Investigations
Accustomed to comparatively short hours of sleep, as are usual
afloat, Burgoyne was up and about before the sun rose. In spite of
the unusual stability of his hard bed--it was the first night he had
slept ashore for nearly four months--his rest was none the less good
on that account; but once awake he felt compelled to dress and go
out.
"What's up, old man?" inquired a drowsy voice, as Branscombe lifted a
tousled head from his pillow--or rather a pile of folded clothes.
"Show a leg and shine, my festive," exclaimed the Third Officer.
"Come along, let's see if we can put in a swim before breakfast."
Phil assented, dressed hurriedly, and accompanied Burgoyne into the
open air. By that time the sun was just showing above the edge of the
cliff. The reek of wood-fires mingled with the soft, cool air.
Already in three separate canvas-screened enclosures the cooks of the
respective crews were busy. Alwyn wondered whether Miss Vivian was
one of the energetic ones.
"Our fair passenger has weathered another day, old thing," remarked
Branscombe.
"Yes," agreed Burgoyne. "That's so. Hope we'll be able to work the
stunt all right."
"It won't be for want of trying on your part," rejoined Phil. "Miss
Vivian told me last night that you nearly jumped down her throat
'cause she'd washed her face."
"Was she angry about it?" demanded Alwyn.
"Not a bit, only amused."
"Amused?" retorted the Third Officer. "Just like a girl. She'd never
see the serious side of things. I wouldn't mind betting that she'll
disobey orders, and show a sparkling healthy complexion to every
slant-eyed Chink that comes into the compound."
The two chums were passing within thirty yards of the hut with the
canvas annexe that formed the "galley ". As they did so a grimy,
laughing face with a mass of cropped hair appeared through a slit in
the canvas, and a hand was waved in friendly greeting.
"You've lost your bet, old man," observed Phil. "Wonder if she heard
what we were saying?"
"At any rate," rejoined Alwyn. "She's carried out orders. She
probably realizes that this isn't a scene from _The Pirates of
Penzance_. So far all's well, but honestly I don't like the look of
things. There's something very fishy about the way that scoundrel
Porfirio is treating us. This sort of conciliatory business has
something behind it. I shouldn't be surprised if the blighter doesn't
show himself in his true colours before very long."
The two chums walked to the extreme north-western point of the
island, where further progress was barred by the sheer descent of
cliff. It was hardly what Burgoyne had expected. He had hoped to find
a path giving access to the shallow bay, but there was none.
Foiled of the chance of having a bathe, Burgoyne began taking stock
of the surroundings. From where he stood the barrier reef enclosing
the lagoon presented an unbroken wall of surf-lashed coral. There was
not the suspicion of an opening. Immediately off the point the reef
extended seawards for nearly a couple of miles, diverging shorewards
until towards the north-eastern and south-western points of the
island the lagoon narrowed to about one hundred yards. On the
northern face of the island the coast was but slightly indented, the
cliffs being of almost uniform height. But on the western side there
was a bay of considerable width, bounded on the southern extremity by
a hook-shaped spur of lofty ground, off which was an islet of about
an acre in extent, and only about half the height of the nearmost
cliffs of the main island. The cliffs did not drop sheer into the
water, but were fronted by a broad and slightly-shelving beach of
glistening white sand.
As far as Burgoyne could make out, this side of the island was
undefended by guns in position. Evidently the authorities responsible
for the safety of the secret base deemed the frowning cliffs to be
sufficient protection. An army formed up on that beach would be
useless for assault, since the smooth overhanging precipices were
unscaleable.
Presently Alwyn, who had been silently contemplating the view,
startled his companion by declaring:
"I'm going to explore that beach, old son!"
"Nonsense!" protested Phil. "The cliff's too smooth. There's not a
single niche in it. You'd be smashed to a jelly for a dead cert."
"I'm not trying at present," said Burgoyne. "But I mean to some day.
And by a rope."
"Rope! What rope?" asked his friend.
"We'll have to make up one from short ends," replied Alwyn. "It's
easy to cut off short lengths and stow them under our clothes. Then
at night, or at any odd time if it comes to that, we can make up a
rope long enough to reach the beach, and strong enough to bear at
least a couple of men. Then if we can get hold of some files----"
"You'll have a job, old son," interrupted Branscombe. "I was speaking
to Withers about that very thing last night. There's a mighty sharp
Chink in charge of the stores in the workshops, and he takes care to
count every blessed thing in the tool line that's issued out, and
when they are returned, he---- Hello! What's the move now?"
Breaking off in the midst of his description of Li Whong's methods,
the Fourth Officer pointed in the direction of the conical hill which
had attracted the chums' attention on their first journey from the
tunnel to the compound.
Owing to the contour of the ground forming the prisoners' camp, the
whole of the enclosed space was under direct observation, not only
from the two block-houses, but from the hill as well. A few minutes
before the flat top of the hill was seemingly bare. Now a tall
flag-staff had been reared within the space of thirty seconds. Even
as the chums looked, they saw a red-and-black flag broken out smartly
at the masthead.
"What's that for, I wonder?" remarked Phil.
"Hanged if I know," replied Alwyn. "Precious little good I should
imagine, since there's no wind. See anything seaward? I do, by Jove!
There's a vessel nearly hull down."
"The _Malfilio_ most likely," hazarded Branscombe. "Why doesn't she
use wireless?"
"She does; to keep in touch with that seaplane of hers," replied
Burgoyne. "But I don't fancy she would communicate by radio with her
island."
"Why not? There's wireless on board the _Kittiwake_ and that other
craft, and they would have had ours if they hadn't blown the cabin to
smithereens."
"Yes," agreed the Third Officer. "They've got the apparatus right
enough, but Porfirio, although he's a rotten pirate, is no fool. If
the island made use of it its position could be fixed by directional
wireless, and that's what Porfirio doesn't want for obvious reasons.
I think I twig the meaning of that flag. Look over there."
He pointed towards the eastern side of the island to a position
slightly northward of the entrance to the tunnel. There, as on the
last occasion when the _Malfilio_ made the harbour, three heavy
columns of smoke were rising. That was the pre-arranged signal that
the pirate cruiser could make her base without fear of the island
having fallen into other hands during her absence.
"She's evidently been disappointed," remarked Branscombe. "There is
no other craft with her."
"Unless," added Burgoyne, "she's sunk her victim, in which case she
wouldn't have had time to remove the cargo. Sorry we can't wait to
see her negotiate the reefs, but if we are to have any breakfast we
must be getting back. Talking of grub, old thing, reminds me: I'm
going to ask Colonel Vivian to hold back at least one tin of stuff a
day. It'll keep, and there's no knowing if we may want it in a
hurry."
As the chums strolled back to the huts they noticed that the
flagstaff on the observation hill had been lowered, while a few
seconds later they heard the hum of an aerial propeller.
Scanning the sky, they spotted the _Malfilio's_ seaplane flying at an
immense height. Then, shutting off the motors, it volplaned steeply
and vanished from sight behind the cliffs surrounding the harbour.
"That's what we want," declared Branscombe sententiously. "Pity we
weren't in the Royal Air Force. Old man, we've been neglecting an
important part of our education, what?"
"Yes," agreed Alwyn. "If either of us could manage that, we might be
able to collar the seaplane one dark night, and be in Honolulu before
daybreak. However, I still hold out hopes that we'll be able to cut
out one of the small sailing craft."
"How far are we from Honolulu?" asked his companion.
"'Bout eight hundred miles, I think," was the reply. "And there's the
North Equatorial Current against us, to say nothing of the Nor'east
Trades. No, Honolulu's dead off as far as sailing there is concerned.
I'd make for the Marshall Islands, or even the Gilbert Islands. It's
farther, but one would stand a better chance. Heigh-o! We've got to
find a boat first."
Breakfast was already in progress when they arrived at the camp.
Directly the meal was over the men were paraded for inspection. Black
Strogoff was not present for this function. He rarely was, according
to Captain Davis, since he had a strong aversion to early rising. But
the under-officer, Fernando, deputized for him, reading out
instructions, written in peculiar English, with an accent that
rendered the words almost unintelligible.
With one exception the routine of the various parties was the same as
yesterday's; but four men were told off to provide fish for the
_Donibristle's_ crew. Later on Burgoyne found out that this was to be
done every third day, the intervening days being allocated to
fishing-parties drawn from the _Kittiwake's_ and _Alvarado's_ crews
respectively.
"I'm on that, if it can be worked," decided Burgoyne. "You fellows
know how to carry on with the crane."
The men expressed no surprise nor resentment at the Third Officer's
decision to "put in for a soft job". Knowing Burgoyne to be a smart
officer who never spared himself when there was work to be done, they
guessed that he had something up his sleeve.
So when the working parties marched through the gate of the compound,
one of the crew who somewhat resembled Burgoyne wore the Third
Officer's drill coat and cap, while the latter in his shirt sleeves
fell in with three others, and was supplied with lines and bait by an
unsuspecting Chinese pirate.
After the customary precautions on the part of the guards, Burgoyne's
party was taken through the tunnel to the beach. Alwyn suspected that
the fishing operations would be conducted from the rocks, but to his
great satisfaction the Chinaman pointed to a boat, and made signs for
it to be launched.
The boat was a heavy one, being about eighteen feet in length and
double-ended. There were air-tanks under the side benches, while,
differing from the majority of ship's lifeboats, it had a
centre-plate. Although it was fitted for masts and sails, they were
not in evidence.
As the Chinaman unlocked the padlock and unrove the heavy chain
securing the boat--it was the endmost one of a tier--Burgoyne pointed
to the mast-clamps.
"No sailee. Makee pullee long-time," said the Chinaman. "You go
longee fetchee oar one chop quick."
He pointed to a long, low building abutting the cliff. Burgoyne
obeyed with alacrity. He was all out to find things, and the more he
learnt of the position and contents of the various buildings, the
more he felt pleased with himself.
The door of the shed was open, but a brief glance told him that it
was secured, when shut, by means of an exceptionally stout hasp and
padlock. Within were four of the pirates playing cards, while two
more were watching the game over the others' shoulders. They took but
little notice of the new-comer and continued their game.
Burgoyne made good use of his eyes as soon as they grew accustomed to
the comparative darkness within the building. On each side of the
shed were lockers, with brackets above them clamped to the walls. On
these brackets were several oars of various sizes, boat-hooks, and
light spars. Overhead, resting on the beams supporting the
roof-trusses, were boats' masts and sails, some of the latter loosely
furled, and others in painted canvas covers. Judging by the dust, it
seemed as if this lot of gear had not been disturbed for a
considerable time.
By means of the oars stacked against the wall, Burgoyne hoisted
himself on the rafters, and, selecting what he took to be the masts
and sails belonging to the lifeboat, he lowered them to the floor.
Then, heavily laden, he returned to the beech with the utmost
sang-froid.
The Chinaman was talking to one of his compatriots, and failed to
notice the Third Officer's approach. By the time the former had
finished his conversation, Burgoyne and his three men had already
stepped the masts and were preparing to hoist the sails.
"No can do," shouted the pirate. "No makee sailee. Takee um back
velly quick. Fetchee oar and makee row."
Burgoyne complied. He had gained his point. He had found out at the
first attempt the proper gear belonging to the boat.
He replaced it carefully, but rammed the truck of the mast with
considerable force against the end of the building.
"That'll help loosen the boarding," he soliloquized. "Now for the
oars."
The pirates were still deep in their game. Deftly Alwyn placed a pair
of stout ash oars by the side of the lifeboat's masts and sails, so
that they would be invisible from the floor; then selecting another
couple and four pairs of rowlocks he returned to the boat.
It took the united efforts of four men to run her down the beach into
the water, but, Burgoyne reflected, two might perform the operation
if there were rollers to assist in the launching. Then, again, there
was the weight of the Chinaman, who had already clambered in and was
sitting aft and holding the tiller.
Thigh-deep in water, the _Donibristle's_ men waded before they
scrambled on board. The oars were shipped, and with long easy strokes
the boat headed towards the entrance of the harbour.
Passing within a couple of boats' lengths of their former ship, the
men gave curious glances at the old _Donibristle_, on board of which
Branscombe's party were unloading No. 1 hold. Standing at the head of
the accommodation ladder was Black Strogoff.
"No tricks, you fellows!" he shouted. "You'll be under observation
all the time." Then he added something in Chinese, and the Oriental
seated aft solemnly held up an automatic pistol before returning it
to the folds of his loose, blue linen jacket.
The warning was unnecessary. Burgoyne had not the slightest intention
of giving his captors the slip. When he did he would take good care
that his revolver, which was now hidden under the floor of his hut,
would once again be nestling against his ankle.
Again luck was in his favour. The pirate in charge of the boat signed
for the men to continue rowing, and steered towards the entrance.
They were going to fish in the lagoon it appeared.
Although working an oar, Burgoyne frequently looked ahead over his
shoulder. He noted the mass of towering rock that formed the screen
to the entrance when viewed from seaward. He wondered which of the
two channels was the main approach; the northern one was the broader,
but the boat was taking the southern approach, which was barely fifty
yards wide between the southern arm of the harbour and the inner side
of the barrier island.
A quarter of a mile's steady pull brought the boat clear of the mass
of rock on their port hand, and afforded an uninterrupted view
seaward. Half a mile away was the coral reef, pierced by a deep
channel through which at that moment the _Malfilio_ was returning.
She was moving slowly, but before the lifeboat had rounded the
south-eastern point of the island the pirate cruiser had turned into
the northern approach channel. So far so good; Burgoyne had learnt
the secrets of the big-ship channel leading to the pirates' lair.
It was hot work rowing under the blazing sun, but Burgoyne was not in
the least keen to stop. It was an unknown water. He was now for the
first time making the acquaintance of the southern side of the
island, and if the boat carried on long enough they would soon open
up the western side, which Alwyn had already studied from the cliffs
of the compound.
The Chinaman gave no sign to anchor. Lightly grasping the tiller, he
was puffing contentedly at a pipe with a bowl about the size of a
small thimble, the contents of which he replenished every five
minutes or so. Alwyn found himself speculating upon what was in the
mind of this inscrutable-faced Oriental. Was he gloating over the
fact that he was now a taskmaster set in authority over the "foreign
devils"? What a tale would Ah Ling, late sampan-man on the crowded
Yang-ste-Kiang, tell should he ever return to the Flowery Land.
Presently the lifeboat entered the narrowest part of the lagoon,
close to the south-western side of the island. Here the sheltered
water was barely thirty yards in width. The spray from the
surf-thrashed reef descended in cooling showers upon the perspiring
rowers. The grating of the rowlocks and the creaking of the ash oars
were drowned by the thunder of the breakers, yet in that narrow belt
the boat was in perfect safety.
Half a mile farther on the reef receded from the land and disclosed a
narrow passage to the open sea. Here the island terminated in a
hooked promontory that Burgoyne had previously seen from the
compound. Passing between the steep headland and the rounded islet
that lay off it, the lifeboat entered the broad but sheltered bay
that comprised the major portion of the western side of the secret
base.
Ah Ling signed to the rowers to lay on their oars. The boat glided
another fifty yards before the Chinaman gave the word to drop anchor.
"Now you makee catchee fishee," he said. "No catchee, no dinner: can
do?"
The four white men began baiting the hooks. Burgoyne, in the midst of
the operation, took the opportunity to secrete one pair of rowlocks
in a little locker in the bows. Then, having cast his line overboard,
he prepared to make good use of his eyes.
Interruptions in the form of bites were numerous. Weird-looking fish,
most of which he failed to recognize, took the bait with avidity, and
all four men were constantly hauling in the spoil and depositing it
in a slimy, writhing mass on the bottom boards.
From the spot where the boat lay at anchor, the cliffs were so high
that the observation hill was hidden by the beetling crags. There was
a sandy beach that terminated abruptly at about a hundred yards from
each of the limits of the bay. Towards the northernmost part the
cliffs, although smooth and projecting towards the top, were
considerably rugged at the base, a fact that Burgoyne had been unable
to notice from his point of vantage on the brink of the precipice.
There were one or two caves, but of what extent, and whether their
floors were above high-water mark, he had no means of ascertaining.
Almost immediately above the nearmost cave was the end of the iron
fence enclosing the compound. It projected at least six feet beyond
the edge of the cliff, and, fanwise, the same distance below it.
"That'll be a bit of a nut to crack, sir," observed one of the men,
reading the Third Officer's thought.
The speaker was Jasper Minalto, one of the _Donibristle's_
quartermasters, a native of St. Mary's in the Scilly Islands. Tall
and broad-shouldered, and with the raven locks and flashing eyes that
characterize so many of the Cornish folk, his strength and agility
were remarkable. In the dog-watches, during the _Donibristle's_
uninterrupted runs across the Pacific, Minalto would amuse and
astonish his messmates by his feats of strength. He could break a
"nickel" between the tips of the thumb and forefinger of either hand;
snap a piece of whipcord on the muscles of his arms or legs; but his
show piece was to bend the galley poker by striking it against his
bare forearm. Yet, in spite of his ponderous bulk and brute strength,
he was an easy-tempered, good-natured man whose almost unlimited
energy was concealed under an exterior of careless repose. He would
seem to tackle a job with lazy indifference, but in nine cases out of
ten he would finish it thoroughly long before others engaged upon a
similar task.
"Do you think that fence would baulk you, Minalto?" asked Alwyn.
The quartermaster deliberately hauled a struggling fish into the boat
as he replied:
"Say the word, sir, and I'll du it. Afore I wur nine I'd scale the
fence at Star Castle, down at home, an' it wur no better nor worse
than yon, I'll allow."
Minalto spoke without any indication of bragging, and Burgoyne,
knowing his reputation, realized that this was the man he wanted.
When the opportunity occurred, the Scilly Islander would be the man
chosen to accompany him upon the daring expedition that was already
being developed in Burgoyne's mind.
At about eleven in the forenoon Ah Ling, remarking "Muchee finee;
upee anchor ", announced that it was time for the fishing operations
to end.
With seventy pounds of fish to their credit, the men rowed back to
the harbour. Burgoyne's "catch" was the smallest, but he had obtained
some very useful information which he hoped to employ to good purpose
at the first favourable opportunity.
Nevertheless it came as a bit of a shock when, on emerging out of the
tunnel, he was stopped by Black Strogoff.
"I gave orders for your men to go to fish," exclaimed the pirate
angrily. "Your place is with the men up there."
He pointed to the cliff on which some of the _Donibristle's_ crew
were still laboriously hauling cargo from the beach.
"Another time," continued Strogoff--"another time you go to fish
instead of work the crane, I'll have you beaten till you cannot
stand. You got that? Good, an' don't you forget it."