The "Titania"
The next three days passed without incident. The breeze held
steadily, but owing to the foul state of the schooner's bottom, which
was encrusted with barnacles and growing marine "whiskers" up to a
yard in length, her speed was less than five knots. There were
navigation instruments and nautical works on board, so that Burgoyne
was able to determine the latitude with tolerable certainty. The
finding of the ship's longitude was a doubtful operation, since Alwyn
was in ignorance of the exactness of the chronometer, but since the
course was almost due south, and the ultimate goal a wide one,
Burgoyne felt no misgivings on the score of longitude.
At sundown on the third day the wind died down to a flat calm, and
the schooner rolled sullenly in the long swell. So violent was the
motion of the main-boom, that the crew were compelled to stow the
mainsail. Even then the gaff of the fore-sail was charging about like
a flail, while every movable object on deck was chattering with the
erratic motion of the vessel.
In case of a sudden squall blowing up during the night the three men
remained on deck. There was nothing to be done. The wheel, lashed
down in a vain attempt to subdue the disconcerting jerk of the rudder
chains, required no attention. The side lights were burning brightly.
The air was warm, although there was a heavy dew. So the night passed
slowly, the crew passing the time by yarning and considerably
reducing the stock of tobacco that Black Strogoff had unwittingly
left for their comfort.
Day broke. The weary crew looked in vain for the signs of an
approaching breeze. Even the swell had subsided until the surface of
the sea looked like a burnished mirror against the rising sun. A few
dolphins playing near the ship were the only signs of life.
"A regular Paddy's hurricane," remarked Burgoyne. "Looks as if it's
going to last. We may as well start up the engine, old son. The
sooner we get out of this belt of calm the better."
"All right, skipper," replied Mostyn cheerfully, his tiredness
temporarily forgotten at the thought of once more getting way on the
vessel.
In less than ten minutes the motor was running, and the schooner
bowling along at a speed of seven and a half knots by the patent log.
Giving time for the engine to get sufficiently hot for the paraffin
to vaporize, Peter turned off the petrol and opened the paraffin-tap.
Satisfied with the running of the engine, Mostyn returned on deck.
"That's more like it," he exclaimed, as the faint draught of air set
up by the motion of the craft fanned his heated face. "How long do
you think it will be before we pick up a breeze?"
"Four or five hours, I expect," replied Burgoyne. "These belts of
calm rarely extend more than forty miles in the tropics."
"She'll do that on her head," declared Peter. Then he listened
intently. His ear, trained to catch the faint buzzing of a wireless
receiver, had detected a pronounced slowing down of the hitherto
regular pulsations of the engine.
Without a word he dived down the motor-room ladder. He had not been
mistaken. The engine was slowing down. A rapid test located the
fault. The carburettor was almost empty.
"Choked jet," he said to himself; then, as an afterthought, he
"turned over" to petrol again. Almost immediately the motor picked up
and the shaft resumed its normal revolutions.
"That means a choke in the feed-pipe," he decided, and, selecting a
small shifting spanner, proceeded to disconnect the unions.
No paraffin flowed through the pipe. Mostyn glanced at the gauge on
the tank. It registered zero. Unaccountably the tank had emptied
itself of more than seventy gallons of paraffin during the night.
Further researches discovered the cause, although that could not give
back the wasted fuel. The paraffin-pipe was fractured, possibly by
the starting-handle when the engine back-fired, and now only about a
gallon of petrol was available.
Burgoyne looked grave when Mostyn reported the latest misfortune.
"We've paraffin for the lamps," he remarked. "About ten gallons in a
drum in the forepeak. Can you patch up the pipe?"
"If that were all the damage, old thing, it wouldn't much matter,"
declared Peter. "I can fix that up with insulating tape in a couple
of minutes. It's the wasted kerosene that worries me."
"S'pose we couldn't pump it out of the bilges?" asked Burgoyne.
"We'll have to, in case it vaporizes and explodes," replied Mostyn.
"Of course, it isn't nearly so dangerous as petrol, but in hot
weather----"
"I mean to use it again," interrupted Alwyn.
"'Fraid not," said the temporary engineer. "It's all slushing about
in the bilge-water. If the schooner had been bone dry we might have
managed it. However, ten gallons is better than none. I'll fix up
that pipe at once."
Mostyn effected the temporary repair, poured the remaining oil into
the tank, and had turned over from petrol to paraffin in less than
twenty minutes. He even added a gallon of lubricating oil to the
fuel, knowing that with the engine well warmed up the motor would
take almost anything in the way of liquid fuel.
Thus nursed, the engine continued running for nearly three hours and
a half; then, every drop of combustible being used up, the motor
stopped. The flat calm still held.
It held the rest of that day and the following night. Morning found
the climatic conditions unchanged, and at noon Burgoyne ascertained
that in twenty-four hours the schooner had drifted a little more than
ten miles in a nor'-westerly direction, or in other words, she had
been carried by the North Equatorial Current farther from her
destination.
In vain the men took turns in going aloft to the cross-trees in the
hope of seeing the water ruffled by a welcome breeze. As the sun rose
higher and higher the heat was so intense that the deck was almost
too hot to tread upon, while below the air was suffocating. Although
Mostyn and Minalto had pumped the bilges dry, the whole craft reeked
of paraffin, mellowed by a dozen distinct odours.
"Cheer up," exclaimed Burgoyne, trying to rouse his companions from a
state of lethargy. "Things might be a jolly sight worse. Remember the
men who made the British Empire what it is to-day had to endure this
sort of thing every time they encountered the Doldrums."
"Yes," grumbled Peter. "They might have; but they knew what to
expect--before steam was known, I mean. We are different. Spoilt by
civilization, so to speak, and when we are deprived of luxuries which
we call necessaries, we grouse. Our motor, for example, it's like a
half-baked chestnut, neither one thing nor the other."
"It has helped us, Mr. Mostyn," observed Hilda.
"True, Miss Vivian," agreed Peter guardedly. "Helped us move with the
patch of calm. What was the old seamen's dodge of raising the wind?"
"Pitching a tale of woe to charitable passers-by, I guess," replied
the girl.
"No, not that way, I mean," continued the Wireless Officer. "Wasn't
it whistling or scratching the mast, or some such stunt? I'm afraid
I've forgotten."
"Sail-ho!" shouted Minalto from the fore cross-trees. "On our port
bow, sir."
The schooner, drifting idly on the placid surface, had swung round so
that her bows were pointing nor'-nor'-east. Consequently, if the
vessel sighted were approaching, her course would be roughly the same
as that of the schooner if the latter had had steerage-way.
"What is she?" inquired Burgoyne, preparing to swarm aloft with Black
Strogoff's binoculars slung round his neck.
"Can't make out, sir," was the reply. "Steamer. I think, 'cause
there's no canvas as I can see."
"Let's hope it isn't the _Malfilio_," thought Alwyn, as he grasped
the hot, tarry shrouds, and cautiously ascended the none too sound
ratlins.
Gaining the elevated perch, Burgoyne levelled the glasses in the
direction of the distant vessel.
"She's not the _Malfilio_, thank goodness, Jasper," he remarked.
"She's a steamer schooner-rigged, and with one funnel; hull painted
white. We'll signal her and get her to give us a passage."
In default of a set of International Code flags, Burgoyne hoisted a
dark blanket rolled into a ball, and under it two pennants hastily
contrived by cutting up one of the cabin curtains. This was a
substitute for the special long distance signals made by a ball and
two cones point downwards, but its significance was clear to every
experienced seamen. It meant: "Come nearer; I have something
important to communicate".
Rather anxiously Burgoyne watched the approaching vessel. From his
own point of view he would have preferred to let her pass by. He
would have liked to bring the schooner into port solely on his own
responsibility, even if it took a couple of months. But there were
important considerations. There were his comrades in captivity; there
was Hilda. It was highly important that the proper authorities should
be informed of the actual fate of the three missing merchant ships in
order that Ramon Porfirio and his band of pirates should be rendered
incapable of doing further mischief.
In about half an hour after the hoisting of the signal, the
approaching craft altered helm and steered towards Burgoyne's
command.
She was a schooner-bowed vessel of about 400 tons, painted white hull
with a green boot-top. Her single funnel emitted no smoke except
little puffs of bluish vapour. She flew no ensign. Most of her crew
were blacks, but on the bridge were two white men in white drill
uniforms.
"She's motor driven," declared Peter. "That funnel is only a
concession to appearance, even though it does carry out the exhaust.
Wonder what she's doing here?"
"We'll soon find out," replied Burgoyne. "She is or was, at one time
a private yacht. Have you collected all the gear you require, Miss
Vivian? We are going to beg a passage in yonder vessel, and they may
be in a hurry."
The stranger slowed down, but made no attempt to lower a boat. When
within hailing distance, one of the officers on the bridge shouted
through a megaphone.
"Schooner, ahoy! What do you want?"
"What ship is that?" inquired Burgoyne.
"_Titania_, of Southampton," was the reply. "What are you?"
"No name," replied Alwyn. "We're survivors of the S.S. _Donibristle_.
Can you give us a passage?"
Evidently the name of the missing merchant vessel was unknown to the
officers of the _Titania_. They conferred for a few minutes, then the
one who had previously hailed raised his hand.
"Right-o!" he replied. "Stand by to take a warp. I'll run alongside
you."
Under the action of the twin screws, the _Titania_, skilfully
handled, ranged up alongside the diminutive schooner. In a very short
space of time the crew of the latter with their scanty belongings
stood on the _Titania's_ deck.
They must have been a source of wonder to the neatly groomed and
attired officers. They were all more or less in rags, and tanned
almost to a deep red colour. Burgoyne, Mostyn, and Minalto all
sported beards of different hues: red, blond, and black. Hilda, in
her man's dress, bareheaded, and her growing locks nearly reaching
her shoulders, was for the first time since leaving the secret base
painfully conscious of her unorthodox appearance.
The _Titania's_ skipper stepped forward to greet them, smartly
saluting the girl.
"My name's Swayne," he announced. "This is my partner, Paddy
O'Loghlin. Pleased to be of service to you."
"Thanks awfully," replied Burgoyne. "I've met you before. You were in
the old _Bolero_ in '18."
"I was," admitted Swayne, "but I can't recall your tally."
"Not in these whiskers," agreed Alwyn with a laugh, after he had
introduced himself and his companions. "I was R.N. in those days. Our
light cruiser was moored ahead of your packet in Dover Harbour."
"Good old days!" exclaimed Swayne whimsically. "Not that I've much to
complain about as things go nowadays. We're bound from Nua Leha for
Sydney. Will that suit?"
"Admirably," agreed Burgoyne.
"Your schooner," continued the skipper of the _Titania_. "Seems a
pity to cast her adrift."
"Please yourself," said Alwyn. "We came by her cheaply enough, and
she's served our purpose. If she's of any use to you, take her by all
means."
"You've an engine on board," remarked O'Loghlin.
"But no petrol or kerosene," announced Mostyn. "Jolly good little
motor, too."
"I'll accept your offer, Mr. Burgoyne," said Swayne. "We'll put a
crew on board, and a hundred gallons of fuel, and let them navigate
her to Nua Leha. We can pick her up later on. I've a fairly smart
Kanaka navigator, and plenty of natives to spare until later on.
We've been doing a bit of salvage work amongst the islands, and now
we're off back to Sydney to replenish stores. Come below. Will you
have anything to eat? As regards cabins we can easily fix you all up.
Last trip we had thirteen all berthed aft. No, it wasn't unlucky for
us. Quite the reverse. 'Spose you heard about the treasure recovered
from the Fusi Yama? Kit? H'm, we can rig you out all right, but the
lady--yes, Miss Vivian, we've a sewing-machine on board. A couple if
you like."
While the crew of the _Titania_, under the supervision of O'Loghlin,
were preparing the schooner for her independent cruise, Swayne busied
himself to attend to the wants of his self-invited guests.
Pending the making up of suitable attire, Hilda was provided with new
clothes of masculine cut. Burgoyne and Mostyn, after the luxury of a
hair trim and shave, were completely "kitted out" from Swayne's and
O'Loghlin's ample wardrobes, while Fontayne, the third Englishman of
the _Titania's_ complement, took Minalto in hand if for no other
reason than that Fontayne hailed from the county nearest the
Scillies.
"They've fuelled and provisioned the schooner," announced Swayne when
Hilda, Burgoyne, and Mostyn returned to the saloon. "You may as well
see the last of her. By that time grub will be ready."
They went on deck. The schooner's motor was running free, emitting
dense columns of bluish smoke from her exhaust. Half a dozen Kanakas,
under the charge of a big, full-faced Fijian, were in possession.
"All ready?" shouted O'Loghlin. "Let go."
The schooner forged ahead, ported helm, and swung round in her course
towards the distant island of Nua Leha. Five minutes later the
_Titania's_ engines began to purr rhythmically, and at a steady
twelve knots she headed south. Soon the schooner was a mere dot on
the horizon, and then only did her late crew go below.
The meal was a sumptuous one as far as the guests were concerned. In
honour of their fair passenger Swayne and his companions spared no
effort to do the thing in style. Rose-tinted shades newly placed over
the electric lamps threw a warm glow on the clean linen table-cloth.
(The table-cloth was the only one on board, and usually the three men
sat down to a coverless board, but that fact was sedulously kept
dark.) The cutlery had been brightly polished; china took the place
of the customary enamelled ware. Mahommed Bux, the Indian steward
whom Swayne had engaged at Sydney, had risen splendidly to the
occasion, and a dinner served in a style that would have done credit
to many a noted French chef was duly appreciated.
They celebrated the occasion--the men being ex-officers of His
Majesty's Service--by loyally drinking the King's health, then over
the wine the story of the captured _Donibristle_, the secret base,
and the adventures on Swan Island were related to the attentive and
astonished hosts. Burgoyne kept back nothing in the recital.
"All I ask," he concluded, "is to keep the matter dark when we arrive
at Sydney. The safety of our comrades in captivity depends largely
upon a swift and successful coup, and I haven't the faintest doubt
but that the Australian Navy will see to that, and do the job as
effectually as the _Sydney_ tackled the _Emden_ at Cocos Keeling."
"You'll be there to see it done, you lucky dog," remarked Swayne.
"I don't know. I hope so," replied Burgoyne.