image: 06_dash.jpg
image: 06_dash.jpg
[Illustration: A DASH FOR FREEDOM]
[Illustration: A DASH FOR FREEDOM]
"Stand by with an oar," ordered Burgoyne. "In case we have to steer with it. I doubt whether the rudder will have much grip when she's in the thick of it."
The Third Officer's whole attention was fixed upon the passage through the reef. What was happening ashore did not trouble him in the least. He knew that long before the pirates could rush a machine-gun round to the summit of the south cliffs the life-boat would be well away from land—provided she wasn't swamped or battered against the dangerous ledges.
Meanwhile Jasper Minalto had lashed a fourteen-foot oar to the stern-post, allowing sufficient play for the blade to be moved to the right extent in a horizontal plane. Should the rudder fail to grip as the boat climbed the steep sides of the waves the oar would serve to keep her from broaching-to, and from being almost inevitably swamped.
Putting the helm up until the boat was running almost free Burgoyne steered for the smoothest patch in that almost regular line of breakers, for there was about twenty yards where the heavy swell did not break, although it reared itself menacingly across the whole extent of the narrow entrance.
The noise of the surf was now deafening, as the ground swell, rolling in against the wind, threshed irresistibly upon the low-lying reef. Already the steady movement of the boat through the tranquil waters of the lagoon was giving place to a jerky motion, as the first of the spent rollers began to make themselves felt.
The little craft was travelling fast. Although many of the disconcerting conditions were hidden by the darkness, the milk-white foam showed up conspicuously through the night, while to the roar of the surf was added the whine of the ever-increasing wind.
Now they were in the thick of it. Like a racehorse the boat charged the first of the steep rollers, and lifted gallantly to the curling wall of water. Throwing showers of spray far and wide from her sharp stem, she slid gracefully down the other side, although it took every ounce of strength on the part of Burgoyne and Minalto to prevent her from broaching-to.
She took the next wave badly, shoving her nose into the crest and shipping it green over the bows; then staggering she managed to overrun the third breaker and gained the comparatively safe water beyond.
"That's all serene," shouted Burgoyne. "Get the water out of her, Mostyn."
He half expected a protest from Miss Vivian, but the girl had not stirred, although the floor-boards were six inches deep in water. She had, however, taken the precaution of wrapping a piece of canvas round her—Burgoyne had meant to caution her, but in the quick flight of time during the approach to the reef he had omitted to do so—and had come off comparatively dry.
"She's carrying all she can, I think," said Alwyn, raising his voice to reach Mostyn and Minalto, both of whom were busily engaged in baling out.
"I'm carrying nothing, Mr. Burgoyne!" exclaimed Hilda, rather astonished at words that apparently related to her. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No, thanks," replied Burgoyne. "'She' applies to the boat. I mean she has as much sail as we can set without risking a capsize. It's all right as things go; but we may have to reef."
"I reckon she's doing eight knots," remarked Mostyn, who, having completed his task of baling out, had come aft.
"A good eight," agreed Burgoyne. "Will you take her now? Minalto and I have had a pretty tough time."
"Right-o," replied Mostyn, glad of the opportunity of "feeling the kick of the helm" again. "What's the course?"
"Sou' by east," said Alwyn, handing the Wireless Officer the pocket compass. "Don't watch the needle; steer by a star and check your course occasionally. You'll find it much simpler than straining your eyes in the starlight. Call me in about a couple of hours—earlier if you want me."
Giving a glance astern Burgoyne saw that the line of foam was almost invisible, the island entirely so. If the breeze held—he was not anxious for it to increase in force—the secret base would be forty or fifty miles astern by daybreak.
"Now, Miss Vivian," he said cheerily. "We're going to fix you up before Jasper and I turn in. Are you hungry? There's some ship's biscuits going. That's our staple fare for a bit, I'm afraid. You're dry, I hope? Externally, I mean. Good! Now we'll rig you up a tent."
Lashing the loom of one of the oars to the mast at a height of six inches above the mast-clamp and resting the blade in a roughly-made boom-crutch, Burgoyne and Minalto deftly stretched a sheet of canvas over the oar, securing the ends to the thwarts.
"There you are," said Alwyn. "As we say in the Merchant Service you'll be as snug as a—an insect in a rug. We can't allow you much head-room, in case the foot of the sail flies over. Now Jasper and I are turning in. If you want me just shout and I'll be up in a brace of shakes."
Within two minutes Burgoyne was sleeping the sleep of sheer exhaustion, nor did he awake until the slanting rays of the early morning sun shone in his face, as the boat heeled to the now beam wind.
"You're a bright one, Mostyn," he exclaimed, as he stretched his cramped limbs. "Do you call this two hours?"
"I didn't like turning you out," replied the Wireless Officer. "After all, I've had quite a soft time. Only had to trim the sheet once, and she carries just the right amount of weather helm."
Balancing himself on the after thwart Alwyn scanned the horizon. All around sky and sea met in an unbroken line. Neither land nor vessel of any description was in sight. Satisfied on that score the Third Officer took stock of the boat. Underneath the tent Hilda Vivian was sleeping soundly. Her regular breathing was sufficient evidence to prove that.
Curled up athwartships, with his head pillowed on one of the canvas water-tanks—for which there had been no need in their original rôle—was Jasper Minalto, snoring like a young bull. He, too, had scarcely stirred for the last four hours.
"Let him stop," said Burgoyne. "I'll take on now. You might get out some grub before you turn in, and there are some tin mugs in the after locker."
"I brought along some lime-juice," announced Mostyn. "Holmes told me I could have it, and it may come in jolly useful. Branscombe lowered a dozen coco-nuts over the cliff and stowed those on board, too; so we shall be able to have some sort of variety. What's the menu? Bully and biscuits?"
The two men ate their first meal on board with evident relish; then Mostyn turned in, leaving Burgoyne at the helm.
It was a glorious day. As the sun gathered strength its warm rays brought comfort to the helmsman. For the first time for nearly twenty hours his comparatively thin clothing was dry, and his cramped limbs regained their usual suppleness.
"Things might be a jolly sight worse," he soliloquized. "We're clear of the island and no sign of any craft in pursuit. The breeze is fair and steady, we've a reasonable amount of grub in the locker, and a staunch little craft for the trip. I wonder what the others are doing, and whether Strogoff and his bravos are cutting up rough?"
In about half an hour after Burgoyne had resumed the "stick" Minalto stirred himself, and sat up with a look of wonderment on his face, sniffing the morning air with deep appreciation.
"Eh, sir!" he exclaimed. "I've just had a wonderful dream. We wur havin' fried bacon, an' taters an' all. I could smell 'en, real as anythin'-like, an' it doesn't haf smell good."
"'Fraid that's as far as you'll get just now," replied Alwyn with a laugh. "Come on! Biscuits and bully is our mark."
He glanced at the well-filled foresail and then to windward.
"May as well get the rest of the canvas set," he remarked. "The breeze is moderating a bit."
Lashing the helm the Third Officer assisted Minalto in the task of hoisting the standing lug. Before this was accomplished Hilda, disturbed by the noise, awoke and crawled from under the awning.
"Good morning!" she exclaimed.
"Mornin' to you, young Teddy," replied Jasper, touching his trailing forelock, while Alwyn removed his cap from his shock of tousled hair.
"Young Bill's shaved this morning," she continued with a disarming smile. "I'm sorry to have to say that Mr. Burgoyne has not."
"I thought I once heard you remark," rejoined Alwyn, "that you were rather partial to beards!"
"Yes, torpedo beards, tawny for preference," admitted the girl.
The Third Officer complacently stroked the stubbly growth of hair that completely hid his cheeks and chin.
"For the matter of that," he observed, "a pair of scissors will do the trick when we get back to civilization."
"But your beard is red, not tawny," countered Hilda laughingly. "But don't worry about that, Mr. Burgoyne. I think I prefer you as you were on board theDonibristle—clean-shaven. That is from an appearance point of view. Just now you look a bit of a ruffian, but you're splendid. I shall never be able to thank you sufficiently for all the danger you have gone through—and the others as well, of course—to get me away from the island."
"It's jolly good of you to say that, Miss Vivian," said Alwyn. "We've got you clear of the island, it's true, but we are by no means out of the wood yet. Now: ready for something to eat?"
Telling Minalto to take the tiller Alwyn prepared the girl's breakfast. In the absence of a knife or a tin-opener the bully-beef tin had to be battered open with a rowlock, since, as is almost invariably the case, the patent opener provided failed utterly in its predestined mission. The biscuits, too, had long lost their crispness, and the water, notwithstanding the addition of a small quantity of lime-juice, was decidedly "cloudy" owing to the continuous motion of the boat. In default of a plate the beef had to be spread out on a piece of canvas which Burgoyne had washed by trailing over the side; while a total deficiency of cutlery resulted in the application of nature's knives and forks.
Yet Hilda enjoyed the rough-and-ready repast. She was naturally a high-spirited girl, passionately fond of an open-air life, and the novelty of the situation appealed to her. Burgoyne thought she looked the picture of health, with her finely-modelled features, of rich bronze hue by reason of exposure to the sun and rain, her closely-bobbed hair, and her mirth-loving eyes. Even her present costume suited her, the canvas jumper and the battered straw hat setting off to perfection her slim figure and the naturally graceful poise of her head.
For the four or five hours all went well with the Argonauts, but about midday the breeze died utterly away and the boat drifted idly with her sails drooping listlessly from the yards. The heat was terrific. Almost overhead the sun blazed down mercilessly, while the reflected rays from the mirror-like ocean seemed almost as hot as the sunshine itself.
With the paint blistering and the woodwork too hot to touch comfortably the boat was like a small furnace. Even the water left in the lands and bilges quickly disappeared, throwing out a noxious-smelling vapour.
Leaving one man to keep watch, the rest of the crew sat under hastily-devised awnings over which salt water was frequently poured in the hope that the rapid evaporation would lower the temperature under the canvas. Sleep was an impossibility; speech became a matter of difficulty, for even frequent small draughts of water failed to keep their throats from being parched and dry. Sweltering in the enervating heat they existed listlessly, their jangled nerves still further jarred by the monotonous slatting of the canvas and the steady thud of the yards against the gently-swaying masts.
Suddenly Mostyn, whose turn it was to keep a lookout, startled the others by shouting:
"Land ahead!"
Shaking off his lethargy Burgoyne emerged from under the awning. For some reason he could see nothing but a red mist that swam in front of his eyes.
"Where away?" he inquired.
"Right ahead," repeated the Wireless Officer, rather astonished that Alwyn could not see what was only too clear to him: a dark line almost on the horizon.
"Land!" exclaimed Burgoyne, his normal vision returning. "That's not land, old son. It's a breeze ruffling the water, and pretty strong, too. We'll have it in a few minutes—and dead in our teeth, worse luck."
Aided by Minalto, Burgoyne quickly stowed the awning, then casting loose both sheets he awaited rather anxiously the approach of the breeze.
"Looks more like a squall," he said, half to himself. Then raising his voice he continued: "Stow the mizzen. Mostyn, you stand by the fore halliard, and douse the sail in a brace of shakes if I give the word."
Soon there was no doubt about the nature of the approaching wind. It was a white squall—one of those dangerous puffs, often attaining a strength of from forty to sixty miles an hour, that swoop down with devastating effect upon the vessel whose careless look-out has allowed it to take him unawares.
"Down foresail!" shouted Burgoyne. "We'll have to ride to a sea-anchor."
Abandoning the useless tiller, which Mostyn had already yielded to him, Alwyn sprang forward to assist the rest of the crew in preparing a floating breakwater to which the boat could with safety ride to the wind and waves. Quickly the kedge was attached to the clew of the sail, a span bent to the yard and at its centre the whole scope of the boat's painter with an additional length of rope.
In desperate haste the whole contraption was hove overboard. The yard and sail, weighed down by the kedge, sank like a stone.
The next instant, with a weird, almost blood-curdling shriek, the squall burst. In an instant the hitherto placid surface of the ocean was lashed into an expanse of white foam.
Caught fairly on the broadside the life-boat was knee deep in water before she took up the strain of the sea-anchor. Then riding to a tautened cable she swung round bows on to the now threatening breakers.
The three men baled desperately. Hilda, too, realizing the importance of freeing the boat from water, plied an empty bully-beef tin vigorously. Her straw hat had been whisked off, although Mostyn had caught it as it swept to leeward; her short locks were streaming in the wind, spray lashed her face like the sting of a whip, yet in the wild display of Nature's elements her faith in the prowess and skill of the three men was undiminished. Without a trace of fear she was toiling, not because she thought she was in danger, but because she knew she could be of assistance to her companions.
In ten minutes the worst was over. The wind dropped considerably, and though the waves were not running exactly mountains high, they had quite a menacing appearance. Yet the sea-anchor, which was now only a few feet below the surface, and fifty yards ahead of the boat, broke the angry seas in a way that imparted confidence to all hands.
It was an hour later before Burgoyne thought it prudent to rehoist sail. The mizzen, close-reefed, was first hoisted and sheeted home. Then the foresail got inboard, single-reefed and set. The boat's head fell away, then gathering way she darted buoyantly over the long, crested waves.
Contrary to Alwyn's expectations the wind had neither veered nor backed. It blew strongly from the same quarter, which meant that for every mile made good the boat had to sail thrice that distance.
For the rest of the day they sailed close-hauled, tacking at the end of every hour. All three men knew how to get the best out of the boat, keeping her sufficiently full to allow the canvas to draw well.
Sunset came with every indication of bad weather. The sun sank behind a bank of copper-coloured clouds, while the sky resembled what Minalto described as a "basin o' pea-soup".
"We're in for it, I think," remarked Burgoyne to Mostyn. "I think we'd better close reef the foresail while it's light. Then you take first watch—two hours only this time, mind; I'll take the next, and Minalto carries on after me. That will give you four hours' sleep."
"Right-o," agreed Mostyn, preparing to go for'ard with Minalto to reduce canvas still further. "Go about at the end of each watch, I suppose?"
"Yes," agreed Alwyn, "unless, of course, it's blowing too hard for one hand to dip the sail. In that case it'll be all hands 'bout ship."
At about nine o'clock Burgoyne awoke and relieved the Wireless Officer at the helm. During a lull in the wind the manoeuvre of putting the boat on the port tack was a fairly simple one.
Left to himself the Third Officer steered by the wind, occasionally checking his course by means of his pocket compass. It was now pitch dark, not a star was visible. Very soon it began to rain—big drops that borne by the stiff breeze rattled with considerable force against the helmsman's face. Spray he could and did endure with equanimity; in fact he rather revelled in the salt-laden showers, but Burgoyne had the deep-sea man's rooted objection to rain.
Pulling the peak of his disreputable cap well down over the left side of his face and drawing a piece of painted canvas over his shoulders, Alwyn settled down to make the best of things.
His trick was almost done when it suddenly occurred to him that the seas were no longer regular; in fact the boat was entering a patch of confused water.
Thinking it was a sudden shift of wind that accounted for the nasty cross seas Burgoyne glanced at his compass. The wind had backed; a point, perhaps, not more; and that was not sufficient to justify the agitation of the water.
He glanced to leeward. Above the howling of the wind his ear caught the unmistakable sound of surf. Not only abeam but ahead a line of milky foam warned him of the peril that threatened. The boat, close-reefed, was driving to leeward, and was already within two hundred yards of one of those dangerous coral reefs with which certain parts of the Pacific Ocean are studded.
"All hands!" he shouted. "Stand by and 'bout ship."
Mostyn was awake instantly. The burly Scillonian was slow to grasp the significance of the peril. Burgoyne stirred him with his foot.
"We're close on a lee shore," warned the Third Officer. "Look alive and 'bout ship."
The two men were almost lost to sight in the darkness as they clambered for'ard over the thwarts.
"Hope to goodness they don't bungle," thought Alwyn, as he remained on the alert, ready to put the helm down. "If she fails to answer this time we're done."
But before Jasper could uncleat the halliard a vicious puff struck the stiffly strained canvas. No doubt the sail was in a bad condition owing to its having been stored so long under a galvanized iron roof exposed to a broiling sun. Without warning the centre cloth split from top to bottom, and the hook securing the tack burst from its cringle. The next instant the torn fragments of the useless sail were streaming from the yard like washing on a line on a windy day.
Instantly the life-boat flew up into the wind under the action of the still close-sheeted mizzen; then, gathering sternway, she began to drift rapidly towards the reef dead to leeward.
The best seamanship in the world could not have saved her. To resort to the oars would have been a hopeless expedient. Even had the oars been double-banked and the boat manned by a full crew of stalwart oarsmen, she would not have been able to make headway in the howling wind and in the grip of the breaking seas.
For some moments the men were dumbfounded. They could only grip the gunwale and await the development of events. Then Burgoyne's voice stirred them to action.
"Come aft!" he shouted, relinquishing the now useless tiller. "Mostyn, you do the best for yourself, and the best of luck. Jasper, we must do our best to save Miss Vivian. Wake her, quickly."
But Hilda was already awake. The loud frapping of the canvas, sounding like a succession of pistol-shots, was enough to rouse the soundest sleeper, even if the erratic motion of the wave-tossed boat failed to do so.
"Come aft," shouted Burgoyne. "For heaven's sake keep clear of that awning. We're in a bit of a hole, but we'll get you out, I hope."
He spoke bravely, but the words belied his thoughts. It seemed as if nothing alive could pass through that cauldron of broken water, thundering upon the cruel coral reefs.
Swept with the velocity of an arrow the boat, travelling on the crest of an enormous wave, was borne towards the reef. Burgoyne, holding on to the mizzen-mast, grasped the girl by one arm while Minalto's huge fist gripped her left shoulder. Then they waited.
They had not long to wait. With a crash of shattering timber the boat struck—struck so violently that Burgoyne had a momentary vision of the iron watertank being thrown right out clear of the side. Then as the battered craft reared itself as if to fall upon and entomb her crew, Burgoyne and Jasper leapt, literally carrying the girl between them.
They rose to the surface in the midst of a smother of foam. The wrecked boat swirled past Alwyn's head, missing it by a couple of feet or less.
Then ensued a terrible struggle. Wave after wave pounded down upon them, driving them, so it seemed, fathoms deep, until their lungs felt on the point of bursting. Once and once only did Burgoyne's feet touch the reef with a jar that seemed to snap his backbone. Then another breaker crashed, whirling the three human beings like leaves in an autumn gale.
Down went Burgoyne, retaining his grip with the energy of despair, and when next he came to the surface he was aware of two hands grasping his shoulder. Minalto had vanished, while Hilda, only just conscious, was instinctively clinging to her now sole support.
After that things became a bit hazy. Alwyn found himself swimming mechanically with one arm, while the other held up his charge. He was dimly aware that the sea was no longer breaking but was a succession of heavy, crestless rollers, the tops feathered with spray flung upward by the howling wind.
"We're over the reef!" he exclaimed to himself. "But what's beyond?"
That was the question. If there were land he knew that he would have to contend with the dreaded undertow, and already well-nigh exhausted the prospect was not inviting. But if there were no land—? He shuddered to think of that possibility, when, drifting farther and farther from the lee of the reef into a boundless waste of tempestuous water, nothing but a slow death by drowning confronted all the crew of the luckless life-boat. He wondered, too, what fate had befallen Mostyn and Jasper. The latter had gone, no doubt dashed against the reef that had let Alwyn and Hilda down so lightly. And Mostyn? He had seen nothing of him. Whether he leapt with the others or was crushed under the wreckage of the life-boat there was no telling.
"'Tany rate," muttered Burgoyne, tightening his grip upon his now senseless burden, "we're going to make a good old fight for it. Now, then!"
Borne just in front of a huge wave that was on the point of breaking, the man and the girl were projected towards the unknown; submerged, twisted about and rolled helplessly in the smother of agitated water. Then Burgoyne's feet touched ground—sand, by the feel of it.
For another twenty yards he felt himself being impelled forward. Then his feet found a grip, but only for a brief instant. The horrible undertow—the back lash from the breaking waves—was commencing.
Planting his heels deeply in the yielding sand and gripping Hilda with both arms he braced himself to withstand the retrograde movement. Slipping slowly and surely he resisted strenuously, but with every remaining effort of his sorely-taxed strength. Like a mill-stream the creamy-white foam receded, until Burgoyne's head and shoulders emerged.
The next instant he saw the rearing crest of another huge wave about to break. There was no avoiding it. He was still too deeply immersed to hope to stagger even a few yards from its impending grip.
Down it crashed. Rolled over and over, with the breath well-nigh dashed out of his body, Burgoyne and his burden were swept onward for yet another fifty yards... back twenty, and then almost by a miracle his disengaged hand clutched and held a piece of rock.
Ten seconds later his prostrate form was uncovered by the receding undertow. With the frenzy of despair he regained his feet, and bending low under the weight of his burden—he was now carrying Hilda across his back like a sack of flour, but how he managed it he had not the slightest idea—he staggered rather than ran up the shelving, yielding sand until he dimly remembered stumbling blindly against the trunk of a tree.
Driven by the instincts of self-preservation and the desperate determination to save his charge, Burgoyne staggered another half a dozen yards inland and collapsed like a wet rag upon the wind and spray-swept ground.
For how long he remained unconscious he was totally unable to gauge. When he opened his eyes he was aware that he felt numbed to the bone, except his right hand, from which the blood was flowing freely. In gripping the sharp rock that had proved his salvation he had gashed his palm in half a dozen places. He tried to move, but his limbs were powerless and incapable of responding to the dictates of his will.
It was still dark. The wind was howling through a clump of coco-palms, bending the supple crests almost to the ground. Spray, too, was hissing with almost clock-like regularity as the breakers dashed themselves against the shore.
Some time elapsed before the events that led to his almost helpless predicament dawned upon him. He recalled the struggle in the darkness, the agony of the grip of the undertow, and the nameless fear that his precious burden would be torn from his grasp. Then the last, almost automatic dash for land... and where was Hilda?
With a supreme effort he moved his benumbed arm, half-dreading that the limb was broken. To his mingled satisfaction and alarm his almost nerveless fingers touched the cold face and dank hair of the object of his search.
Was she dead? he wondered.
For some moments he contented himself by rubbing his own benumbed limbs, slowly at first, then warming to his task as the blood began to circulate through his veins. Then, half-rising, he crawled to Hilda's side. Her heart was still beating, though feebly.
Racking his brains to remember the instructions laid down for the restoration of those apparently drowned, and then puzzled whether to treat the case as that of a half-drowned person or one suffering from cold and exposure, he decided to act upon the latter supposition, and proceeded to chafe the girl's limp hands.
As he did so he became aware that dawn was breaking—breaking with the rapidity usual in tropical climes. In a few minutes it was light, and the ruddy orb of the sun appeared to shoot up in a cloudless sky above the eastern horizon.
How he blessed the rapidly increasing warmth as the sun mounted higher and higher! Warmth meant life. He cast about him for a suitable spot, open to the glorious rays yet sheltered from the still flying spindrift.
He found what he required in a grassy hollow, screened by palms from the worst of the wind yet exposed to the slanting rays of the sun, which were momentarily increasing in brilliance and strength.
How he contrived to carry the seemingly lifeless form of Young Bill from the shore he hardly knew. It was a triumph of sheer determination over utter fatigue.
Again he chafed the nerveless arms, never desisting until the girl's lips moved and her eyes opened with a startled expression, like one waking from a troubled dream.
"Where am I?" she demanded feebly.
"Safe ashore," replied Burgoyne cheerfully enough. He was content for the time being to find Hilda restored to life. "Can you walk?" he continued, although the absurdity of putting such a question to one who had been unconscious but a few moments previously struck him rather forcibly as soon as he had uttered it.
"I'll try," she replied pluckily, greatly to his surprise. "Why? Must we be going anywhere?"
"No," he reassured her. "We're stopping on the island a little while, but if you can you ought to keep moving."
He assisted the girl to rise, and the pair, both excessively weak, walked unsteadily, although the movement was beneficial to both.
Hilda had come through the ordeal comparatively lightly. Beyond a graze on the back of her right hand and a slight cut on her forehead she was unhurt, although she complained of stiffness in her ankles and wrists.
"But Iamhungry," she added plaintively.
The words brought before Burgoyne's eyes the vision of that grim spectre starvation. All their provisions had been lost when the boat broke her back on the reef. Unless the natural resources of the island could provide sufficient food to sustain life their predicament was a serious one.
"There are coco-nuts," he said apologetically, as if it were his fault that more substantial fare was not forthcoming. "I'll get you some."
He knew that he was too weak to climb. He had nothing with which to cut down the tough and supple palms, but it was quite likely that some of the trees exposed to the gale might have been uprooted.
As he was walking away Hilda recalled him.
"Where are the others?" she asked. "Mostyn and Jasper?"
"Somewhere about," he replied vaguely. "They may be along presently."
Somehow he could not bring himself to tell the girl the hideous truth: that as far as he knew the two men had been overwhelmed in the breakers on the reef. Yet in his mind he had an idea that Hilda guessed what had befallen their companions, and that she expected confirmation of her fears.
Returning to the beach Burgoyne took stock of his surroundings. The wind, though strong, was moderating rapidly. Not a cloud obscured the sky. It was now close on low-water, the tide having fallen about eight feet, which for that part of the Pacific was exceptional and was undoubtedly caused by the terrific wind.
The reef, which at this part of the island was within one hundred yards of the shore, was showing up about four or five feet above the now placid water of the lagoon—a succession of jagged clumps of coral intersected by narrow channels which were now drying out. On the seaward side the breakers were tumbling heavily, for in the open the waves were still lofty and menacing. Viewing the reef at this state of the tide it seemed impossible that any human being could have been hurled across that formidable barrier without being battered out of recognition.
Away to the south-eastern extremity of the island was another piece of dry land, low-lying and not more than a hundred yards in length. On it were three solitary palms. Round it, and extending far in an easterly direction, were reefs and atolls, terminating in a rock quite two miles from the large island. Had the life-boat crashed upon these reefs—which she would most certainly have done had she held on her course—the fate of all on board would have been sealed. And, even if Burgoyne had succeeded in putting the boat on the starboard tack, she was embayed to such an extent that there would have been no escape. Providentially the castaways had been driven ashore on the larger island and the only one not liable to be completely swept by the breakers.
The eastern part of the island, off which side the boat had suffered disaster, ran in a fairly even direction north and south, terminating in two sandy spits about a mile apart. As far as Burgoyne could see there was no sign of any indentation; the coral strand formed a straight expanse from end to end.
Looking towards his left, or in a northerly direction, Alwyn noticed a dark object lying close on high-water mark and half-buried in sand. It was the after part of the life-boat.
Thinking that by a rare slice of luck some of the provisions might have remained in the after locker, he made his way painfully towards the wreckage, conscious of a burning pain in the heel—the legacy of a violent contact with the reef. His damaged hand, swathed in a strip of his last remaining handkerchief, was throbbing excruciatingly.
As he approached his attention was attracted by the sight of a man's hand and arm projecting beyond some scrub and driftwood within a few yards of the boat. The arm was bare, brown, and muscular, and lavishly embellished with tattoo marks.
"Minalto!" exclaimed the Third Officer, and, forgetting his injuries, hurried to the spot to confirm or dissipate his worst fears.
Jasper was not only alive but conscious. He had been cast ashore in a battered condition, being flung on the crest of a wave right into a clump of undergrowth. Bruised from head to foot he had lain in a torpid state, until the warmth of the sun had roused him from his lethargy but a few minutes before Alwyn's appearance.
"Sure, 'tes a rum world," he remarked. "Didn't think tu see you agen-like, sir. And the young leddy? Where she be tu?"
"Safe," replied Burgoyne. He was going to add "and sound ", but checked himself. "You've seen nothing of Mr. Mostyn?" he added anxiously.
Minalto slowly extricated himself from his bed of scrub and driftwood.
"No, sir," he said slowly. "I aint. Fact is I've just come-tu-like, bein', in a manner o' speakin', fair-flummoxed. Ne'er clapt eyes on 'im arter the boat struck."
The two men searched the fragments of wreckage. In the stern locker they discovered two tins of beef. The rest had vanished. Two of the copper air-tanks were still intact, while wedged in between the stern bench and a broken oar was one of the two buckets.
"Better'n nothin'," observed Jasper philosophically "S'pose we du search round-like. Might find somethin' worth our while."
It was a strain of his wrecker ancestors that prompted this remark, but the suggestion was worth acting upon. With the wind on shore and a heavy sea tumbling in there might be valuable spoil from the ocean.
The search resulted in the discovery of the mizzen mast with the sail still set. The mast had been broken off close to the thwart-clamp. A little farther on they discovered an oar, a length of grass rope, and another copper air-tank, all of which they collected and placed well above high-water mark.
"We'll get along, now," declared Burgoyne. "I came to look for coco-nuts, not wreckage, although I admit the search has not been exactly fruitless."
"One minute, sir," interrupted Minalto. "What be that? We ne'er had no li'l barrel in the boat, did us?"
He pointed to a small cask, half buried in the sand It was encrusted with barnacles, and growing marine whiskers a foot or more in length.
"Heavy 'un be, too," continued Jasper, searching round for a stone to knock out the tightly fixed bung.
"Later on will do for that," declared the Third Officer. "Roll it up under that bush."
Reluctantly Minalto turned away from his find, like a dog ordered by his master to drop a succulent bone. In his present appearance—hatless, with a lavish growth of beard, bare almost to the waist, having lost most of his shirt in the struggle with the waves—he looked more like a seventeenth-century wrecker of the inhospitable Scillies than a steady-going quartermaster of the Mercantile Marine.
Burgoyne's appearance was very little better. He, too, was sporting a bristling beard. He was capless—a fact to which the now powerful rays of the sun was calling pressing attention. His one-time white patrol-jacket was torn, dirty, and had half of one sleeve missing. His trousers ended at the knees, while his shoes, cut by contact with the sharp coral, were little more than a pair of ragged canvas uppers, held together by fragments of once good British leather. Slight gashes on his forehead and cheek, and his bandaged hand, completed his dishevelled and disreputable appearance.
On the return journey Burgoyne discovered an uprooted coco-palm, from which he gathered some green nuts, sufficient to provide liquid refreshment, but of small value from a life-sustaining point of view. But with the tins of beef, even if nothing else of an edible nature were found, they might with luck eke out an existence for days.
"Mornin', young leddy!" exclaimed Jasper, decorously attempting to make good the obvious deficiencies of his wardrobe. "Hope this finds you like as it leaves me at present."
Hilda smiled encouragingly. She had made good progress towards recovery during Burgoyne's absence. A warm colour was suffusing her sun-burnt cheeks, her hands had lost the clammy coldness following a prolonged immersion. Her short locks had dried, and, thanks to the genial rays of the sun and to the fact that she had persistently kept moving, her clothes were once more in normal condition. She was bare-headed, her straw hat having vanished during the struggle to gain the shore. Her greatcoat—Captain Davis's parting gift—was thrown over a bush to complete the drying process.
"I'm awfully glad to see you, Jasper," said the girl. She never took kindly to the Scillonian's surname.
"An' so be I," rejoined Minalto.
"We've brought a few coco-nuts," announced Alwyn. "Just enough to carry on with. You're looking better already, Miss Vivian."
"I am," declared Hilda. "But where's Mr. Mostyn?"
"That's what I'd like tu know, Miss," said Minalto promptly, before Alwyn could frame an evasive reply. "'Tes too much tu ax o' Providence that all four o' we should come through las' night. A nice lad e' wur, but nothin' to speak of far's strength goes, 'specially seein' as 'ow he wur that knocked about when they pirates blowed the wireless cabin ower th' side. 'E'll come ashore sure now, young leddy, feet first-like, and then us can bury 'im proper-like."
"Shut up, Jasper!" exclaimed the Third Officer sharply. "You don't know what you're talking about. We've got to work, not cackle. There's plenty to be done before night, and the sooner we get on with it the better."
"How long do you think we shall have to stay here, Mr. Burgoyne?" asked the girl. "I mean, does it depend upon whether we can get away on our own account or have we to wait until a vessel takes us off?"
"We will possibly be here for some time, Miss Vivian," replied Alwyn. "We've found part of the life-boat, but even with her air-tanks intact it would be a tough proposition to construct anything sufficiently seaworthy to make another start. You see, we have no tools and precious little material. And, of course, the chance of a ship picking us up is a very slight one. We are out of the recognized routes, and unless a trading schooner comes along—if she knows the dangerous reefs of the island she won't—we may be here for weeks and months."
"Proper Crusoes!" exclaimed Hilda enthusiastically. "It sounds too exciting to be true."
"Strange things happen at sea," observed Burgoyne oracularly. He was far from feeling enthusiastic. The problem of warding off starvation had yet to be solved. "However, we'll set to work. There's a shelter to be rigged up for you, Miss Vivian, some sort of caboose for Jasper and me, fresh water to be found, and some sort of provisions laid in. We've two tins of bully beef—that's all."
"An' the li'l ole keg," interposed Minalto. "Might be spirits. Come in handy-like—not that I wants 'en, bein' teetotal-like come twelve or fifteen year—almost."
The al-fresco meal consisted of taro (eaten raw in default of a fire), and bully beef with coco-nut milk. It served its purpose in quelling the pangs of hunger, but the opening of the tin of beef caused Burgoyne some qualms. Its contents were far more than sufficient for three persons. It ought to last them a week, but the difficulty was how to keep the meat when once exposed to the air. To leave it in the battered tin would result in the beef's turning bad very quickly. At Hilda's suggestion they wrapped the remnants in palm leaves and placed them in the shade, hoping that the heat would not spoil their scanty stock.
"We're just off along the beach," announced Alwyn, who, having recovered from his exhausting experience, was now full of energy.
"May I come too?" asked Hilda.
"Certainly, Miss Vivian," was the reply. "That is, if you feel equal to it."
"I am quite all right, thank you, Mr. Burgoyne," declared Hilda. "Provided you don't want me to climb trees or swim off to the reef, I think you won't find me an encumbrance."
"Right-o," assented Alwyn cheerfully. "Let's make a move. I don't suppose this island is so very big. We may as well explore it and find out how we stand, before we decide upon the site for our camp. A lot depends upon where we find fresh water."
"Will there be any?" asked the girl.
"I should think so," replied Burgoyne, pointing to a hill about a hundred feet in height. "That rising ground points to it, and the fairly dense vegetation is another hopeful sign. I suggest we try to walk right round the island—it can't be so very far—before we start exploring the interior."
They gained the beach, and instead of turning northward—Burgoyne had already examined the beach for about two hundred yards that way—they walked in the opposite direction. Before they had gone more than fifty paces Minalto, whose eyes incessantly scanned the shore, stooped and dragged from the water's edge a canvas sack containing the life-boat's stock of biscuit, utterly spoilt by the salt water.
"Things be a-comin' ashore-like," he remarked. "When flood-tide makes then te's time to look."
"I wonder if we soaked the biscuits in fresh water and thoroughly got rid of the salt we could bake them again?" asked Hilda. "I'll try it. How do we make a fire?"
Burgoyne shook his head. He had already tried his hand at rubbing together two sticks on the chance of obtaining a flame, but without success.
"I'll have another shot at it," he continued, when he had related his failure. "Perhaps the wood wasn't perfectly dry. Savages obtain fire that way, but I've never watched them do it. Wish I had."
Suddenly Hilda laid her hand on Burgoyne's arm and pointed.
"Look!" she exclaimed. "There's smoke!"
"Sure enough!" ejaculated Alwyn. "No, steady; we don't want to rush into a native kitchen before we find out who the gentlemen are. Stay here, Minalto, with Miss Vivian, while I do a little observation work."
The smoke, rising in the now hot and almost motionless air, was ascending beyond a clump of palms about a quarter of a mile away. It was not a forest fire; the column of vapour was too small for that. The logical conclusion was that it had been started by human agency.
Keeping close to the brushwood that skirted the beach above high-water mark, Alwyn approached the scene of his intended investigations. But after he had gone almost two-thirds of the distance, farther progress was barred by an inlet invisible from the spot whence the three castaways had set out on their tour of exploration. The entrance to the creek was narrow and shallow, being at that state of the tide barely three feet deep. Farther inland it opened out into a fairly wide basin, about eighty yards in width and almost entirely surrounded by dense vegetation, except for two converging glades at the head of the natural harbour.
High and dry just above the reach of the water was a dark object, which Alwyn recognized as the bow portion of the life-boat, while the otherwise smooth sand all around it bore traces of several footprints of a person or persons going and returning.
"Natives, perhaps," thought Burgoyne. "They've found the wreckage and stripped it of everything of value, unless—— But I may as well make sure."
Working his way inland and cautiously forcing his passage through the scrub, Burgoyne drew nearer and nearer the fire. He could hear the crackling of the burning wood; a savoury smell assailed his nostrils. Save for the spluttering of the fire, the utmost silence prevailed.
As he carefully parted the brushwood he came in full view of the fire. He stopped dead in sheer astonishment, hardly able to credit his senses.
The fire was burning in an open space. Close to it two pieces of cane had been set up derrick-fashion, while a longer and heavier piece, with one end pegged to the ground, projected beyond the fork with its end immediately over the flames. From the extremity hung an iron bucket emitting steam and a delicious odour of stewing fowl.
Three or four paces from the fire and with his back turned towards Burgoyne was a man, naked from the waist upwards and bare below the knees. He was busily engaged in setting up a pointed bamboo, one end of which he had charred in the fire, while close to him was a roll of canvas. It was Peter Mostyn.
"Hello!" shouted Alwyn.
Mostyn turned sharply.
"Hello," he replied, and recognizing the voice continued; "you're just in time for some grub, old bird."
"Hope there's enough for three more, anyway," rejoined Burgoyne.
That was the greeting between two men each of whom had thought the other dead. Typically British, they concealed their emotions under two cheerful grins, afraid lest they should make asses of themselves by betraying what they termed "sloppiness".
"Miss Vivian is safe, then?" asked Mostyn eagerly. He could askthatquestion without reserve.
"Rather! She's over there. Better get your things on."
Mostyn seized his ragged garments and proceeded to dress.
"It was so jolly hot," he explained. "I just had to strip. Felt a bit like a savage... where have you been? I looked along the beach several times."
"You didn't look far enough, my festive," said Burgoyne. "How did you get ashore?"
"Just hung on to the boat," replied Peter. "Or rather, what was left of her. Had quite a soft passage. Nothing much to complain about. The wreckage drove into this cove, and I waded ashore with hardly any trouble. Then I walked up and down the beach for nearly half the night, I should imagine, trying to find you. Never saw a sign, so I came to the conclusion—well, I was wrong."
"You're in luck," remarked the Third Officer, nodding in the direction of the fire and the savoury contents of the bucket.
"Yes, rather," admitted the Wireless Officer. "I knocked over a fowl with a chunk of coral. There are hundreds of them up there—fowls, I mean. Wasn't certain altogether how to clean the brute, but I've done it after a fashion. Fire? Easy, when you know how. One of the things we used to practise when I was a Scout."
"It was beyond me," declared Alwyn.
"I'll show you later on," promised Mostyn, struggling into his ragged coat. "Now I'm ready. Where are the others? 'Spose the jolly old pot won't boil over?"
Ten minutes later a light-hearted, reunited party gathered round the steaming pot. Water, copious and wholesome, was to be found near at hand. There were hundreds of fowls in the woods, and, Mostyn had good reason for believing, pigs. Yams, taro roots, and coco-nuts grew in profusion, so for the present all fears of a lingering death by thirst and starvation vanished.
"I boiled the brute because it was less trouble," explained Mostyn apologetically as he severed a portion of the steaming fowl by means of a strip of dried coconut shell. "You may find a few feathers, but I singed most of 'em off. Next time I'll try roasting a bird in clay."
It was a most appetizing meal, in spite of the fact that Peter's companions had only recently eaten bully beef and drunk coco-nut milk.
"One of the buckets came ashore with the boat," continued the Wireless Officer. "It'll have to serve for both cooking and fetching water, I'm afraid——"
"We've a bucket and a baler," interrupted Burgoyne, not to be outdone.
"An' a li'l cask o' spirits," chimed in Jasper. "Not that I'm fond o' a drop, like, but it may be mighty handy——"
"Sun's well over the foreyard," announced Alwyn, stifling a yawn. "A jolly good caulk will be the thing."
"Cork—what for?" inquired Hilda.
"Caulk—sea term for a nap," explained the Third Officer. "We can't do much in the hot sun, and we all want to make up arrears of sleep, I take it."
Spreading out the canvas in the shade of the palms, the four castaways—comrades in peril and sharers of the limited supplies of the world's goods provided in present condition—were soon slumbering soundly, their cares, troubles, bruises, and other ailments of body and mind relegated to the Back of Beyond as if they had never existed.
Peter Mostyn was the first to awake. In spite of his physical shortcomings he was active and wiry, and of the four had had the least strenuous struggle with the elements following the capsizing of the boat. Acting upon previous instructions, he roused Burgoyne and Jasper. Hilda still slumbered peacefully.
The first task was to construct shelters sufficiently strong to withstand the force of the wind. Leaving Mostyn to carry on with his interrupted work of rigging up a tent, Alwyn and Minalto walked along the beach to the wreckage of the stern part of the lifeboat. This they dug out of the sand, and, attaching some of the halliards to it, dragged it sleigh-fashion over the smooth sand, stopping on the way to pick up the gear they had discovered that morning. The latter included, to Minalto's evident satisfaction, the "li'l cask", which upon examination was found to contain Jamaica rum.
Burgoyne had already decided to form a camp on the site Mostyn had chosen. For one thing it was sheltered, while fresh water was obtainable close at hand.
In about an hour the two ends of the boat were set up about eight feet apart and connected by the mizzen yard and one of the oars. Over the ridge-poles was thrown a large square of canvas, its ends being sunk in the sand and weighted with stones. On one side a flap was left in order to allow admittance to the timber-and-canvas dwelling, which was to be devoted to the use of Miss Vivian.
The structure was barely completed when Hilda awoke.
"Why, what is this?" she inquired.
"Your quarters, Miss Vivian," replied Alwyn.
"Mine? How quaint!" she exclaimed rapturously. "It reminds me of Peggotty's Hut, made out of an old boat."
"Do we keep the fire up all night?" asked Mostyn.
"Better not," replied Burgoyne. "We'll have to be careful in case Strogoff sends a boat after us."
"How will he know?" said Peter. "He thinks that Minalto and you were drowned on theDonibristle, and the pirates probably fired on us while under the impression that a strange craft had approached the island."
"H'm," replied Alwyn dubiously. "I wish I could agree with you on that point. Strogoff will find that you are missing, my festive, and probably Young Bill as well. Also, if he takes the trouble to look—as quite probably he may do—he'll find that the life-boat's no longer pinned down by the ship. He'll be in a tear, not because he has any regard for us, but because he knows that Ramon Porfirio will have the wind up when he returns. Why? He'll know that if we do reach a civilized port we'll spoil his little game. So if a craft shows up here we'll have to make sure of her character before we start hoisting distress signals."
Well before sundown the camp was in a fair state of completion, considering the limited resources at the disposal of the castaways.
Not only had a fairly commodious tent been erected—the boat's sail and spare canvas being pressed into service—but Minalto had built a fire-place of rocks, over which he placed three iron bars obtained from the broken keel-band of the boat. The air-tanks, since they could be put to no better use, served as seats, while the boat's back-board, supported on Minalto's li'l ole cask, formed a table.
Then Jasper vanished for about an hour, returning with five flat-fish, which he had speared in the clear water by means of a nail jammed into a broken oar, and a number of oysters found in a rocky pool towards the southern extremity of the island. Meanwhile Hilda, with the experience gained while in the "galley" at the Secret Base, had baked a loaf of taro, which everyone pronounced to be excellent and "top-hole".
They spent quite a delightful evening.