Where the Pig Went
"Now show me how you start the jolly old fire," requested Burgoyne on
the following morning.
Already the two officers had bathed in the sheltered creek, revelling
in the warm water in spite of the fact that not so very long before
they had been in dire peril in the self-same element. They recognized
that there is a vast difference between "being in the ditch"
involuntarily and taking a swim simply for the health-giving pleasure
it affords.
And now, feeling fresh and in the best of spirits, they were about to
prepare the morning meal.
"Right-o," agreed Peter, and proceeded to uncover a quantity of
tinder-like wood from beneath an inverted bucket, where it had been
placed to shelter it from the heavy dew. "I'm not very keen on the
two pieces of wood method. I prefer drilling--like this."
He produced a strip of bamboo about two feet in length, with both
ends rounded off. Arranging the tinder in a hollow piece of wood, he
inserted one end of the bamboo, bending the latter by the pressure of
his chest, which he protected by means of a hollow shell. Then,
rapidly twirling the bow-shaped bamboo much after the fashion of a
centre-brace, he persevered with the operation. Presently, thanks to
the friction, a faint smoke arose from the heap of tinder. Gently
blowing, he still continued to revolve the bamboo until the soft, dry
wood burst into a tiny flame.
"That's the trick!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "It takes a lot of
doing, I admit; but with a little practice one soon learns the knack
of it. Now for breakfast: cold boiled fowl, taro bread and eggs
roasted in hot ashes--how will that do?"
"Scrumptious!" declared Burgoyne. "You must be rated _chef_ of this
establishment, old son."
Mostyn shook his head.
"It's all very fine when you do it for fun," he said. "When it's a
matter of routine it's deadly monotonous. I vote we take turns."
"I might poison the lot of us," objected Alwyn.
"I'll risk that as far as I'm concerned," declared Peter cheerfully.
"Now, then, let's search for eggs. There are dozens under the bushes.
This island's like Covent Garden or Leadenhall Market. It's a wonder
to me how these birds get here. Few of them seem to be able to fly."
With keen appetites, the four castaways sat down to breakfast. Deftly
Peter extricated the eggs from the warm embers and distributed them
amongst the hungry crew. Then in the height of his culinary triumph
came the anti-climax. Every egg was addled.
"We're not running a parliamentary election, Mr. Mostyn," declared
Hilda, when the high-flavoured relics of by-gone days were consigned
to the sea.
"Aren't we, though?" rejoined Peter. "Burgoyne was proposing the
election of a chef. I'm disqualified straight away, so that's all
right."
"I believe you knew they were duds," said Alwyn.
"'Pon my word, no," replied Mostyn emphatically.
"Another time you might try the water-test," suggested Hilda. "If
they float in fresh water, then they are either stale or bad. New
laid ones ought to sink."
"Thanks," said Mostyn. "I'll try and bear that in mind. Now, Miss
Vivian, cold fowl? Sorry there's no bread sauce, and I've mislaid the
salt."
"We'll try and obtain salt by evaporation," suggested Burgoyne. "How
about that bully beef with the fowl? It won't keep, and it's a bit
salt, too."
Breakfast over, Alwyn proposed a thorough exploration of the
island--a task interrupted on the previous day when Mostyn was found.
Burgoyne had great ideas about keeping all hands busy. Provided they
had plenty to do to occupy their minds, they would be happy enough.
He had a horror of "slacking", contending that it was the first step
towards discontent and misery; and the possibility of each of the
castaways being at loggerheads with everyone else was to be sternly
discouraged.
Accordingly the four set out on their tour of investigation. The men
went barefooted. Their footgear was worn out, but, as Alwyn remarked,
they might just as well get accustomed to do without as wait. Hilda's
shoes were badly worn. She had left the secret base wearing canvas
deck-shoes already rather dilapidated. At Mostyn's suggestion they
tore strips of canvas, which the girl bound round her shoes. This,
she found, wore remarkably well, but Mostyn promised to find an early
opportunity of making her a pair of leather sandals, for which he
intended using the leather from the oars.
Burgoyne took with him his revolver. He had carefully dried it after
its immersion. The cartridges, being well greased and guaranteed
damp-proof, should be serviceable, but his reserve of ammunition was
too small to justify a trial.
Mostyn carried a coil of rope that had once been the boat's halliard.
Beyond remarking that it might be useful, he gave no reason for this
apparently unnecessary encumbrance.
Jasper Minalto took his improvised fish-spear, which quickly proved
to be of use in clearing a path through the brush-wood.
Following a narrow glade which had been recently traversed by a
number of hoofed animals whose tracks were fairly well defined, the
quartette walked in single file, Burgoyne leading, followed by Peter;
then Hilda and Minalto bringing up the rear.
Their first objective was the hillock Burgoyne had previously noticed
from farther along shore. It stood well above the palm tops, rising
abruptly on three sides and shelving gradually towards the east. A
few coco-palms grew on the southern side, but elsewhere it was
covered with comparatively short grass.
Arriving at the summit, the explorers found that the island was but a
mile or so broad but nearly twice that distance in length, the land
on the north side forming a long tapering neck averaging but a
hundred yards in width, with the whole of the neck thickly wooded. It
was on this strip of land that Burgoyne, Hilda, and Minalto had come
ashore.
The reef entirely surrounded the island, although there were numerous
gaps affording a communication between the open sea and the lagoon.
It was on the edge of one of these channels that the life-boat
struck. Had she been a couple of yards more to the south'ard she
might have driven ashore on the island with very little damage, or
none at all had she been swept into the small harbour where Mostyn
was fortunate enough to land.
As the tide was almost at its ebb all the outlying reefs were
exposed, disclosing a veritable death-trap for any vessel unfortunate
enough to become entangled in the intricate shoals. At high-water the
reefs surrounding the smaller island that Burgoyne had previously
noticed were awash, only the mere hummock crowned by three palm trees
being visible.
"There's one disadvantage that this island has and which Porfirio's
island hasn't," observed Burgoyne. "In calm weather a boat can land
here almost anywhere. Properly we ought to maintain a look-out
station on this hill, especially if the pirates do attempt to find
us."
"Do you think they will?" asked Hilda.
"They may try," replied Alwyn. "That's almost a foregone conclusion.
But they'll think we've tried to make Honolulu, which is the nearest
known civilized town in this part of the Pacific. If so, they're
right off their course."
"Why didn't we?" inquired the girl.
"Head wind and adverse current almost the whole distance," said
Burgoyne laconically.
"I'm not questioning your seamanship, Mr. Burgoyne," Hilda hastened
to add, imagining by the Third Officer's somewhat brusque reply that
he thought she had cast aspersions upon his sound judgment.
"I never had the slightest idea that you did, Miss Vivian," rejoined
Alwyn earnestly. "I ought to have explained. Briefly, in a sailing
craft the shortest distance between two ports is not always the
quickest passage. One must take prevailing winds and currents into
consideration But to get to the look-out question. I think we ought
to make a point of having someone up here four times a day, just to
make sure that no suspicious craft is bearing down on the island. And
there's another question: will Porfirio make use of that seaplane of
his to try and spot us?"
"That'll be awkward," remarked Peter "unless we can collar the
blighter when she's sitting."
"Not much use that," said Alwyn. "None of us could fly the thing even
if we did capture it. No, I don't want to see that seaplane again
except through the sight of an anti-aircraft gun. Now, suppose we
push on."
"Aren't we going to give the island a name, Mr. Burgoyne?" inquired
Hilda. "It's the usual thing, I believe."
"Right-o," agreed Alwyn. "I propose we leave the selection of a name
to you."
"Then why not 'Swan Island'," said the girl. "From here the outline
looks awfully like a swan with an exaggerated neck."
"So it does," agreed Peter. "Done it in one, Miss Vivian."
"An' thet rock out along," said Minalto. "Ut ought to have a name.
They three trees make un look like an ole man-o-war. How'd 'Man-o-war
Rock' suit?"
"The very ticket," agreed Burgoyne. "So that's that."
Descending the hill, the four castaways proceeded in the direction of
the west side of Swan Island. Here the coco-palms were thinner in
point of number, but the scrub was if anything denser than on the
eastern side.
Suddenly there was a commotion in the undergrowth, and three or four
fat porkers dashed frantically across the path.
"Pork for supper!" shouted Peter. In his excitement he hurled the
coil of rope at the animals, without doing the slightest good.
But before the last pig had disappeared in the brushwood Jasper
hurled his spear with tremendous force. The aim was good, and the
nail-shod tip struck the luckless animal just behind the
fore-quarters.
Squealing horribly; the pig rolled over on its side but before Jasper
or anyone else could secure the prize it recovered its feet and dived
under the thick scrub.
Reckless of the consequences and loth to lose the brute, Minalto
crawled under the spiky bushes, while Burgoyne and Mostyn made their
way round the patch of scrub in order to try to cut off the wounded
animal's retreat. Hilda, holding her hands to her ears to shut out
the piteous squeals, remained on the path.
The two officers were baulked in their attempt, for on the remote
side of the belt of scrub the ground rose steeply to a height of
about twenty feet, running right and left in an almost unbroken wall
of soft rock.
"The brute can't climb that," declared Alwyn. "You stop here, Peter,
old son. I'll work round to the other side and we've got him cold.
How goes it, Jasper?" he shouted to the intensely excited and
exasperated Minalto, whose efforts to follow the pig were
considerably hampered by hundreds of aggressive thorns.
"'E be gone down to girt big hole, sir," replied Minalto
breathlessly. "Don't 'ee take on. Us'll get 'un."
"A hole, did you say?" inquired Burgoyne. "Go slow then."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied Jasper; then after a pause he added: "Could
you be comin' here, sir? If so, would 'ee bring my spear?"
Alwyn agreed to the suggestion rather hesitatingly. In default of
suitable spare clothing, he was reluctant to sacrifice his already
ragged garments to the attentions of the spiky thorns. Recovering the
weapon that had wounded the pig, he crawled under the thicket until
he rejoined Jasper.
Sounding with the pole, Minalto found that the floor of the hole or
cave was level, but the extreme reach of the spear failed to find the
extremity of the hollow. The while the squeals of the porker were
growing fainter and fainter, showing that it was on the point of
death.
"What's doing, old son?" inquired Mostyn from afar.
"Come and see, my festive," replied Burgoyne. "No more of your 'wait
and see' business. Bring your rope with you."
Undergoing more than his fair share of laceration, Peter crawled
under the brushwood. The three men crouched in the dim light that
filtered through the thicket, and silently contemplated the mouth of
the cave.
Minalto looked upon it as a place where fresh pork was to be obtained
and that soon; Peter, in the light of romance, tried to conjure up
visions of the long-gone buccaneers; Alwyn, in view of possibilities,
regarded it and its approach as a hiding-place should Black Strogoff
and his satellites succeed in finding the castaways.
"May as well see the thing through," observed Burgoyne. "It's no use
hanging on to the slack."
"Certainly, sir," agreed Minalto, and proceeded to secure the rope
round his waist by means of a bowline. "Du you pay out, sir, 'n case
there's a big drop."
Prodding the ground with the haft of his spear, Jasper cautiously
entered the cave. For the first eight or ten paces the sides of the
tunnel-like entrance were fairly regular and less than a yard apart.
Then he found that the cave expanded both in height and width, until
it was impossible even with the spear to reach from one wall to the
other. Standing upright, Minalto found that he could just touch the
roof with his extended hand.
Guided by the faint squeals, Jasper followed the right-hand wall
until his knees came in contact with what he thought to be a large
ledge of rock. Groping with his hands, he discovered that the
obstruction was a large box with a hinged lid.
Instantly all thoughts of the pig vanished from the man's mind, and
again the long-dormant strain derived from his wrecking and smuggling
ancestors reasserted itself.
"Ho! ho!" he shouted in stentorian tones. "We'm in luck, sir.
Treasure an' all!"
He fumbled with the lid, then, struck by the thought that a lot of
the glamour of the discovery of hidden specie and bullion would be
lost unless he viewed his find in the glare of a torch, he retraced
his footsteps and rejoined Alwyn and Peter.
"Girt sea-chest!" he announced excitedly. "Lifted 'en lid, I did."
"And the pig?" asked the matter-of-fact Burgoyne.
"Drat that pig!" exclaimed Minalto explosively. "The chest, sir. Ef
us had a light, like... sort o' torch, now say?"
"How about it, Peter?" asked Alwyn, turning to the Wireless Officer.
"We'll manage that," replied Mostyn confidently. "Let's get out of
the thicket. Suppose we ought to beat a clear path through this
stuff?"
Burgoyne shook his head.
"No," he decided; "we won't disturb it more than necessary. The less
we do the better. If we're careful we ought to be able to take a
lighted torch into the cave without setting fire to the brushwood
outside."
Returning to the open, they explained the delay to Hilda, whose
eagerness to explore the cave was only quelled by the knowledge that
the dying pig was somewhere in that gloomy vault. She would have
endured the thorny passage without complaint; but there were limits,
and the expiring porker was beyond them.
Hurrying back to the camp, Mostyn returned with his fire-making gear,
and proceeded to work. Meanwhile Burgoyne and Minalto had wrenched
off some resinous branches to serve as torches.
"All ready!" announced Peter.
With a torch burning faintly, Minalto forced his way under the scrub,
Burgoyne and Mostyn following in his tracks. At the mouth of the cave
they coaxed the flames into greater activity, and from it lighted two
more torches.
Jasper advanced boldly. He had been there before. His companions
followed cautiously, until the glare of the reddish flames revealed
the treasure-chest.
It was in fairly good condition, having been painted white with a
black lid. There were rope beckets at each end, rove through two
large half-round wooden chocks.
The lid creaked on its hinges as Jasper threw it back. Then he gave a
howl of disappointment. All the chest contained was a rusty cutlass,
a clay pipe with a broken stem, and a number of brown paper bundles
containing candles all stuck together by the heat.
"So much for your treasure, Jasper!" said Burgoyne with a laugh.
"Never mind; we found something useful, the candles especially."
"P'raps 'en buried et," suggested Minalto hopefully, casting anxious
glances at the walls and floor of the cave.
Burgoyne made no remark. He was deeply interested in the construction
of the cave. It was partly natural and partly artificial. Human hands
had enlarged the entrance and "faired off" the walls. In length it
was about forty feet, and twenty in breadth, with a hewn pillar in
the centre to give greater support to the roof. Except for the chest
there were no other relics of the previous occupier. In one corner
lay the pig, by this time quite dead.
"No use stopping here," decided Alwyn. "Bend that rope round the pig,
Minalto, and we'll haul the brute out. Yes, bring the cutlass, Peter,
and a couple of packets of candles. The others can stop, in case we
want them here."
"Want them here?" repeated Mostyn.
"Rather," replied his chum. "This cave will make an ideal retreat if
we have to hide. I hope we shan't, but we must look things fairly in
the face. That's why I didn't want the brushwood cleared away. Had it
not been for the pig we should not have found the cave, and so most
likely no one else will."
"Someone did at one time," remarked Peter.
"Yes, but how long ago we don't know, unless that cutlass gives us a
clue. I'll have a look at it when we get into the open. You see, the
person or persons who enlarged this place threw the excavated
material on a mound just outside. That shows they hadn't any idea of
concealing the cave. Since then this scrub has sprung up and hidden
it. Now then, Jasper, all ready? Heave away!"
At the mouth of the cave they extinguished their torches, leaving
them leaning against the wall in case they might be required again.
Then, carrying and hauling their various trophies, the three men
rejoined Hilda in the open.
"Now, where's that cutlass?" inquired Alwyn, after relating the story
of how their high expectations had been thwarted. "H'm, thought so.
Our predecessors on Swan Island weren't so very ancient after all.
This is a cutlass-bayonet, Peter, issued to the Navy in the late
'70's and '80's. That ring in the guard is where the muzzle went, but
I see the spring socket is rusted away. Nice job for you, Peter. You
can clean the thing up. It'll do to carve the Christmas dinner if
we're here long enough."