CHAPTER XII Plans

Burgoyne's solitary meditations were interrupted by the appearance of the purser and Barnes the steward, the latter carrying a tin pannikin of lime juice.

"That's better, Mr. Burgoyne," exclaimed Holmes, seeing that the patient had recovered consciousness. "My word, that was some fight by all accounts. You didn't half sock the blighter."

Alwyn drank deeply before replying:

"S'pose it was," he admitted. "Goodness only knows why I did take the fellow on, though. How long shall I have to stop here, do you think?"

"Matter of a couple of days," replied the purser. "Pity you didn't settle that chap Strogoff. He didn't attend afternoon parade, thank goodness, but he was fooling around all the blessed morning, finding fault with things."

Burgoyne raised himself on one elbow. The movement sent a thrill of pain all over his body.

"He didn't see Miss Vivian, I hope?" he asked anxiously.

"Young Bill? No. Young Bill was kept in the background, so to speak. Hello! Here come the others. Hadn't any idea it was knocking-off time."

Branscombe grinned sympathetically when he saw his chum.

"You low-down bruiser!" he exclaimed. "Did they teach you that in the navy?"

"Partly," admitted Alwyn. "I'm afraid I departed somewhat from the recognized canons of the ring towards the end. Had to, or I mightn't have been here now. Well, any news?"

Phil divested himself of his soiled patrol coat, and revealed the fact that he had encompassed his waist with an uncut length of about ten fathoms of inch-and-a-half manila rope.

"A slight contribution to the general fund, eh, what, Withers?"

The Second Engineer produced his share of the day's plunder; one hack-saw blade and four pieces of files each about three inches in length.

"I had Satan's own job to get them," he explained. "The hack-saw blade I managed by a sort of three-card trick, and old Li Whong never twigged it. I spend most of the time in the workshop breaking off the tips of eighteen-inch files and rounding off the jagged edges. Li issued twenty-four out to the men, and twenty-four were returned; but he didn't notice that, instead of eight eighteen-inch and ten fourteen-inch, he received four eighteens and fourteen fourteens. How's that, umpire?"

"Excellent," conceded Burgoyne.

"'Spose you haven't formed a satisfactory programme?" inquired Branscombe. "Hardly to be expected from a battered old prize-fighter like you."

"I have," replied Alwyn, "subject to alterations. In the first place, any idea of surprising the guard must be scrapped. Although there are more prisoners than guards when the Malfilio is away, there's too much alertness on the part of the pirates to warrant success. We'd be bowled over like rabbits, especially if they caught us out in the open with those machine-guns. What I propose doing is to select a small crew—unfortunately I can't take it on, as I'm senior man here—cut out one of the boats, provision her, and make a dash for the Marshall Islands."

"That's all very fine," admitted Phil, after Alwyn had explained his movements earlier in the day "Collaring the boat seems feasible; but how about provisioning her? We can't lug fifteen days' grub down through that tunnel and stow it away. And there's fresh water to be taken into account. We've no barricoes. Even if we had, how could we get, say, thirty gallons, or nearly three hundredweight of water to the boat?"

"That is a proposition," admitted Burgoyne thoughtfully. "Ten gallons ought to be sufficient, though. We must devise some way of getting hold of a barrel or two. Now as regards provisioning the boat. Has anyone a pencil?"

Withers supplied the required article.

"Phew!" ejaculated Burgoyne. "I feel like one of those 'Every Picture tells a Story' advertisements we used to see in the papers at home. You fellows carry on with your grub while I draw a rough chart of the island. I don't think it will be very much out."

In spite of several interruptions, and at the cost of considerable physical discomfort, Burgoyne completed the plan.

"Now," he continued, "there's a free passage right round the island inside the reef. Here's our compound; there's where the fence ends on the western side. Right underneath is a cave. If that won't suit, probably the others will. What's to prevent us going down by means of a rope and exploring? If everything's O.K. we can lower our reserve stock of provisions, and hide the stuff in the cave until it's wanted. Then, when opportunity serves, the crew told off to cut out the lifeboat will run her round one dark night, provision, and be more than hull down before dawn. If they fall in with a ship, so much the better. If not, they can make the Marshall Islands, and in less than a month there ought to be half a dozen cruisers off the island."

"Sounds all right," admitted Branscombe. "But how about a course?"

"I've a compass," replied Alwyn. "It's only a pocket one, and I don't know what the variation and deviation are. But steer due south and one can't go wrong. Whoever goes in charge of the boat takes the compass."

"Who will?" asked Withers.

"Branscombe," replied the Third Officer. "At least, he's down for the job. I can't go, unfortunately, but Phil is the only other officer available who has had experience in boat-sailing and navigation."

"Thanks, old son!" exclaimed Phil.

"You haven't gone yet, dear old thing," rejoined Burgoyne. "However, there's no harm in thinking things out. Another point is the crew. One hand will be sufficient. I would suggest that Scilly Islander, Minalto."

"A decent sort," conceded Branscombe.

"Yes," resumed Alwyn. "He started boat-sailing early in life. It's a sort of instinct with the Scilly Islanders, since they can't go a couple of miles in a straight line without having to make use of a boat. He's a bit slow on the up-take, but he can interpret an order intelligently. He's got initiative, and doesn't hang on to the slack——"

"My child!" ejaculated Withers, rolling his eyes. "Why this thusness?"

"You'd know quick enough if I could lay hold of you," declared Burgoyne with mock severity. "Now, buzz off, if you don't mind. I have some sort of idea that my head's aching."

Burgoyne did not get up on the following day, nor on the next. Before he was fit to resume control a week had passed. Phil Branscombe "carried on" for him, and the forced labour proceeded as leisurely as the pirate crew permitted.

As far as the occupants of the compound were concerned, Black Strogoff was a back number. Not since Burgoyne's encounter with the Peruvian had he put in an appearance. One result of the quarrel between Ramon Porfirio and Strogoff was the latter's transference to the Malfilio, where he was less likely to cause trouble than if left to influence a certain section of the pirates ashore. Fernando, Strogoff's understudy, was undoubtedly a brute and lacked the intelligence of the Russo-German, and the various members of the crews of the three captured ships soon found that Fernando could be easily hoodwinked.

During the week in which Burgoyne was detained within the compound, he was kept well in touch with the progress of events. The Malfilio during that period remained in harbour. Withers, who had been sent on board the cruiser to assist in executing repairs reported that her machinery was far from being in an efficient state, and that during her last trip to sea she had burst the main steam-pipe of her starboard engine. What had transpired during that short cruise he was unable to ascertain; but it was evident that Ramon Porfirio was in a very "jumpy" state.

In point of fact, the Malfilio was overhauling an oil-tanker when the steam-pipe gave out. Consequently the pursued vessel got away; but whether she had any suspicion of the nature of the cruiser was a matter for doubt in the pirate captain's mind. If she had, then her escape would mean that the world would know of the existence of a pirate craft in the North Pacific, and in due time things would be made far too hot for Se?or Ramon Porfirio.

Alwyn saw a good deal of Young Bill during his convalescence. The girl's visits brought balm to his mind, but he would not have felt quite so elated had he known that Hilda impartially distributed her favours between all the "sick bay" cases amongst the Donibristle's crew.

"I suppose you are properly fed up, being cooped on this island?" asked Burgoyne.

"Not at all," replied Miss Vivian. "It's rather exciting, especially wondering how we are going to get out of it. If things get no worse there's not much to complain about. It was very hard losing Mother, and both Dad and I feel the loss very much. But apart from that there's nothing much to worry about—except carrying out your orders, sir," she added, with an enigmatical smile.

"I'm glad you did that," said Alwyn.

"Supposing I had refused to wear these clothes, and insisted upon keeping my face clean? As it is, I renew my charcoal powder three times a day."

"Had you refused I should have taken steps to compel you," declared Burgoyne firmly.

"I don't see how," remarked Hilda.

"It is unnecessary to give details," said Alwyn, his face growing stern. "I can tell you this; if those ruffians had found out your sex you would have been shot."

"Shot?" repeated the girl, unable to conceal her astonishment. "By whom?"

"I should have done it," was Burgoyne's startling reply. "With the full consent of your father. If you wish to know why, ask him."

Hilda Vivian changed the subject abruptly. Nor did Burgoyne ever have to refer to the matter again It was, he reflected, a brutally drastic step to take, but it had the desired result. The girl realized that it was not an idle masquerade, but the shadow of a great peril, that compelled her to assume the r?le of ship's boy.

A surprise awaited Alwyn when he was able to resume duty. Captain Blair had made a rapid recovery, and was now able to resume his interrupted control of the Donibristle's officers and crew to the extent permitted by Se?or Ramon Porfirio and company.

Alwyn accepted the change most cheerfully. Although for certain reasons he was loth to relinquish many of his responsibilities, he was now left with a relatively free hand. He could pursue his investigations with less fear of inside interruptions, since any question of routine would be made direct to the skipper. He would also be able to take command of the lifeboat, if and when she started on her long voyage to the Marshall Islands. It was rather rough luck on Branscombe, he reflected, being done out of that part of the excitement, but there was no question as to who was the better man at handling a small sailing-boat.

At the first opportunity Burgoyne broached the subject to Captain Blair. The Old Man listened carefully to the Third Officer's recital, then, to the latter's utter astonishment he said:

"I'm sorry, Mr. Burgoyne, but I refuse to give you or anyone else permission to make the attempt."