The Compound
At the conclusion of the pirate lieutenant's speech silence fell upon
the close ranks of the prisoners. Porfirio conferred with his
subordinates for some moments, then, turning abruptly, walked down to
the _Malfilio's_ boat. Henriques accompanied him; but Strogoff, who
had been told off to remain as a sort of deputy-governor of the
island, stood in the centre of the hollow square, his dark eyes
closely scrutinizing the faces of his captives.
Presently he shouted:
"Place all the luggage on the ground."
The "luggage" for the most part consisted of handkerchiefs containing
the men's scanty and hurriedly-collected kit. Two or three of the
officers had brought small handbags, while the purser had taken the
precaution of landing a portable medicine-chest.
"You have been searched for arms?" inquired the pirate lieutenant,
addressing Branscombe, and without waiting for that worthy's reply he
continued: "Goot; we will now the luggage search."
It was not a lengthy business. One of the guards undertook the
examination of the kit, while Strogoff watched the proceedings. Since
there was little of value, nothing was taken with the exception of
shaving- and looking-glasses, razors, and scissors.
The prisoners, preceded and followed by armed guards, were then
marched off. For a hundred yards or so they kept to the sandy beach
until they arrived at a cleft in the precipitous cliffs, that had
been invisible when viewed from the deck of the _Donibristle_. It was
more than a cleft, it was a narrow, steeply ascending defile, and the
only means of gaining the interior of the island from the harbour.
Enclosed by bare walls of rock, never more than twelve feet apart,
the path ascended by a series of zigzags, until at a distance of a
furlong from the seaward entrance a natural barrier of granite
terminated the gorge. Here, piercing the cliffs at right angles to
the path, was a tunnel, the work of man's hands, driven through the
solid rock. Defended by machine-guns, the gateway to the island could
defy an army corps.
During German occupation the tunnel had been electrically lighted.
The bayonet-sockets of the long-destroyed bulbs were still in
position, while here and there broken insulated wire protruded from
the rusted iron castings.
By the aid of torches made of resinous wood the guards illuminated
the tunnel, through which a strong in-draught of warm air caused the
lights to flicker and smoke.
On the principle that "you never know your luck", Burgoyne kept his
eyes well open, studying the nature of the approach to the interior.
One of the first objects that attracted his attention was a metal
portcullis. It was already drawn up, and only a foot or so of the
lower portion projected below the roof of the tunnel. Since no
winding mechanism was visible, he concluded that above the tunnel was
a large hall or cave, from which control of the portcullis and
observation of the approach through the gorge could be made.
When about one-third of the inclined subterranean passage had been
traversed, Burgoyne noticed that the wall on one side was running
with moisture, and presently he saw an iron plate, about two feet in
diameter, set in a metal frame and secured by six butterfly-nuts. It
was obviously a valve, the seating of which was by no means
water-tight, for two or three fine sprays were spurting diagonally
across the tunnel, and forming miniature rainbows in the glare of the
torches. As it was an inaccessible spot for a hydrant, Burgoyne
formed the idea that the water formed part of the defences of the
tunnel, and, if necessary, could either inundate the lowermost part
or else set up an irresistible torrent against which no human being
could stand.
Presently daylight showed ahead. The guards extinguished their
torches by dashing them on the ground, and stacked the still-smoking
wood in a niche in the wall of the tunnel. Passing under another
portcullis, and turning sharp to the right through an inclined
gulley, the prisoners arrived in the open air on the high land of the
secret base.
Here they were halted. A pirate with the air of one having
authority--he was equivalent to a barrack-master--carefully counted
the prisoners, and began picking out a few at haphazard. Those he
chose were subjected to a minute search, but luckily there was
nothing found on them in the nature of arms or ammunition. Presently
he stood still with his horny hand raised as if about to bring it
down upon Hilda Vivian's shoulder.
The officers of the _Donibristle_ were bringing up the rear of the
column of prisoners, but behind were six of the pirates. Consequently
Burgoyne was close to the girl, only the purser being between them.
Alwyn saw Hilda shrink back. It was only a slight movement but
nevertheless perceptible.
"That's done it!" muttered the Third Officer, striving in vain to
think of a hurried plan whereby he might be able to save the girl
without arousing instant and fatal suspicion.
But a _deus ex machina_ had turned up at the critical moment. Black
Strogoff, who had not accompanied the prisoners, had just emerged
from the tunnel, and his imperious harsh voice was shouting for one
Fernando. The barrack-master turned on hearing his name called and
hastened to his superior.
When at length Strogoff dismissed the fellow the immediate danger was
over. There was no further attempt to search the prisoners, but once
more Burgoyne realized that there were limits even to the vagaries of
fate, and that the presence of Hilda Vivian was causing complications
that indicated more trouble at no distant date.
His anxiety was shared by the rest of his comrades. Up to the
present, apart from the gruelling they had received during the
one-sided engagement resulting in the capture of the _Donibristle_,
they hadn't much to complain about. In fact it was rather amusing and
exciting, this adventure, were it not that they were saddled with the
responsibility of concealing the sex and identity of a young and
pretty girl.
The march was resumed, the prisoners moving in fours with their
guards on either flank and in front and rear of the column. The route
lay over fairly regular grassland that for nearly half a mile rose
gradually. Well on their left was a grove of coco-palms, otherwise
the island seemed devoid of growing timber. Ahead lay a rounded hill,
towering about two hundred feet above the general level of the
plateau, while to the right were a number of wooden huts where the
pirates lived when not required to be afloat.
There were other buildings that served as workshops. The pulsations
of petrol motors, the rasp of circular saws, and the rapid beat of a
pneumatic riveting-tool, clearly indicated the purpose to which these
buildings were put. And Burgoyne had good reason to believe that the
workmen were prisoners, since there were armed guards lolling about
outside the doors.
As the _Donibristle's_ men continued their enforced march, they
passed patches of cultivated land and enclosed portions of pasture on
which cattle and sheep browsed. There were men working in the fields,
scantily-clad, bronzed and bearded fellows, who waved their hands to
the new-comers. Some of them shouted greetings, but the distance was
too far for the words to be audible.
"They're from the _Alvarado_ and _Kittiwake_, I guess," remarked Phil
Branscombe. "So it looks as if we shall be on the same lay before
long. Did you notice they've all grown magnificent whiskers?"
"Aye," replied Burgoyne. "Couldn't help noticing that. 'Bearded like
a pard' as Will Shakespeare wrote."
"And we'll be in the same boat if we're here long enough," continued
Branscombe drily. "The blighters have collared our shaving-tackle.
I've reason to believe my beard's red. What colour is yours, old
man?"
He paused, deep in thought. Burgoyne made no reply. He, too, was
thinking.
"By Jove!" continued the Fourth Officer. "I said 'we'll all be
growing beards'. What about Miss Vivian? Won't that give the show
away?"
"Yes," agreed Alwyn gravely. "We aren't having amateur theatricals.
The false beard stunt wouldn't work. They'd twig it."
"We'll think of some wheeze, old man," rejoined Branscombe. "There's
time yet, although I'm not one to shelve a proposition until it's too
late."
He caressed his chin, already showing four days' growth of soft
reddish down.
"An' they collared our shaving-mirrors," he continued. "Wonder what I
look like now? What was the idea?"
"'Spose they thought we'd use them as heliographs," conjectured
Burgoyne. "As for the razors, perhaps they've seen a nigger run amok
with one. I did once. It was in New Orleans, and the fellow raised
Cain till he was scuppered."
"But why safety-razors?" persisted Branscombe. Then, pointing to a
fence, he changed the subject by exclaiming: "And there's home sweet
home, my festive!"
The prisoners had now breasted the low ridge that, without taking
into consideration the isolated hill, formed the dividing ridge of
the island. Right ahead they could see the north-western part of the
sea-girt base, terminated on three sides of an irregular
quadri-lateral by tall cliffs. The fourth or landward side was
enclosed by a lofty metal fence, made of pointed steel bars painted
with the familiar "dazzle" affected by ships and fortifications
during the Great War. In the fence was a large gate, on either side
of which was a blockhouse on a slight artificial mound, with a pair
of machine-guns so mounted as to command the whole of the enclosed
space. Within the barrier was a conglomeration of huts, tents, and
rough shelters, the whole forming the compound where the _Malfilio's_
captives spent their scanty hours of rest and slumber.
Between the two blockhouses a halt was called, and the prisoners were
again counted. Although no attempt was made to search any of them,
they were evidently meant to be kept under strict surveillance, since
the pirates had taken the precaution of counting them in spite of the
fact that they had been under an armed guard during their journey
across the island. That boded ill for any adventurous individual who
felt tempted to escape.
Through the gateway the new arrivals were herded. Then they were told
to halt and kept waiting until Strogoff appeared, riding on a
motor-cycle of American manufacture and recent make. He had unbuckled
his sword and lashed it to the frame, and the fact that in
dismounting he had forgotten it and had got considerably mixed up
with the scabbard did not improve his temper.
"Listen!" he shouted to the prisoners, who were concealing their
hilarity under a wooden-faced demeanour. "In two hours you will be
ready for work. Four men will be cookers--I mean, cooks. Twelve used
to engines will go to the smiths-shop. The rest to the fields. The
officers responsible will be for the good work and behaviour of the
men. At six o'clock--not one minute in advance--you knock off and
return to compound. No use to give trouble."
He pointed meaningly in the direction of the machine-guns.
"We have wounded officers and men with us," protested Burgoyne.
Black Strogoff waved his hand deprecatingly.
"The cookers--no, cooks--they can look to the sick men," he replied.
"Do you not think you will have so much to eat that four men take all
their time to get it ready? If you want to know more ask the
_Kittiwake_ captain. You waste time," he added meaningly. "Only one
hour fifty minutes more."
The pirate lieutenant signed to two of his men to bring along the
recumbent motor-cycle; then, followed by the guards, he strode to the
gate, conscious of a rapidly swelling bump on both of his shins.
"Let's get a move on, lads!" exclaimed Burgoyne cheerfully. "We've
got to find a place to sling our hammocks and get ourselves sorted
out. We'll have to lie low for a bit until we find our feet, I'm
thinking."
At first sight it seemed as if the huts were untenanted, but
presently in one corner of the compound Burgoyne noticed smoke
arising in a thin cloud in the still air.
"Stand easy!" he ordered. "Mr. Holmes, you might come with me and
interview the people tending that fire."
As Burgoyne and the purser approached they found that the fire was
burning in the centre of a roofless, three-sided canvas screen.
Voices raised in heated argument could be heard above the crackling
of the burning logs. The men were evidently unaware that there were
new-comers to the compound.
"D'ye call that the proper way?" demanded a deep voice. "You aren't
in a land of plenty, sonny, and don't you forget it."
"I've allus cut one up like this afore, sir," replied a rather
subdued voice.
"Then you waste half of it," continued the first speaker with
asperity. "Seeing we only get one sheep a week 'tween the lot of us,
it'll have to go a jolly sight further, Sammy, or you'll be looking
for another job."
Warned by a look on the face of the culprit, the deep-voiced man
wheeled abruptly and saw Burgoyne and the purser standing by the open
side of the screen.
"What, more of them?" he exclaimed, glancing at the marks of rank on
the Third Officer's torn and dirty drill uniform. "Glad to meet you,
present circumstances notwithstanding. My name's Davis, Cap'n Davis,
master of the S.S. _Kittiwake_. What's your tally?"
Burgoyne told him and introduced the purser.
"Come along to my cabin," continued Captain Davis. "Sorry I can't
offer you a drink 'cept water. I'm on the sick list or you wouldn't
have found me. I'm usually killing time in these black-bearded
rogues' smithy."
"That's where I shall probably be soon," rejoined Burgoyne. "In an
hour and three-quarters, I expect. So I'm in a bit of a hurry. I
thought you could put me up to a tip as to how to billet my men."
"How many?"
Alwyn told him.
"H'm. Yours was a lump of a ship. But there's plenty of room here. We
were practically the first-comers, so we had the pick, so to speak.
The _Alvarado's_ people took the next best in the matter of site. We
don't mix much, 'cause they're Yankees who don't cotton on to
Britishers much. So we keep ourselves to ourselves. Now, how will
this little lot suit you?"