he had good reason to pride himself
upon the way he had extricated his companions out of a great many
difficulties, he had the sound sense to realize that seamanship was not
a strong point with him.

Taking the raft in tow the boat made for the pier, Kenneth and Peter
manning the oars, and Captain Gregory steering. The latter was bemoaning
the loss of the sails all the way across the harbour.

Meanwhile Mr. Heatherington had not been content to sit down and watch
the progress of the operations. He had been busily engaged in collecting
coco-nuts, yams, and taro roots; and on the return of the others
proposed a visit to the store-houses to obtain "dry" provisions, and an
adequate supply of fresh water.

This task was put into operation and until sunset all hands were hard at
work collecting stores and carrying them down to the pier-head. In
addition to the provisions they discovered the boat's compass, but
although an exhaustive search was made in every likely spot no trace of
the sails was discovered.

As a slight compensation for the loss an old tent was brought to light.
The canvas was far from being in a good condition, but Captain Gregory,
critically handling the weather-worn fabric, opined that "it might do
barring half a gale".

Early next morning the four were astir. While Kenneth prepared breakfast
Captain Gregory cut out a rough-and-ready suit of sails, using the
existing cordage as a luff-rope. In the absence of needles and sewing
twine it was out of the question to do the work properly.

"It's not the needles that are the stumbling-block," explained Captain
Gregory. "A fish-bone would make a fairly good substitute. I've seen
Esquimaux do quite fancy stitching with a chunk of bone and skein of
twine. It's the twine that kippers the contract."

However, before the heat of the day the Captain had made a fairly
presentable suit of sails which in a light breeze would aid the boat
considerably. He also constructed a sea-anchor, doubling the canvas to
ensure it standing a heavy strain.

The while the others continued their labours, bringing down fresh water
from the only known spring on the island, and drawing upon the best of
the stores landed from the _Paloma_ for the use of the shore-party. The
boat was also thoroughly cleaned out, turned keel uppermost and scrubbed
with canvas and sand in order to remove the thick deposit of marine
growth that had adhered to her during her comparatively short time
afloat in Boya harbour.

At length every possible preparation that human agency could provide
from the limited resources at the adventurers' disposal having been
completed, the departure from the island was fixed to take place at
daybreak on the following morning. Everyone realized the gravity of the
undertaking--a long voyage on the open sea to the island of Talai--but
with a firm faith in Providence they felt no doubts concerning their
ability to win through. There was every indication of a prolonged spell
of fine weather. The severe gale that had reached its culminating point
on the day following the disaster to the _Paloma_ had blown itself out.
Even the breakers on the reefs seemed less formidable than at any
previous time since the _Paloma_ first essayed the dangerous and
intricate channel.

It was still dark when the little band, none of whom had slept well,
rose from their beds of grass spread under the shelter of the palms. As
the grey dawn showed in the eastern sky, they launched the boat, manned
the oars and headed for the outer lagoon.

Soon the dismal passage between the towering walls of frowning cliffs
was negotiated, and the boat began to lift to the gentle swell that
undulated the clear water of the outer lagoon.

"Let's hope that was our last view of the pirates' lair!" exclaimed
Kenneth, as the boat, altering course, shot out the inner harbour by
one of the projecting bluffs. "'Where every prospect pleases' doesn't
hold good as far as Boya is concerned."

"We aren't clear of the accursed place yet," declared Captain Gregory,
giving an anxious glance to wind'ard. "Don't put so much beef into it,
Mr. Arkendale. You'll be wanting all your strength when it comes to pull
through the broken water."

Thus cautioned Peter eased off his stroke, greatly to the relief of the
harassed Kenneth who was pulling stroke. Mr. Heatherington and Captain
Gregory sat aft, both awaiting their turn to relieve the two lads at the
heavy ash oars.

Twenty minutes' steady pulling brought the boat over the spot where the
unfortunate _Paloma_ had slipped off the rocks into deep water. Here
there was hardly any swell to speak of, and fathoms deep the crew of the
boat could discern the battered, broken-backed hull in the clear water,
as she lay on her beam-ends in the white sand.

Half a mile beyond came a drastic alteration of course. Hitherto the
boat had kept the replaced mark-board and a certain rock in line on a
stern bearing. Now the channel turned abruptly to starboard and almost
parallel to the northern shore of Boya Island.

She was beginning to feel the effects of the heavy breakers on the
outermost reef. Rollers of lesser magnitude were sweeping across the
channel and pounding themselves into masses of foam upon the shoal to
lee'ard. Hidden ledges of sharp coral lay to port and starboard, like
traps yawning for their prey. Ever and anon the boat's helm had to be
put down to enable her to meet a particularly menacing comber that had
swept almost resistlessly across the reefs and athwart the narrow
channel.

Presently Captain Gregory and Mr. Heatherington, who had taken a brief
turn at the oars, relinquished that task to the two chums. It was a case
of youth having the advantage of middle age in a matter of strength.
Gregory's partly healed wound, too, did not give him a chance to exert
much physical strength; besides, his superior knowledge of the art of
handling a boat was now to be brought to a supreme test.

"Now!" exclaimed the skipper, bawling to make his voice audible above
the roar of the surf. "Easy stroke until I give the word, then put your
backs into it and pull like blue blazes even if it breaks
blood-vessels."

Having thus expressed himself, Captain Gregory deliberately unshipped
the rudder, which would be of little use in a breaking sea, and taking
up one of the spare oars placed it in the sculling-notch in the transom.
Bracing his feet firmly and widely apart on the stern-gratings the
skipper appeared to toy with the heavy oar, the while his keen eyes,
deep-set beneath beetling brows, were fixed alertly upon the danger
ahead.

Fortunately for the chums, they "kept their eyes in the boat", and did
not turn their heads to see what was coming. It was bad enough to catch
a glimpse out of the corners of their eyes of the huge menacing masses
of water not so very far away on the boat's port quarter. Considering
the stillness of the air, it seemed weird that such enormous rollers
could fling themselves upon the reefs. Viewed from the deck of the
_Paloma_ they had appeared formidable enough; from a boat with a
freeboard of a couple of feet, the stupendous height was enough to appal
anyone.

"Pull!" roared Gregory, at the same time putting his weight against the
steering oar. "Eyes in the boat! You aren't watching a boxing bout!"

For Kenneth, in his anxiety, had glanced over his shoulder, and the
sight almost caused him to miss his stroke. Bearing down, upon the boat
was an enormous wall of water. Quite fifty feet in height, it seemed to
the lad; actually it was about fifteen.

Up reared the boat's bows. Water--gallons of it--poured aft, carrying a
medley of gear with it. The little craft seemed to be standing on
end--seemed like remaining there indefinitely, according to Kenneth's
tortured senses.

With his whole attention centred upon the task of keeping the boat
dead-on to the breakers, Captain Gregory gripped the steering oar in a
vice-like grasp--a deft turn of his wrists--a quick twisting movement
of his tautened arms--a long-drawn moment of suspense--then victory.

The boat slid down the reverse slope of the wave and out into the
comparatively deep water beyond.

"Pull!" urged Gregory, for the danger was not yet over.

Peter was visibly tiring. Mr. Heatherington facing forward, assisted him
by pushing against the loom of the heavy oar. Kenneth was faring better,
although the sweat rolled in rivulets down his face.

"Pull!" roared the skipper again. "Keep her going for Heaven's sake!"

A second roller was on the point of breaking, its majestic progress
temporarily impeded by the bows of the luckless _Talca_ which still
remained a few feet above the surface.

Gregory realized that it was another case of touch and go. The boat's
sole chance lay in being able to surmount the wave before the breaking
part, which was moving rapidly along the crest, reached the point for
which the little craft was being urged with all the relatively puny
efforts of the oarsmen.

Climb it she did, with white water within twenty yards of her. Slid down
the slope, her bottom boards awash, and her crew almost too exhausted to
lift the blades clear of the water.

"Easy now!" ordered Gregory. "We're nearly through!"

The worst part of the passage was successfully accomplished. An hour
later the boat drew clear of the reefs and gained the open sea.

"Boat oars!" ordered Captain Gregory. "There's a breeze coming up
astern."

Thankfully the chums laid in the heavy ash oars, and flexed their stiff
and blistered fingers. The masts were stepped, rudder reshipped, canvas
hoisted and sheeted home. The water rippled gleefully against the stem
and gurgled aft, leaving a trail of bubbles in the boat's wake.

"She'll do," declared Captain Gregory. "Take her, Mr. Heatherington,
please. Course, north twenty west. I'm feeling a bit done up--my
shoulder, I think."

Even as Mr. Heatherington grasped the tiller, the staunch old skipper
slipped from the stern-bench and collapsed inert upon the gratings.




CHAPTER XXVIII

A Warm Reception at Talai


Again the tiller changed hands, Mr. Heatherington telling Kenneth to
take command while he attended to the insensible Captain Gregory.

It did not take him long to discover the reason for the skipper's
collapse. His old wound had broken out afresh. Although he must have
suffered terribly during the last hour or so, Gregory had stuck grimly
and uncomplainingly to his task, never relinquishing the steering oar,
and later the tiller, until the boat was under sail and free from
danger.

All that could be done for the present was to re-bandage the wound,
bathe the patient's head and neck, and leave him as comfortably placed
as circumstances permitted upon the stern-gratings, with a piece of
canvas to screen him from the now fierce rays of the morning sun.

At a modest three knots the boat held on her course for the distant
island of Talai. Gradually Boya dropped astern, until by mid-day the
highest of the triple peaks dropped beneath the horizon. Ahead lay a
seemingly unbounded, trackless expanse of blue water, without land,
vessel, or even a smudge of distant smoke to break the circular rim of
the sky-line.

The wind having veered a point or two, now blew steadily on the port
quarter. With sheets freed and canvas drawing without a shake the boat
footed it merrily.

The chums enjoyed the sensation immensely. It was their first experience
of open boat work at sea, and, as the sun climbed until it reached the
zenith, they had nothing to indicate the direction in which they were
going except the compass card. In previous trips they had made, they had
been always within sight of land. They had fixed objects on which to
keep the boat's head. Now the situation was different. They had to rely
solely upon the little compass.

At length Captain Gregory recovered consciousness. Almost his first
words on opening his eyes and seeing Kenneth at the helm were: "How's
her head?"

"North twenty west," replied the lad.

"Good," rejoined Gregory. He muttered a few unintelligible words, and
feebly asked for water.

Mr. Heatherington supplied his wants, and told him to sleep if he could.

"Ay, sure," exclaimed the skipper. "Keep her as she is, sir. Mind you, I
can't swear to the variation, but I think it's about right. Hang on to
the course, and we won't miss Talai by more than a few miles."

With this somewhat cryptic utterance Captain Gregory lay down and
dropped into a sound sleep.

"What did he mean, Pater?" asked Kenneth.

"I rather fancy he referred to that perplexing quality that affects
compasses: variation, or the difference between true north and the
magnetic north as indicated by the compass needle," replied Mr.
Heatherington. "According to the compass we are heading practically
N.N.W. Actually we may be steering anywhere up to twenty degrees of that
bearing, owing to the variation being easterly. What the difference
really is, I don't know. We can only hope that Gregory does and has made
allowances accordingly. If not, and we miss the group of islands in the
vicinity of Talai, we've two thousand miles of open sea before we knock
chips off the South American continent."

The rest of the day passed almost without incident. In the absence of
any mechanical means of knowing the time the three able-bodied members
of the boat's crew took approximately two hours' trick at the helm.
Meals they had whenever they felt really hungry; and they adhered
strictly to the maxim: "no drink between meals", although the drink was
merely plain water. In spite of the torrid temperature, they contrived
to keep the water cool by the simple expedient of covering the breakers
with cloth constantly steeped in salt water.

Kenneth and Peter were radiantly happy. They were afloat, although their
argosy was hardly the craft they would have chosen to undertake an ocean
voyage. No longer the menace of the rascally Mendoza and his villainous
crew hung over their heads. They were free--free through their own
efforts.

Throughout the day the wind held true, but as night fell the favouring
breeze petered out into a flat calm.

It was a perfect tropical night. The surface of the sea was as smooth as
a sheet of glass. Overhead the stars shone brightly, while the water
danced with the scintillating reflections of heaven's lights. The
dew-sodden canvas hung idly from the yards, while--the one fly in the
ointment--the pleasurable kick of the helm was no longer felt.

Taking turns at keeping watch lest a sudden squall should sweep down
upon the motionless boat, the three spent the night in comparative
comfort, until at about half-past five in the morning grey dawn showed
in the eastern sky.

Then Captain Gregory awoke, declaring that he felt as fit as a fiddle,
and insisted on taking charge of the useless tiller.

"There's no saying how far we've drifted during the night," he declared.
"Miles, maybe, if we're within the influence of the North Equatorial
Current. By Jove! I wish I had my sextant and a chart."

He realized that he was lost without his "tools". In the absence of
proper navigating instruments he was unable to fix the position. He was
uncertain as to the boat's drift and leeway; even the compass might be
grievously in error, not only as regards variation but deviation as
well. In his mind he knew that the chances of making Talai were as
remote as finding the proverbial needle in a bundle of hay, but having
once expressed his misgivings as to the boat's drift, he maintained an
outward show of cheerful confidence.

Soon after sunrise the welcome breeze sprang up again, blowing from the
same quarter. The dun-brown canvas changed to grey as the dew dried
under the strengthening rays of the sun. Again the rippling wake and the
gentle vibration of the rudder served to indicate that the little craft
was steadily increasing the distance between her and Boya Island.

Towards midday the breeze died away, stifled under the terrific heat of
the sun. It was then that the chums realized to the full the discomforts
of open boat work. On board the _Paloma_ even on the hottest day, the
motion of the vessel set up a cooling draught. Double awnings served as
an efficient protection from the sun's rays. There were deck-chairs in
which to lie at one's ease (that was, of course, before the mutineers
gave trouble); room to walk about; iced drinks to quench their thirst.
In the _Paloma's_ boat none of these conditions existed. They were
cooped up, scantily clad, exposed to the direct glare of the sun,
stifled almost by the radiation from the mirror-like sea. In addition
they developed a salt water rash, in spite of the fact that for days
past they had been exposed to the open air and the salt-laden breezes.

The bare thwarts grew so hot as to be almost unbearable to the touch.
The paintwork, already worn by usage and neglect, blistered in the heat,
the reek of the oil combining, with decidedly unpleasant results, with
the smell of the stagnant salt water in the bilges.

After three hours of this torment the wind piped up, continuing to blow
steadily until sunset, when it again fell to a flat calm until dawn. In
these conditions progress was tediously slow, and it was not until about
nine in the morning of the fourth day that the welcome cry of "land on
the port bow" roused the remaining sparks of the chums' waning
enthusiasm.

Two hours later the boat approached the island sufficiently to enable
Captain Gregory to affirm that it was not Talai, but one of the
outermost of the group.

"Our destination is twenty miles to the west'ard," he declared. "Dead to
wind'ard too. Down canvas, lads! Out oars! Bless me, in this light
breeze, twenty miles is nothing under oars. We'll make Talai in a matter
of four hours."

At last the island of their endeavours and hopes appeared above the
horizon. Their discomforts forgotten, the chums pulled lustily at the
oars, each being relieved in turn by Mr. Heatherington. Nevertheless, it
was late in the afternoon before the entrance to the lagoon could be
discerned in the otherwise unbroken line of surf that thundered
unceasingly upon the reef.

Making for the lagoon was a small dug-out canoe, with an outrigger and
manned by a couple of dusky natives.

"So that rascal Lopez hasn't succeeded in killing off all the
inhabitants," observed Kenneth. "Those chaps look healthy enough!"

He waved a greeting to the natives. No friendly gesture was received in
reply; but with every appearance of frantic haste the two islanders
plied their paddles and steadily increased the distance between the
boats.

"I expect they've got the wind up or something," remarked Captain
Gregory. "I wonder why? They surely can't take us for blackbirders."

It was an easy passage through the gap in the reefs, and presently the
boat entered the tranquil waters of the lagoon. Viewed from seaward the
prospect was alluring. A greater contrast to the inhospitable cliffs of
Boya could hardly be imagined. The luxuriant foliage, the dazzling white
sands, the limpid blue water, as clear as a sheet of glass, all tended
to present a picture of perfect tranquillity.

The only living creatures to be seen were the two natives, who, having
beached their catamaran, were stolidly watching the approach of the
slower craft. Presently they disappeared into the cover afforded by the
thick undergrowth, leaving the canoe with half a dozen others high and
dry above high-water mark.

"There's one village just behind that bluff," said Mr. Heatherington,
pointing to a palm-topped crag about a mile to the nor'ard of the
entrance to the lagoon. "The other is almost in the centre of the
island. The question is: where shall we land? Here, opposite the path
leading to the principal village, or farther along abreast of the
waterside one?"

"I suppose the natives will be all right?" remarked Kenneth, mindful of
the attack upon the _Paloma's_ boats when Mendoza attempted to land.

"Quiet as turtle-doves," declared his father. "Naturally, if they are
rubbed up the wrong way they'll kick. It's a wonder to me why the whole
village hasn't shown up on the beach to give us a welcome."

"P'raps the smallpox has played havoc with them," suggested Peter.

"Stroke ahead, lads!" exclaimed Captain Gregory. "It's no use hanging on
to the slack."

The boat glided gently towards the beach.

"Way 'nough," ordered the skipper, raising his hand to shade his eyes
from the slanting rays of the sun.

Suddenly the silence of the apparently deserted island was broken by the
roar of a hundred voices. From the scrub appeared swarms of dark-brown
natives, brandishing spears and clubs, and yelling their loudest.

For a few moments the little band were too taken aback to grasp the
situation. The cries might be shouts of welcome, although they did not
sound as such. Then a volley of stones settled all doubts on that score.
The water was churned by the missiles, most of which fell short.

"Back her out!" shouted Gregory, at the same time grasping an oar to
assist in the task.

It was no easy matter to check the boat's way and go astern. Already the
lithe and muscular natives, abandoning their stone-throwing, were
charging down the beach.

Raising a revolver, Gregory fired the contents above the heads of the
mob. The natives hesitated. They already had good cause to respect the
weapons of the white man. Then, finding that the shots had done no
harm--and it was a grotesque sight to watch the islanders looking
inquiringly at each other, in order to ascertain possible
casualties--the pursuit was continued.

[Illustration: "BACK HER OUT!" SHOUTED GREGORY     _Page_ 280]

Already the boat had backed several yards from the beach. Dozens of
the natives plunged into the water and swam in pursuit. Backed, the
heavy boat stood little chance of eluding the powerful swimmers. Forge
ahead she might, but the turning operations would take up valuable time.

Round swung the under-manned craft, Gregory menacing the foremost
natives with his empty revolver. One man succeeded in grasping the
gunwale on the port quarter, but a sharp blow from the butt of the
captain's weapon made him relax his grip.

Another attempted to scramble in over the bows. Kenneth thrust his oar
into his father's hand, swung round and dealt the native a straight left
between the eyes, with the result that the man turned and swam for the
shore, yelling the while like a frightened child.

By this time the boat's head had been turned seaward. Double-banking the
oars the four rowed desperately and outdistanced their pursuers.

"Unfriendly set of beach-combers!" ejaculated Captain Gregory. "Now
what's to be done? Try and parley with them or make for the open sea?
It's a long run across to Panama or South America."

"I don't know how we can bring that crowd to listen," observed Mr.
Heatherington. "Frankly, after our reception, I'm not at all keen on
making the experiment. What is the island we sighted this morning?"

"Tofua," replied Captain Gregory, "I don't go much on that. A bad
reputation, according to what I've heard. It's not inhabited, I
understand; but it's a sort of meeting-place for cannibal-inclined
natives. Occasionally Uncle Sam's gunboats show up to keep an eye on
things, but so far they haven't been able to catch the natives
red-handed."

"Let's make for Tofua, then," suggested Mr. Heatherington. "We must take
our chances with the natives. They may not be there. There may be a
likelihood of being picked up by a vessel."

"Too late, sir, I'm afraid," declared Captain Gregory quietly. "Look
over there!"

Coming round a projecting bluff and making towards the entrance of the
lagoon were eight large canoes packed with armed savages.




CHAPTER XXIX

Hospitality


There was no mistaking the natives' intentions. While one section
attacked the boat as it approached the beach--and only a lack of
generalship prevented the natives waiting until the white men had
actually landed before taking them by surprise--another, manning the
huge war canoes, put off and paddled at a great pace to intercept the
fugitives.

It was an awe-inspiring sight to watch the eight canoes, with their
lofty prows ornamented by grinning heads with enormous eyes, leaping
through the tranquil water, each urged by the regular, almost
mechanical, beats of thirty paddles.

Dry-throated, Kenneth watched the approaching peril, wondering if, after
all the little band had gone through, this was to be the end. He knew
well enough the fierce character of the natives of Talai when aroused;
and yet he could not understand why they should be so aggressive.
According to reports they were an inoffensive crowd. Mendoza had given
them good cause to attack his landing-party, but that hardly seemed
justification for the massacre of a hapless boat's crew. It was
certainly rough luck, reflected Kenneth, to have to pay for Mendoza's
ill deeds.

His thoughts were interrupted by Captain Gregory shouting to his
companions to fight to the last.

"We'll sell our lives dearly," he added, as he hurriedly reloaded his
revolver. The rest followed his example, for they had with them two
rifles and several revolvers taken from the pirates' armoury at Boya.

With faultless precision and at equal distances apart the canoes took up
a semi-circular formation, with the object of their attention in the
centre of the arc. For a brief instant the paddles beat the water in a
reverse direction in order to check the canoes' way. Then came a dead
silence, the eight canoes lying motionless, with only the rapidly
spreading wavelets set up by the paddles to ruffle the mirror-like
surface.

The whole manoeuvre was obviously executed with the idea of spectacular
effect to subject their victims to a display of ruthless menace before
closing to settle the unequal encounter. At any rate the four white men
found the period of silence far more nerve-racking than the din raised
by the swarm of natives on the beach.

"Pick off that chap in the white feather cloak, sir," exclaimed Captain
Gregory. "I'll drill a hole through that chap with the cock's feathers.
There'll be a few vacancies for headmen before we go under. Don't fire
until they attack."

Quietly and composedly--he was surprised at his own coolness that
followed the period of dry-throated agitation--Kenneth set the
back-sight of his rifle to three hundred yards, thrust a cartridge into
the breech, closed the cut-out to the magazine, and placed a handful of
cartridges on the thwart beside him. Until the natives came to close
quarters he would keep the magazine intact and rely upon single loading.

"Why don't they make a move?" exclaimed Peter, hardly conscious that he
had voiced his thoughts.

A whistle sounded shrilly from the beach. The noise seemed absolutely
incongruous. It reminded Kenneth of the referee's whistle on the playing
fields at school. It was almost the last thing he expected to hear in a
Pacific Ocean lagoon.

The signal was promptly obeyed. Each canoe turned and paddled away from
the boat, but the natives took care not to leave a loophole of escape
open. They brought up in a compact formation right across the entrance
to the lagoon.

But the four white men paid scant heed to them. Their attention was
attracted to a small outrigger canoe putting off from the beach. It was
the same craft which they had fallen in with on nearing the island. Two
natives--probably the same who had previously manned her--plied the
paddles. Aft sat a huge man dressed in white. His face was tanned to the
colour of red mahogany, but his beard was sufficient to enable the four
to recognize him.

It was Captain Asger Holbaek, the Danish skipper of the _Svend_.

"Good day, Mr. Heatherington!" he exclaimed, as the canoe came within
easy hailing distance. "There is nothing to fear now. My subjects were
under a wrong impression, and until I recognized you through my glasses
I was also misled. I hasten to make amends."

"It certainly was rather a warm reception," replied Heatherington.

"And if I may be allowed to say so, it was your fault," rejoined Captain
Holbaek. "It was the boat that caused the mistake. The natives
recognized it as one belonging to the pirate ship, and concluded, very
naturally, that the villains were returning for the third time."

"For the third time?" echoed Kenneth's parent.

"Surely. Once just after I succeeded in escaping; the second occasion
was about a week ago. The _Paloma_ put in--"

"She won't do so again," interrupted Kenneth. "Sorry, I didn't mean--"
he ended apologetically.

"Why will she not?" asked the Dane.

"Because she's a total wreck. There were no survivors. Mendoza's dead."

Holbaek threw back his head and laughed boisterously. The others looked
at him in astonishment, surprised that he should show such unrestrained
glee at the news of the pirate captain's fate, villain though he was.

"He tried to wipe out the natives and myself," said Holbaek. "He tried
to send ashore the corpse of a man who had died of a virulent disease.
Sent him, mark you, in my own boat, and with one of the natives. The
Kanaka jumped overboard and swam ashore. That was a possibility that
Mendoza had overlooked. He had forgotten that salt water is a good
disinfectant. Directly I found out what had happened, I quarantined the
Kanaka, but nothing happened.

"Then Mendoza came again. He began to sound the lagoon. Seized half a
dozen of the islanders to work for him as divers. This I would not
permit. We fell upon the men in the boats and rescued the captives. Then
the pirate vessel went off. But, gentlemen, I am neglecting the common
courtesies of hospitality. My house is at your service."

Again the Dane blew the whistle. From the shore a hundred men or more
plunged into the water and swam off to the boat. This time they were
unarmed, and their faces were wreathed in smiles.

"Throw them your painter," exclaimed the Dane, who had meanwhile stepped
from the canoe into the stern sheets of the boat.

A dozen swimmers took hold of the rope. Others grasping the gunwales
struck out with one arm, until propelled by a human motor of
uncalculated horse-power the boat became the centre of a triumphal
procession to the beach.

To anyone not acquainted with the simple, almost childish moods of the
South Sea Islander, the sudden change of demeanour seemed
incomprehensible. Gone were the fierce shouts, the savage gestures, the
formidable display of weapons. Good-natured smiles, friendly greetings,
and songs of welcome were everywhere in evidence. Many of the natives
presented garlands to the now dead-beat arrivals; but--somewhat to
Kenneth's and Peter's pleasurable disappointment--there was no attempt
on the part of the islanders to rub noses.

These demonstrations continued until the Dane and his guests arrived at
the former's hut, for such he termed it. Actually, it was quite a
spacious bungalow-like building, standing on sloping, open ground, about
a hundred yards from the village. It was constructed of stone set in a
kind of cement made from coral. The roof was thatched with palm leaves;
a wide veranda surrounded it. The windows were innocent of glass, but
when required could be closed with jalousied shutters. The building
looked glaringly new; in fact it was not yet completed, having been
constructed by native labour under Holbaek's supervision since the
latter's arrival at Talai only a few weeks ago, but already flaming
hibiscus and luxuriant creepers were doing their best to clothe the
glaring white walls in a lavish mantle of vegetation.

"One moment!" exclaimed the Dane, as they reached the shade of the
veranda. "I know you are most fatigued, but it would be well to say a
word to my subjects."

A blast on the whistle transformed the wildly excited mob into an
orderly gathering. Addressing the natives on behalf of the newly-arrived
white men, Holbaek explained why they had come in one of the boats
belonging to the pirates and blackbirders who had so seriously
interfered with the even tenor of the islanders' existence. Told them
that, thanks to their guests, the _Paloma_ would never return to trouble
them with her unwelcome presence; that the four white men were
blood-brothers of his and must be treated with the utmost friendliness,
adding significantly that their belongings were _tabu_. That meant that
their goods were safe from the almost unpreventible depredations of
these simple natives who, from infancy, exhibit an utter disregard for
the elementary rules about _meum et tuum_.

The address ended, the natives gave a terrific shout of acclamation,
and dispersed quietly to their huts.

Captain Holbaek led his guests into his home, ordered native servants to
prepare baths and a meal.

"I am sorry I have no wardrobe to place at your disposal," he said
apologetically, as he noticed the ragged, salt- and rust-stained
garments of the four men. "I am reduced to the one suit in which I came
ashore. I reserve that for special occasions, such as the present.
Usually I wear native costume. Believe me, it has its advantages when
one gets accustomed to it."

When the four guests sat down to an appetizing meal, they were rigged
out in loin-cloths, and a sort of loose cloak, their own clothing being
handed over to a native with instructions for it to be washed. The chums
were obliged to admit that the clean native-woven linen was far more
comfortable than the ragged and soiled rough canvas, which had been
their sole garment for longer than they cared to remember.

"Now you must be longing for a sound and refreshing sleep," said their
host.

There were no dissentients. Kenneth and Peter were hardly able to keep
from nodding. Mr. Heatherington had difficulty to refrain from yawning,
while Captain Gregory, whose greater allowance of sleep during the run
from Boya had been set-off by the physical weakness owing to the
reopening of his wound, actually fell asleep before the meal was over.

It was a comfort to the two chums to be able to rest on wicker couches,
to have a roof over their heads, and, more than anything, to know that
they were safe in the care of the genial Dane, whose personality had won
for him the obedience, amounting almost to veneration, of the natives of
Talai.

"Seems almost too good to be true, Peter," remarked Kenneth drowsily, as
he adjusted the mosquito curtains.

There was no reply. Peter Arkendale was lost to the world in the kindly
arms of Morpheus.




CHAPTER XXX

Retribution


The chums awoke to find themselves in a darkened room, but judging by
the noises without, Captain Holbaek's establishment was up and about.

"Hang it all!" exclaimed Peter. "Do they work by night at Talai? Or is
there a riot going on?"

"Dunno," replied his chum drowsily. "Where's my torch?"

He found the instrument close to the side of his couch, switched it on
and looked round the room. One thing he noticed in particular. The
jalousied windows had been carefully covered by thick mats so arranged
as to admit a free current of air.

Getting out of bed, Kenneth went to the window and pulled aside one of
the coverings. He was almost blinded by the glare of the sun.

"By Jove!" he ejaculated, noting the fact that the palms threw almost
vertical shadows. "It's close on midday. We are lazy hogs!"

"Holbaek's been looking after us well, then," declared Peter. "Those
mats over the jalousies weren't there last night. He evidently meant us
to sleep as long as we could. I say! What a jolly place Talai is, our
rough reception notwithstanding! Different from Boya!"

"If Boya is a specimen of a Pacific paradise----" began Kenneth, but was
interrupted by a knock on the door-post--the door itself being made of
rushes woven on bamboo frames.

Captain Holbaek appeared.

"I heard you talking," he said apologetically, "so I took the liberty of
coming in. Is there anything you require? Your father and Captain
Gregory are still asleep. I thought I would mention this in case you
disturb them. Do you think you will like our native dress?"

The chums thought they would. It was rather good fun going about in a
loin-cloth and a sort of light cloak. At any rate the "rig" suited the
Dane to perfection. It set off his massive form and powerful, muscular
limbs.

They bathed and dressed, the latter operation taking less than a couple
of minutes, and made their way to the living-room, where a meal,
consisting chiefly of plantains and mealie-cakes, awaited them.

"I wonder why Captain Holbaek warned us about disturbing the Governor?"
remarked Kenneth. "There's a good deal of noise outside anyhow."

"Give it up," rejoined his chum, as he proceeded to attempt to satisfy a
healthy appetite.

The meal completed, they went out on to the veranda. Then the reason for
the commotion became apparent. Placed in orderly formation on the ground
in front of the entrance were the whole of the belongings of the four
guests. Not a thing was missing. The natives had even brought along
three or four empty cartridge-cases, and a couple of rusty
preserved-meat cans which had been used as balers. Owing to Holbaek's
orders that the things were _tabu_ the natives had moved each article by
means of cleft sticks. Nothing would have induced them to lay a finger
on any item of the white men's property.

Presently Mr. Heatherington and Captain Gregory appeared.

"My word!" exclaimed the former, when he saw his son and Peter in native
attire. "You two are going in for the simple life!"

"Jolly comfortable any old way, Pater," replied Kenneth. "And streets
above the rotten old canvas suits that Mendoza graciously permitted us
to wear. How do you feel, Pater, after your night's rest?"

"Quite all right," replied Mr. Heatherington. "Well, lads, here we are,
fixed up in comfortable quarters; but we can't remain indefinitely. The
question is: how are we to get back to civilization?"

"I'm in no hurry," said Kenneth. "We've struck a _pukka_ coral island at
last."

"My bright boy seems charmed with your place, Captain," remarked Mr.
Heatherington, to the Danish skipper, who had just come in.

"Indeed? Yes. Talai has its advantages. I, personally, shall be sorry to
leave; yet I am hoping some day to return to my native land."

"It is some years since you last saw Denmark, then?" inquired Mr.
Heatherington.

"Ten years," replied Captain Holbaek. "I was hoping to do so this year;
but as you know my schooner the _Svend_ was destroyed by those villains.
She was not insured; and more than likely my goods in Tonga have been
disposed of, since it is reasonable for the authorities there to think I
am dead. So I must go on working," he concluded.

"Is there much of a commercial value in Talai?" asked Kenneth's parent.

"To a certain extent, yes," declared the Dane frankly. "Copra mostly. I
am now building another vessel. My Kanakas are handy fellows, and the
natives themselves are quite intelligent."

"Are there any pearl fisheries?"

"Not of a paying proposition," replied Captain Holbaek. "There are some
under the lee of that part of the reef, but these are of poor quality.
The yield is not worth the labour and risk. Now, gentlemen, are you
prepared for a short tour of my domain? The sun is still fierce, but
perhaps, even as I, you are now hardened to tropical heat."

The others, with the exception of Gregory, who had an objection to using
his feet more than was absolutely necessary, agreed to the proposal with
alacrity.

Of the four, only Mr. Heatherington wore foot-gear, consisting of a pair
of plaited grass sandals, for by now the two chums were quite inured to
going about barefooted. Captain Holbaek, too, was quite at home without
shoes, and expressed his doubts as to his ability to be comfortable in
leather only again.

Passing through the village--which at that hour was tenanted only by
smiling women busily engaged in such occupations as making rush mats,
grinding maize between stones resembling the old Saxon _quaern_, and
weaving flax-cloth--the party reached the outskirts of a large coco-palm
wood. Here pigs in semi-wild condition roamed in large numbers, while
numerous fowls were to be seen scuttling through the undergrowth. It was
evident that the inhabitants of Talai did not live in fear of
starvation.

Beyond the palm-groves ran a small tidal creek. Here were kept the
canoes that had given the Britons such a disconcerting reception. Viewed
at close quarters they appeared to be stout, weatherly craft, depending
upon stones for ballast. In this respect they differed from the canoes
used for fishing and other peaceful occupations, the latter being
provided with outriggers after the style of a catamaran. Most of the
natives at work on the canoes had manned them when they sallied out for
the purpose of cutting off the retreat of the boat; and they greeted
their former quarry with the utmost good will.

"That old fellow," announced Holbaek, pointing to a much tattooed and
wrinkled native squatting on the top of a rock overhanging the creek,
"that old fellow claims to be nearly a hundred years of age. He was an
out-and-out cannibal until twenty years ago or thereabouts. There used
to be almost continual warfare between the natives of Talai and those of
Boti, but they never invaded each other's islands. They have a custom of
going over to Tofua--you can see the island on a clear day--and having a
general battle every New Year's Day, which with them is on the first new
moon following the beginning of the rainy season. The victors then have
a gorgeous feast on the bodies of the victims, celebrating the event by
a dance in honour of the god whose statue is still standing there. At
least, I saw it when I visited the island two years ago. Now, watch the
old fellow."

The ancient native who, after a greeting to the white men, had remained
gazing steadfastly into the water, had just taken up a small bow which
with a number of arrows lay on the rock beside him.

Fitting one of the arrows which had a barbed detachable head, he drew
string. With a twang the bow-string tautened. The arrow struck the water
at a wide angle. Almost before the ripples had time to form, a large
fish rose to the surface transfixed by the formidable missile.
Scrambling to his feet the old man dived, secured his trophy and swam to
the bank.

"He's a game chap," remarked Kenneth.

For a moment Holbaek looked puzzled. The word "game" in the sense the
lad implied was a stranger to him.

"Yes," he agreed, when the meaning was explained, "he provides most of
the fish for a certain section of the community. Old people here work
almost up to the time they die. That is, I take it, the result of an old
custom. In their purely savage days the natives used to eat their
relations when they grew too old or infirm to work. Consequently
industry amongst the ancient men became a habit. Now, this way. Mind the
tendrils. Some of them have poisonous spikes. The wounds they cause are
not fatal, but have most unpleasant results."

The sounds of energetic hammering grew louder and louder, until at
length the party came upon a clearing, fronted by a wide expanse of the
creek they had previously struck.

Here on a slipway of recent construction was the hull of a vessel of
about eighty tons. She was already planked up, and a swarm of Kanakas
were engaged in fitting and laying down the deck-planks. Natives of the
island were hard at work caulking the seams with cotton, "paying" them
with a mixture of oil and coral dust, since pitch was not available.

"This is my new schooner," announced Captain Holbaek proudly.
"Considering the difficulties of construction she is turning out
remarkably well. For instance, there is an almost complete absence of
ironwork. All the timbers are secured to the kelson and keel by
trenails. The planks, too, are held in place by wooden spikes, clamped
on the inside by wedges. Each plank had to be rough-hewn and then
finished off by native tools, but the men are very skilful with their
crude implements."

The vessel was certainly strongly constructed. Her underwater planks
were laid "clinker-fashion", each overlapping the one below it. Above
the load-line they were "carvel", the topside presenting a flush
surface.

"She will at least serve me--and you also, I hope--for a voyage--either
to Callao or Panama," continued Captain Holbaek. "With a cargo of copra
she will provide me with sufficient funds to go back to my native
Denmark. And then--? Well, if I have not amassed wealth I have done even
better. I have gained health. Would you believe it? When I completed my
studies at the university I was so weak, in spite of my huge frame, that
none of my friends thought I would live another year. I came out to
Australia, found my way to Tonga, and took up trading amongst the
islands. Soon I hope to return home and astonish my friends--if there
are any who remember me--not by my wealth but by my health."

He stopped speaking and beckoned to one of the Kanakas--the bos'n of the
_Svend_. In answer to a question the man pointed aft and replied in a
tongue that the three Britons naturally failed to understand.

"They are fitting the bulkheads and the after cabin," announced Captain
Holbaek. "Perhaps you would care to inspect the interior arrangements,
although they are not far advanced."

The Captain's guests boarded the schooner by means of an inclined plank,
walked circumspectly along the partly-laid decks, and gained a hatchway
abaft the aperture left open for the reception of the mainmast.

At the foot of a rough ladder Holbaek stepped aside and pointed to a
door.

"See what it is like inside," he remarked.

Kenneth opened the door. The place was being painted out with a mixture
of mastic varnish and yellow ochre. The "decorator" was a white man. He
was kneeling down with his back turned to the door. Somehow his crisp,
curly hair and gold earrings seemed familiar.

It was one whom Kenneth and his companions had up to that moment
pictured lying a mangled corpse somewhere amidst the reefs of Boya, for,
as the man turned his head, they knew him to be Mendoza, the pirate
captain of the _Paloma's_ rascally crew.

There was no sign of recognition in the Spaniard's lustrous brown eyes.
He merely glanced disinterestedly at his former prisoners, and went on
with his work.

Kenneth and the others promptly beat a retreat.

"It hardly seems possible!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherington, as the four
regained the deck.

"It is, all the same," rejoined the Dane. "He's quite harmless. He's
mad--mad as a hatter, as the English have a way of expressing it. The
natives beat off the _Paloma's_ boats and captured their leader. I'm
afraid he was roughly handled until I came upon the scene. Since he can
work I put him to it. It is poetic justice. He destroyed my old
schooner, and it is but right that he should employ his time in helping
to build my new one. Generally he is quite content, but occasionally he
breaks out. Not that he is dangerous. No. He never attempts violence,
but his mania takes the form of raving a lot of nonsense about black
pearls."

"Really!" ejaculated Mr. Heatherington.

"Of course, I take no notice," continued Captain Holbaek. "It is just a
form of madness."

"Perhaps he's not so mad as you think," soliloquized Mr. Heatherington.

"What do you propose to do with him?" asked Kenneth.

"Take him with me when I leave the island," was the reply. "It would not
do to leave him to the mercies of the natives. They're a peaceable
crowd, but they have long memories. I hope to find a means of sending
him back to Spain. No doubt he has friends, and it is no wish of mine to
persecute a rogue whom Providence has already punished by depriving him
of reason."

"Then Miguel Fe was in command of the ship when we wrecked her," said
Peter.

"Perhaps it was a good thing for us that he was," rejoined his chum.
"Mendoza might not have gone into the trap so innocently. I don't mind
admitting that I felt doubtful about it myself until the _Paloma_
actually struck."

The four made their way back to the bungalow almost without another
word. The sight of the wretched Mendoza had cast a shadow over their
spirits. His punishment was a heavy one--far greater than that which had
overtaken his comrades in lawlessness. They were resting on the bed of
the sea; his was a living death. A body capable of action, but devoid of
reason. In his madness he was "lower than the beasts of the field".




CHAPTER XXXI

"Tabu"


Several days passed in almost unalloyed delight as far as Kenneth and
Peter were concerned. They "had the run of the place", did almost
exactly as they liked, and enjoyed the novelty of a typically beautiful
Pacific island to their heart's content. The only fly in the ointment
was the presence of Mendoza. They could not help feeling sorry for the
fellow's terrible state, his past record notwithstanding.

"It's about time we took steps to locate the pearl beds, lads," observed
Mr. Heatherington one morning. "I've been thinking over the affair
considerably, to know the best course to pursue. Black pearls are
remarkably rare. Here are sufficient to swamp the market and bring the
price down, in which case the enterprise will not repay our expenses;
they have been heavy enough in all conscience. I want to set Captain
Holbaek on his feet financially, for he's been a thundering good sort,
but how? We can't very well dive for pearls without his knowledge. If he
discovers their value he may--mind you, I don't say that he will--he
may obtain a quantity on his own account. In that case the market's done
for."

"But he's got sense enough to dispose of them to the best advantage,"
said Kenneth.

"Yes; but there are the natives under him to be taken into account.
We'll suppose Holbaek is let into the secret. His Kanakas will do the
diving part of the operations, but it will be a matter of difficulty to
keep the knowledge of the discovery from the natives of Talai. Directly
we leave they'll start diving on their own account and barter their
finds for a few yards of cloth or some rubbishy trade goods to the first
pearler arriving off the island."

"Why not take Holbaek entirely into our confidence?" suggested Kenneth.
"He'd see your point. He could _tabu_ the beds as far as the natives
were concerned. They wouldn't dare touch them. Remember how careful they
were in bringing our gear up from the boat."

Accordingly the subject was broached to their host. Captain Holbaek was
frankly sceptical.

"I tell you there are beds," he observed, "but they are valueless. As
for black pearls, there are none in these parts. Certain traders have
shown me so-called black pearls, but they were obviously artificially
treated. However, we shall see. My Kanakas are at your disposal."

Even Captain Gregory displayed no enthusiasm when he was let into the
secret with a promise that he should share in the proceeds. He was, as
he expressed it, absolutely fed up with kicking about ashore, and his
greatest wish was to be on his way back to England.

For some considerable time they discussed plans. Finally it was resolved
to commence diving operations on the following morning, and steps were
taken to provide the necessary gear and equipment.

The _Paloma's_ boat was launched and taken round to the creek. In her
were placed short planks, ropes, weighted baskets for sending down to
the oyster beds, heavy stones to serve as moorings for the boat fore and
aft, and rifles and ammunition in case the divers were molested by
sharks.

Soon after dawn the five white men, accompanied by half a dozen Kanakas,
embarked and pushed off from the natural jetty by the creek. Twenty
minutes steady pulling brought the boat over the spot where, according
to his best recollection, since he had no chart, Mr. Heatherington
thought the precious beds were located.

It was a sheltered basin, although fifty yards to lee'ard the surf
pounded heavily upon the reefs, which, owing to the tide being at
three-quarters ebb, rose a couple or three feet above the surface.

Anxiously the occupants of the boat peered over the gunwales into the
limpid depths beneath. The bottom was of firm white sand with a few
trailing weeds of vivid scarlet and amber and blue. Not a sign of a
bivalve was to be seen.

A few strokes of the oars and the boat gathered way. The oars boated,
the ripples died away. Only the dark shadow of the little craft moving
over the sandy bottom indicated a sense of motion. Presently the water
deepened. The bed was invisible. Right beneath the boat's keel was a
submarine ravine, black with dense marine growth--a locality that the
hardiest and pluckiest diver would take good care to avoid.

"If the oysters are down there it is hopeless," commented Captain
Holbaek. "Perhaps the farther shoal will prove more successful."

He ordered the Kanakas to give a few more strokes. The gulley was only
about twenty yards wide. Beyond the water shoaled to five fathoms, the
sand being mingled with numerous almost indistinguishable shells to
which marine growth adhered.

"Bad lands!" exclaimed the Danish skipper. "These oysters are not of the
pearl-bearing kind."

"This is somewhere about the spot," declared Mr. Heatherington. "I'm
right on one bearing, but I wasn't sure about the other. Let the men
try, anyway."

Captain Holbaek smiled tolerantly and gave the necessary order.

Over the side four weighted baskets were lowered until they rested on
the bottom. Two of the Kanakas, each armed with a stone knife, poised
themselves on the edge of the diving boards placed across both gunwales,
and with hardly a splash dived overboard.

The chums could watch their movements with the utmost clearness.
Arriving within a foot or so of the bottom, the men swam in wide
circles, deftly "un-anchoring" the oysters, and at the same time
avoiding the horny lips of the bivalves. To be caught by the fingers
meant a quick choice between severing the digits or being drowned; to be
held by the arm or leg would result in death by asphyxiation, for human
power was unavailing to force apart the vice-like shells of the mammoth
oysters.

The divers seemed to remain below for a very long time. In reality they
were slightly less than two minutes, although, had necessity arisen,
they might have remained nearly twice that space of time. Making sure
that they were over a clear spot they brought one foot sharply down to
the hard sand and by a vigorous kick shot to the surface like arrows.
Barely had they clambered over the gunwale before another pair
descended, repeating the performance until the baskets were laden with
the trophies of the deep.

Placing the firmly-closed oysters in one end of the boat, the Kanakas
unmoored and shifted their position another thirty yards; dived and
brought up another generous sample, which they put carefully aside from
the other lot.

The operations lasted the best part of two hours, and although a strict
look-out was kept for sharks, the divers were able to work unmolested
save by a few curious but inoffensive fish.

The two chums expected to see a reassuring result of the work there and
then; but they were to be disappointed. Should any of the oysters
contain pearls the forcible opening of the bivalve would render the
precious contents almost valueless. They had to be taken ashore and laid
in the sun until the oyster died and the vice-like jaws automatically
relaxed.

It was not until about four in the afternoon that the opening process
took place. Kenneth and Peter, warned of the consequences of watching
the operation from close quarters, kept their distance, while the
Kanakas under their master's supervision deftly examined the spoil.

Oyster after oyster was scrutinized without the anticipated result,
until Holbaek hurried across to where Heatherington and the boys stood.

"Here is something," he announced, and held out a black pearl about the
size of a pea.

"And it could not have been artificially coloured," added Mr.
Heatherington. "Well, that proves the pearls are there. How----?"

The question was interrupted by a loud shout from one of the Kanakas.
Regardless of the nauseating smell the five white men hurried to the
spot. The native had found a flawless black pearl of about the size of a
pigeon's egg.

"How much is it worth?" asked Kenneth.

"Anything from 2000 to 5000," replied his father.

"Hanged if I'd care to give that for a thing like that," rejoined the
lad.

"And yet in our efforts to obtain it we have risked something far more
valuable than that sum," added his father. "By Jove! Holbaek! Another
half-dozen of that size and you'll go back to Esbjerg a rich man."

"I am glad to hear it," said the Dane sedately. "But our departure will
not be possible until I have built my ship. Now that you know how to set
to work and have located the beds, it would be as well if I devoted my
energies to my work and left you to carry on with yours."

"Quite," agreed Mr. Heatherington. "And when we have found sufficient
pearls then we can give you a hand with the ship-building. That is, if
you can keep Mendoza out of the way."

"Talking of Mendoza; he had rather a violent outbreak yesterday," said
Captain Holbaek. "He attacked one of the natives, so we had to lock him
up. He'll be better to-morrow, and go back to his work quite docilely
until he has another bout."

For the next fortnight work on the oyster beds proceeded almost
uninterruptedly, though slowly, since two Kanakas only were available to
act as divers, and for politic reasons the natives of Talai were not
enlisted for the task. The results were fair. Half a dozen small black
pearls were obtained during the first ten days, but it was not until the
end of the fortnight that the work was rewarded by the discovery of five
large and flawless specimens.

"That will be enough," declared Mr. Heatherington, and the others,
including Captain Holbaek, concurred. Altogether the proceeds ought to
result in each of the five white men receiving at least eight thousand
pounds.

"That will be quite enough for the present," said Heatherington. "If we
want more another expedition can be fitted out. Someone else can take
charge of it, though. We can float a company, provided we take
precautions against overstocking the market. That reminds me, Captain
Holbaek. Are you going to _tabu_ that part of the lagoon?"

"It might be quite safe to do so, although I cannot answer for it after
we have gone," replied the Dane. "Tabu, in Talai, consists of two forms:
one a prohibition placed on a certain thing by a chief; the other a
kind of superstitious fear of a place or object owing to its
associations with the dead. For instance, if a chief were to be eaten by
a shark and the locality were known to the natives, the part of the
lagoon would be _tabu_ for generations. There is a grove on the east
side of Talai. No native will go within a spear's throw of it. He'd
sooner kill himself. The reason for that is, I found out, that over two
hundred years ago a chief was killed by lightning whilst presiding at a
tribal dance."

"We'll try your powers of _tabu_ then," said Mr. Heatherington,
laughing. "It's hardly worth while inducing one of the chiefs to throw
himself to the sharks."

The precious articles having been carefully packed in down and placed in
a strong case, Captain Holbaek solemnly announced at a general gathering
of the natives that a part of the lagoon was to be henceforth _tabu_.
This declaration was received in silence. No one questioned the reason,
or, if he did, it was after the assembly dispersed.

Day after day passed in strenuous work. Slowly but surely the schooner
approached completion. Her masts were stepped, spars fitted, and canvas,
consisting of strong native flax cloth, bent to yards and booms. Chain
being out of the question, a heavy coir rope was woven and stowed in the
cable-tier, while for an anchor a formidable-looking contrivance of
wood weighted with flat stones woolded with canvas and rope to hold them
firmly in position, promised to carry out any ordinary duty in the way
of mooring that it might be called upon to perform.

One afternoon after the day's work was accomplished, Kenneth and Peter
were fishing off the rocks at the entrance to the cave when they noticed
a small catamaran proceeding in the direction of the reef. To their
surprise they saw that the occupant was Mendoza.

He had been extremely docile of late, and in consequence his movements
had not been so closely watched, so that he had seized an opportunity to
slip away, make for the beach, and launch one of the canoes.

Dashing along the shore the chums raised the alarm that Mendoza was
escaping. Captain Holbaek was quickly upon the scene, followed by Mr.
Heatherington. In obedience to an order from the former half a dozen
canoes were manned and started in pursuit.

"A mad freak," declared the Dane. "He cannot hope to clear the reefs in
that direction."

"By Jove! He's making for the pearl beds!" exclaimed Kenneth.

Observing the activity ashore, Mendoza quickened his pace, paddling
rapidly yet unskilfully, his awkward efforts throwing up showers of
spray and nearly capsizing the frail catamaran, not once but a score of
times.

Undoubtedly Kenneth was correct in his surmise. Perhaps the Spaniard had
been watching the diving operations from the island, and with the animal
cunning of the maniac had guessed the reason for the presence of the
_Paloma's_ boat with his former prisoners amongst her occupants.

The pursuing canoes were overhauling their quarry hand over fist, yet
not once did the Spaniard turn his head in their direction after the
first glance that had warned him of their chase.

From their position on the beach, it was a difficult matter for Kenneth
and his companions to gauge with any degree of accuracy the distance
separating the catamaran from the foremost of the pursuers. It seemed as
if the latter were almost level with Mendoza's craft, when the natives
suddenly gave up the pursuit and backed vigorously with their paddles
until the canoes remained almost motionless.

Mendoza held on.

"What have they stopped for?" asked Peter, addressing no one in
particular.

It was Kenneth who supplied the information.

"'Cause that part of the lagoon is _tabu_, of course," he replied.

Such indeed was the case. Even although they had started to recapture
the Spaniard on the direct orders of their paramount chief, Captain
Holbaek, nothing would induce them to cross the imaginary line that
formed the pale to the prohibited expanse of lagoon.

Mendoza's immediate actions were unhindered. Even if the white men
launched the boat and made for the spot, nearly twenty minutes would
elapse before they could arrive on the spot which the brown men feared
to approach.

The Spaniard ceased paddling. Standing delicately poised upon the
gunwale of the catamaran nearest the outrigger, he was peering down into
the water.

"Yes, he's after the pearls," exclaimed Mr. Heatherington.

Even as they watched those on shore saw Mendoza disappear over the side.
The empty canoe tossed in the disturbed water, and drifted rapidly from
the spot under the impetus given it by the diver. The ripples dispersed.
The surface of the lagoon resumed its mirror-like aspect. The luckless
Spaniard did not reappear.

Back paddled the canoes, their crews looking awe-struck and terrified.
To them the fate of Mendoza was a direct fulfilment of the curse that
they firmly believed would overtake anyone reckless enough to violate
the _tabu_.

In death Mendoza had performed the one and only good service he had ever
rendered to the men he had so treacherously used. He had set for all
time the seal of secrecy upon the black pearl beds of Talai.




CHAPTER XXXII

And Last


"What happened to him, do you think?" asked Peter. "Did a shark get
him?"

Captain Asger Holbaek shook his head.

"No; if a shark had seized him, there would have been a commotion on the
surface. I've questioned the natives. They swear they saw no blood. I
think he must have been caught by one of the oysters. I remember we lost
a diver out amongst the Gilbert Islands some years ago. We recovered his
body with one foot flattened out between the bivalve's jaws. But I will
not satisfy my--and your--curiosity. If I did I would break the _tabu_ I
have laid upon the place. If you have any imagination, it does not
require much to reconstruct the scene."

At length, amidst scenes of great rejoicing on the part of the natives
(for they did not yet know that their white chief was about to leave
them) the new _Svend_ was launched and towed round to the lagoon to
complete fitting out and stowing cargo. Viewed afloat she looked very
little different from the hundreds of pearling schooners that frequent
"the islands". She was a triumph of patience and ingenuity, riding on an
even keel and hardly making any water through her well-caulked seams.

Ballasted with stones and brought down to the load line with a good
cargo of copra, provisioned for a three months voyage, the _Svend_ was
at last ready to spread her brown wings to the favouring south-east
Trades.

It was an affecting scene when at a palaver attended by every man,
woman, and child on the island, Captain Holbaek announced his intention
of relinquishing the chieftainship and leaving Talai. A chorus of
lamentation rent the air, and when at length the five white men made
their way to the waiting boat, they had to force their way through the
crowd, who lavished upon them garlands, until, as Peter remarked, they
looked like walking maypoles.

Already the devoted Kanaka crew were on board. Sails were set, the
unwieldy anchor broken out. Heeling gracefully to the off-shore breeze,
the _Svend_ slipped through the tranquil waters of the lagoon, curtsied
to the swell on the bar, and gained the open sea.

Two hours later Talai disappeared from sight beneath the misty horizon.

       *       *       *       *       *

Five weeks later the party embarked at Panama on a homeward-bound
liner. The copra had been disposed of at a fair profit. The Kanakas had
departed for Tonga in the _Svend_, which, having performed her required
task, had been presented by Captain Holbaek to his loyal crew.

From London the Dane returned supremely happy to his native country,
with the knowledge that a draft for nearly nine thousand pounds awaited
him at a banker's at Copenhagen.

Peter Arkendale, now rich beyond his wildest dreams, went back to school
to "swot up" for Sandhurst.

Kenneth Heatherington went "up" to Cambridge, there to study for the
Law, but Adventure is a persistent wooer, and it will not surprise any
of his friends to hear that at some future date he will revisit the
haunts of the Buccaneers of Boya.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's note:

Hyphen variations left as printed.




[End of The Buccaneers of Boya, by Percy F. Westerman]
