CHAPTER XIX A Dash for Freedom

The voice of Phil Branscombe quickly reassured the startled Burgoyne.

"It's all right, old man," exclaimed Phil in a low voice. "Everything's O.K. How are things?"

"Ravenous, the pair of us," declared Alwyn.

"I thought so," rejoined the Fourth Officer, "and so as a reward for a good little boy I've brought both of you some grub. Save you drawing on the tinned stuff," he added.

"And Young Bill?"

"Young Bill is there," replied Branscombe, indicating the cave. "She's as plucky as they make 'em. The Old Man got a move on at the finish. Do you want to see him? If so, he's on the top of the cliff."

Burgoyne shook his head. He couldn't speak just then because he was munching bread and bully beef.

"No," he replied at length. After his strenuous exertions and with the prospect of more to come before very long, he did not feel equal to the task of ascending and descending the cliff. "No, he gave me final instructions. I don't think there's anything else. Hello! Why, that's Mostyn! Thought you were still on the sick list, old man. What are you doing here?"

"Coming along with you," replied the Wireless Officer. "Old Man's orders."

"Dash it all!" exclaimed Burgoyne, somewhat taken aback at the prospect of being saddled with a man who not so long since had been lying on his back with a score or more of wounds. "What do you know about handling a boat?"

"I wasn't always a wireless bloke," replied Mostyn.

"I've been used to a sailing boat ever since I was a kid. Also I've brought my share of the grub and a bit over."

Burgoyne capitulated without further protest. Mostyn's declaration that he knew how to sail a small boat more than wiped out the objection.

"All right," he said; then addressing Branscombe and Twill—the third member of the shore party—he continued: "It's no use hanging on to the slack any longer. We've found a water-tank and it wants filling. Mostyn, you might put all the provisions and spare gear on board. Yes, the canvas tanks. They may come in handy."

With four men to handle the tank the task of conveying it filled with water to the boat was a fairly simple one. Under Burgoyne's direction it was stowed between two of the thwarts and immediately for'ard of the centre-board case.

"That's everything, I think," remarked Alwyn. "Now the sooner we're off the better. I want to get at least thirty miles from the island before dawn. Now, Phil, if you will kindly bring Miss Vivian—I mean Young Bill—we'll put off."

Branscombe carried out instructions. Hilda Vivian wearing an old pilot coat (a gift from Captain Davis) over her borrowed clothes, which during her stay on the island consisted of a duck jumper and trousers and a sailor's straw hat, came up to greet Alwyn.

"I'm ready, Mr. Burgoyne," she said; then with a suspicion of a smile she added, "and may I keep my face clean now, please?"

She shook hands and said good-bye to Branscombe and Twill, and was assisted by Alwyn into the boat.

Slipping into the stern sheets Burgoyne gave the word to push off, and the voyage began.

Hilda Vivian was told to sit down upon a pile of canvas in front of the water-tank, where she would be least in the way when the time came to step the mast and hoist sail. Mostyn was pulling bow oar and Minalto stroke. Burgoyne steered, the while keeping an anxious eye upon the cliffs fronting the still hidden Observation Hill.

During the last hour the clouds had dispersed and the stars shone brilliantly, reflecting long shafts of shimmering light upon the gently-undulating water.

Alwyn expressed no appreciation of the change, although rather philosophically he remarked that it was a jolly good job the stars weren't out when they were rowing round the island. Now, although not desirable, the starlight did not count to such an extent. If the boat were sighted it would be an awkward circumstance, but before the pirates could stand in pursuit the life-boat would establish a useful lead and be lost in the darkness.

"You know how that foremast steps, Mostyn?" he inquired in a low voice.

"Ay, ay," was the reply. "I've been watching it, and I've overrun the gear."

"Good enough," rejoined the Third Officer, considerably impressed by the initiative of the latest addition to the crew. "We may have to hoist sail in a hurry before very long."

"Isn't the surf making a roar to-night?" remarked Hilda from her "quarters" for'ard of the water-tank.

"Yes," replied Alwyn. "Good thing; it prevents anyone ashore hearing the sound of oars."

He purposely omitted to add that the exceptionally noisy roar of the surf was occasioned by a heavy ground swell, that, taken in conjunction with the torrential downpour unaccompanied by wind, betokened bad weather at no distant date. None of the officers or men of the captured merchant ships possessed an aneroid, so for prognosticating the weather they had to rely upon Nature's signals—and the unwonted thunder of the surf was one of them.

"Now, steady all," cautioned Burgoyne, as the lifeboat drew away from the shelter of the cliffs. "Clean strokes and no fancy feathering."

Nearer and nearer drew the isolated rock that marked the limits of visibility from the Observation Station. Carefully avoiding the shoal that extended some distance seaward, Burgoyne held on his course until the rock bore broad on his port beam. Another five minutes and the risk of detection would be past.

Slowly starboarding his helm Alwyn brought the boat round until she was eight points off her former course. By so doing, although the action was the only practicable one, he exposed the whole of the life-boat's broadside to the shore instead of being "end on" as previously; but at that increased distance from the island the boat would appear little larger than a walnut-shell.

"We've done it!" he announced gleefully. "Another twenty strokes and we can hoist sail."

The next instant a flash of flame leapt from the pirates' look-out station, and a bullet whizzed shrilly above the heads of the fugitives, ricochetting fifty yards beyond the boat.

"Give way for all you're worth!" yelled Burgoyne. "Keep well down, Miss Vivian, in case they get one in."

Two more flashes followed in quick succession, but where the bullets struck remained a matter for conjecture. Then another, throwing up a feather of spray twenty yards short, ricochetted and sent splinters flying from the life-boat's gunwale.

"Another ten strokes!" shouted Alwyn. "Put every ounce into it."

The stuttering rattle of a machine-gun from the summit of the Observation Hill warned Burgoyne that Ramon Porfirio's ruffians had not had their last say in the matter. The pirates evidently knew how to handle the weapon to the best advantage, for they were training it about five degrees in a vertical plane, so that the hail of bullets struck the water short and beyond the boat and almost every inch of the distance between. They had only to traverse the machine-gun slightly to the right literally to smother the life-boat with lead.

"Way 'nough!" ordered Burgoyne. "Take cover!"

Waiting until Mostyn and Minalto had thrown themselves on to the bottom-boards, Alwyn relinquished the tiller and crouched on the stern gratings. He knew that by the combined action of the wind and tide, added to the way of the boat, they would drift fairly rapidly through the danger zone.

The fusillade ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Alwyn raised his head above the gunwale. The boat was still in the line of fire, but almost on the point of being masked by the detached rock.

"They've got a jam!" he announced. "It'll take another five minutes to clear it, and then they'll be much too late. Up with the masts!"

Considering it was the first time they had stepped the masts in that particular boat the task was accomplished fairly smartly.

"Up foresail," ordered the Third Officer.

Jasper Minalto sprang forward to assist Mostyn to hoist the somewhat awkward dipping lug. When the canvas was sheeted home the boat seemed to leap forward under the quartering breeze.

"That'll do for the present," said Alwyn. "She'll steer better like that until we're clear of the reef. Come aft; we want her trimmed by the stern going through—no, not you, Miss Vivian. You'll do nicely where you are. Are you quite comfortable?"

"Quite, thank you," was the cheerful reply, given in a tone which implied that, having been under fire twice within the last month, the discomfort of sitting upon a pile of canvas on the bottom-boards counted for naught.

"Right-o," continued Alwyn. "Directly we gain the open sea we'll rig you up some sort of tent."

"But I'm not at all tired," protested Hilda.

"You will be before morning," rejoined the Third Officer. "We've a very long way to go, you know, and there are no rugs, hot-water bottles, or Thermos flasks aboard this packet."

With that observation Burgoyne glanced ahead under the foot of the bellying sail. He could now discern the gap in the reef, bearing roughly a couple of points on the starboard bow.

"Give her about a foot of plate," he ordered, "and a couple of inches home with the sheet."

Mostyn promptly lowered the centre-board to the required distance, while Minalto took a pull on the fore-sheet. The life-boat no longer drifted to leeward, but on the contrary showed a decided tendency to "eat her way" to wind'ard. All the same Burgoyne anticipated a bit of a struggle in taking the boat through the narrow gap in the reef. There was a fairly heavy "tumble" on the comparatively shallow bar, with seas breaking on each side of it. An error of judgment might easily result in the boat being dashed upon the coral ledges on either hand.


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[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."