CHAPTER XXVIII 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.