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"Mr. Holmes!" sang out the Third Officer

The purser appeared.

"This is part of the ship's stores, is it not?" inquired Burgoyne.

Mr. Holmes replied in the affirmative, volunteering the additional information that the chocolate was stamped with the company's initials – a fact that in his haste the pilferer had overlooked.

"Right-o, Mr. Holmes," continued Alwyn. "That leaves me with a clear conscience. Take charge of the stuff and issue it out in equal shares to everyone aft. Keep back a share for Mr. Angus and the Third Engineer when they arrive."

But when Withers returned to the engine-room his pockets were bulging – not only with biscuits, but with small cubes of chocolate. Spontaneously, and almost without exception, every temporary occupant of the steerage had given up his share to Hilda Vivian.

CHAPTER VII
Ramon Porfirio

After four days and four nights of captivity, during which period the Donibristle had covered about 600 miles, the engines ceased their steady throb, and the prisoners heard the muffled roar of a chain-cable running through the hawse-pipe.

Speculation was rife as to where the captured merchantman had brought-up, while the majority of the captives expressed an opinion that, provided they found themselves in the open air, the locality of the anchorage didn't very much matter just at present. After nearly a hundred hours of close confinement, fed on meagre and monotonous fare, unwashed and unkempt, they welcomed the prospect of a change.

Their guards, too, had been removed. Evidently the pirates were now satisfied that the prisoners were no longer in a position to cause trouble; while in support of that theory a half-caste South American appeared and unbolted the dead-lights.

The flow of pure, balmy air through the now opened scuttles was like a draught of the sweetest nectar to the jaded and dishevelled men. There was a rush to see where the ship was lying, until at every scuttle two or three people were simultaneously trying to look out.

The Donibristle was lying in a circular and apparently completely landlocked harbour surrounded by tall cliffs. Further examination revealed a narrow gap, which, in turn, was fronted on the seaward side by a lofty ridge of rock, which, harmonizing with the cliffs of the island, presented at first sight an appearance of continuity. The cliffs were so high and close to the water's edge that from the Donibristle it was impossible to see what lay beyond – whether the ground rose to a still greater height, whether it was wooded or otherwise, or whether the island was of large or small extent.

About two cables away lay the Malfilio, also at anchor, while closer in shore were two vessels that Burgoyne rightly concluded were the ill-fated Alvarado and Kittiwake. A few sailing craft, bêche de mer traders seized by the pirates, were also to be seen, some of them lying aground with a heavy list.

It was now close on sunset. The tranquil waters of the harbour were shrouded in deepening shadow, while the horizontal rays of the setting sun bathed the summit of the eastern cliffs in a glint of reddish gold. Beyond that serrated line of sun-bathed cliff the sky was broken by three thin columns of smoke rising slowly in the still air.

"It's a snug berth at all events," observed Burgoyne, with a sailor's unerring instinct for a safe harbour. "But it would puzzle a stranger to find his way in."

"Will they set us ashore to-night, do you think?" asked Colonel Vivian.

Before Alwyn could reply the door was thrown open, and the engineer officers of both watches entered. That was a sign that their work in the engine-room was finished.

In the dim light no one noticed that Withers was not with them, but that instead there was a stranger, a tall, slender fellow of almost Withers's height and build, rigged out in the company's uniform, and with the peaked cap raked jauntily over the left eye. And until the "fellow" went straight up to the Colonel and took hold of his hands, even Burgoyne failed to recognize Hilda Vivian.

"We couldna let the wee lassie bide there," declared Angus apologetically, as if he were ashamed of having brought her along. "An' ye ken fine why."

"And where's Withers?" asked Burgoyne.

The old Scot shook his head.

"A' would do it," he declared, and went on to explain that the Second Engineer had insisted in donning a fireman's boiler-suit and giving his uniform to Miss Vivian.

"An' in the gloamin' they'll no ken the difference," he concluded.

"So far so good," soliloquized Alwyn. "But in daylight there may be quite a different story. The rascals have seen Withers and the other fellow going in and out of the engine-room. They'll twig a strange officer in a trice, I'm afraid."

But a glance at Hilda convinced him that running the risk had its compensations. The girl, even in her sorrow at her mother's death, was happy at being reunited to her father – her sole surviving relative. Clearly she was taking little or no thought for the morrow.

When it became a practically assured fact that the prisoners were to remain on board at least another night, there was general activity on the part of all the able-bodied men, with one exception, to fix up Miss Vivian in her new quarters. Willing hands quickly cleared out – it could not truthfully be said "cleaned out" – one of the cabins for her use, making far less fuss about having to sleep uncomfortably crowded than they had when they had fifteen hundred cubic feet more space.

The exception was Jules Miles, the Canuk bagman. At daybreak the survivors of the Donibristle's original crew were ordered on deck. Evidently the pirates were in a desperate hurry, for the Malfilio was lying with steam raised ready to proceed to sea. During the night she had coaled, receiving her coal from the captured Alvarado.

So, without even the formality of a search, the prisoners were sent ashore, the wounded being carried in strips of canvas cut from discarded awnings.

The undamaged boats of the Alvarado were employed to convey the prisoners from the Donibristle to the beach, and in consequence the journey was a painful one for the wounded.

But in the hasty performance of the operations Hilda Vivian escaped detection, and once again Burgoyne, in his capacity of senior unwounded officer, thanked Heaven that so far the villainous pirates had so far failed to penetrate the deception. Incidentally he was thankful that the prisoners had had no opportunity to wash during their four days incarceration. Their faces were black with the grime of battle, and thus Hilda Vivian was furnished with an additional disguise.

On landing, the Donibristle's crew were formed up in a hollow square, with armed guards patrolling the outer face of the formation. Here they were kept in suspense for more than a quarter of an hour, until the arrival of the pirate captain, Don Ramon Porfirio, attended by his lieutenants, Pablo Henriques and Black Fritz Strogoff.

Ramon Porfirio was a Bolivian by birth, but had spent most of his time since the age of sixteen in various seaports of Chili and Peru. He was about thirty-five years of age, of medium height, and inclined to corpulence. His features were remarkable, his face being round and flabby; but instead of the broad short nose usually associated with this type of countenance his nasal organ was very pronounced, and beaked like a parrot's. His hair, bluish black and liberally oiled, hung a good six inches below the back of his gilt-braided cap. With the exception of closely-cropped side-whiskers he was clean shaven, although the bluish tint of the lower part of his face pointed clearly to the fact that he had not renewed his acquaintance with the razor that morning.

The pirate captain was rigged out in the undress uniform of an admiral of the Imperial Russian Navy. The tarnished buttons still displayed the double-headed eagle of the Romanoffs; the salt-stained blue coat was considerably the worse for wear. Burgoyne found himself wondering what had been the fate of the original wearer of the uniform, and by what roundabout way it had come into the possession of Ramon Porfirio.

Pablo Henriques requiring no further introduction, it will be necessary only to portray the third pirate officer, "Black" Fritz Strogoff.

He was short in stature, being only about five feet four inches, and grotesquely broad in proportion to his height. He had hardly any neck, literally speaking, although figuratively he possessed plenty. His features were swarthy, while by a curious contrast his hair was of a light straw colour. In point of age he was the eldest of the three. Although the date of his birth was unknown to him, he was fond of announcing that he entered the University of Dorpat in 1893; so, assuming him to be seventeen or eighteen at that time, he was now about forty-four or forty-five.

He could speak three languages fluently – Russian, German, and Spanish – and had a useful knowledge of English, French, and some of the dialects of Eastern Asia. In the days of the Russian Empire he had experienced the horrors of Siberia. During the war he had played no unimportant part in the intrigue between Soviet Russia and Germany. Not receiving what he deemed to be adequate reward from Lenin and Trotsky, he made his way, via Vladivostok, to one of the South American republics, where he came in contact with Ramon Porfirio.

It was Fritz Strogoff who engineered most of the latter's enterprises. He was the brains of the pirate organization, and while up to the present he was content to let Porfirio take precedence, he was merely awaiting a favourable opportunity of cutting his connection with the Malfilio, taking with him considerably more than the agreed share of the ill-gotten booty. He did not believe in playing too long with Fate.

Ramon Porfirio was literally the tool of his second lieutenant, although, with the arrogance of a Spaniard with a decided dash of Indian blood, he failed utterly to recognize Strogoff's influence. Of an imaginative, reckless, and hot-tempered disposition, he firmly believed that he was a leader of men, and a worthy successor to Morgan, Mansfield, and other famous buccaneers.

Beginning his career as a small public official at Lima, Porfirio soon found that existence was far too tame. He absconded, taking 20,000 dollars of public money, and found a temporary refuge in Chile. At Talcahuano he came in touch with German agents, who were at that time busily engaged in picking up news in order to keep von Spee informed of the movements of Craddock's squadron. At that time there was hardly such a thing as British propaganda, and Porfirio, through his German associates, was well primed with utterly erroneous ideas of the might of Britain's sea-power.

It was to the Huns at Talcahuano that he owed the thought of becoming a sea-corsair, and preying upon unprotected British shipping. The idea grew and took tangible form. After acquiring a smattering of the arts of seamanship and navigation, he felt confident enough to embark upon his career of piracy, but the difficulty was to find a vessel suitable to his pocket and his needs.

About this time he met Strogoff. Hinting at his ambition and his difficulties, Porfirio found, as he thought, a kindred spirit. Strogoff suggested that the Kamtchatkan port of Petropavlovsk would furnish the necessary vessel. It was about that time that Siberia succumbed to Bolshevism, and several Russian light cruisers and gunboats were lying at Petropavlovsk. Since it was hopeless for them to return either to the Black Sea or the Gulf of Finland, it was more than likely that an armed vessel might be acquired at a reasonable price.

Incidentally Strogoff mentioned that he knew of a secret naval base, situated in a remote island in the North Pacific. It had been prepared some years before the Great War for the use of the German squadron stationed in these waters, so that when "der Tag" dawned the Hun commerce-destroyers would have a base to operate from should Kiao-Chau prove useless – as it quickly did – to the squadron.

Fortunately, owing to the total destruction of von Spee's ships, and the transference of the Emden's and Königsburg's activities to the Indian Ocean, the secret base was not brought into operation. The garrison of German marines "stuck it" for nearly a twelvemonth in total ignorance of what was going on in the outside world. At length they abandoned the island, sailing, it was assumed, in a small vessel attached to the base. But no one in Germany or elsewhere ever heard more of the lost garrison, and the fate of that handful of Hun marines remains an unsolved mystery.

Enlisting the services of Pablo Henriques, master of a Chilian trading schooner, Porfirio and Strogoff, accompanied by a nucleus of half-castes of doubtful character, arrived at Petropavlovsk a few weeks before the port was due to be come icebound. Under hatches they carried six casks of wine, a quantity of woollen blankets, and two thousand dollars in gold. Before they reached the Kamtchatkan coast the cargo was augmented by booty forcibly removed from a couple of Kanaka-manned traders. The Kanakas were easily persuaded to become members of the pirate band.

The acquisition of the light cruiser Zarizyno was accomplished so easily that even Strogoff opened his eyes in astonishment. A Bolshevik official, Lipski by name, readily agreed to hand over the ship in exchange for the wine, blankets, and half the gold. He, too, had an eye for the main chance, and had no great faith in the stability of the Soviet Government. Moscow and Petrograd were thousands of miles away. Before Lenin and Trotsky could demand an account of his stewardship, Lipski would also be miles away, with his nest well feathered, to seek an asylum in Chicago, in the vast Slavonic family domiciled under the protection of the Stars and Stripes.

Augmenting their numbers by the enlistment of Chinese and Malay seamen, together with a handful of Slav desperadoes otherwise marooned in Petropavlovsk, Porfirio and his two lieutenants took the Zarizyno to sea. Slightly disguised by means of different funnel-markings, and given the name of Malfilio, she was taken to the secret base, where her active career as a pirate began.

On the island they found an abundance of Welsh steam-coal, tinned provisions, clothing, quick-firing guns, machine-guns, and rifles, with a large quantity of suitable ammunition in fair condition.

At first Porfirio was content to confine his activities to the capture of small trading vessels plying between Hawaii and the archipelagoes south of the line; then, becoming bolder, he directed his attention to bigger game.

The Kittiwake, his first big prize, was a comparatively easy capture. She furnished him mainly with flour consigned for Japan, where quite recently a large demand for wheat had arisen in place of rice, this demand being one of the causes of the shortage of flour in Europe.

The Kittiwake was taken without loss of life. Porfirio had rather shrunk from murder, owing to a mistaken idea on his part, communicated by his German friends at Talcahuano, that piracy without murder was not a hanging matter. Ramon had a strong objection to a hempen rope.

But with the capture of the Alvarado, which yielded a richer booty, his record for milk-and-water piracy ended. Nor did he know that the prize was a Yankee until he was in possession of her, and fifteen corpses lay in her scuppers.

Having crossed the Rubicon, he was less scrupulous in his methods, but he refrained from taking life except in actual fight, or for disregard of his orders on the part of his prisoners. To impress upon the survivors of the Donibristle his views on the subject, he had caused them to be formed up in a hollow square on the beach of the secret base.

Ramon Porfirio's knowledge of English being, to say the least, imperfect, he called upon Black Strogoff to address the assembly. This the Russian proceeded to do, his speech including a number of words and sentences of an academic nature interspersed with the vernacular of Wapping.

He informed the Donibristle's crew that they would be well treated if they behaved, and dealt with severely if they did not. They would have to work under their own officers. Failure to perform their allotted tasks would be punished by reduction of rations, solitary confinement, and in exceptional cases by death.

He also mentioned in an off-hand kind of way that there were vacancies in the crew of the Malfilio, vacancies which offered a life that would appeal to the adventurous, with prospects of becoming rich in a very short space of time. He did not propose to ask for volunteers at that moment (he knew that none would be forthcoming, although it was possible that later on some of the Donibristle's crew would secretly hand in their names) but he would be willing to consider applications in due course.

The men heard his appeal in stolid silence. The offer fell on deaf ears. They were "not having any". Ramon Porfirio would have to cast his net elsewhere to obtain his recruits.

CHAPTER VIII
The Compound

At the conclusion of the pirate lieutenant's speech silence fell upon the close ranks of the prisoners. Porfirio conferred with his subordinates for some moments, then, turning abruptly, walked down to the Malfilio's boat. Henriques accompanied him; but Strogoff, who had been told off to remain as a sort of deputy-governor of the island, stood in the centre of the hollow square, his dark eyes closely scrutinizing the faces of his captives.

Presently he shouted:

"Place all the luggage on the ground."

The "luggage" for the most part consisted of handkerchiefs containing the men's scanty and hurriedly-collected kit. Two or three of the officers had brought small handbags, while the purser had taken the precaution of landing a portable medicine-chest.

"You have been searched for arms?" inquired the pirate lieutenant, addressing Branscombe, and without waiting for that worthy's reply he continued: "Goot; we will now the luggage search."

It was not a lengthy business. One of the guards undertook the examination of the kit, while Strogoff watched the proceedings. Since there was little of value, nothing was taken with the exception of shaving- and looking-glasses, razors, and scissors.

The prisoners, preceded and followed by armed guards, were then marched off. For a hundred yards or so they kept to the sandy beach until they arrived at a cleft in the precipitous cliffs, that had been invisible when viewed from the deck of the Donibristle. It was more than a cleft, it was a narrow, steeply ascending defile, and the only means of gaining the interior of the island from the harbour. Enclosed by bare walls of rock, never more than twelve feet apart, the path ascended by a series of zigzags, until at a distance of a furlong from the seaward entrance a natural barrier of granite terminated the gorge. Here, piercing the cliffs at right angles to the path, was a tunnel, the work of man's hands, driven through the solid rock. Defended by machine-guns, the gateway to the island could defy an army corps.

During German occupation the tunnel had been electrically lighted. The bayonet-sockets of the long-destroyed bulbs were still in position, while here and there broken insulated wire protruded from the rusted iron castings.

By the aid of torches made of resinous wood the guards illuminated the tunnel, through which a strong in-draught of warm air caused the lights to flicker and smoke.

On the principle that "you never know your luck", Burgoyne kept his eyes well open, studying the nature of the approach to the interior. One of the first objects that attracted his attention was a metal portcullis. It was already drawn up, and only a foot or so of the lower portion projected below the roof of the tunnel. Since no winding mechanism was visible, he concluded that above the tunnel was a large hall or cave, from which control of the portcullis and observation of the approach through the gorge could be made.

When about one-third of the inclined subterranean passage had been traversed, Burgoyne noticed that the wall on one side was running with moisture, and presently he saw an iron plate, about two feet in diameter, set in a metal frame and secured by six butterfly-nuts. It was obviously a valve, the seating of which was by no means water-tight, for two or three fine sprays were spurting diagonally across the tunnel, and forming miniature rainbows in the glare of the torches. As it was an inaccessible spot for a hydrant, Burgoyne formed the idea that the water formed part of the defences of the tunnel, and, if necessary, could either inundate the lowermost part or else set up an irresistible torrent against which no human being could stand.

Presently daylight showed ahead. The guards extinguished their torches by dashing them on the ground, and stacked the still-smoking wood in a niche in the wall of the tunnel. Passing under another portcullis, and turning sharp to the right through an inclined gulley, the prisoners arrived in the open air on the high land of the secret base.

Here they were halted. A pirate with the air of one having authority – he was equivalent to a barrack-master – carefully counted the prisoners, and began picking out a few at haphazard. Those he chose were subjected to a minute search, but luckily there was nothing found on them in the nature of arms or ammunition. Presently he stood still with his horny hand raised as if about to bring it down upon Hilda Vivian's shoulder.

The officers of the Donibristle were bringing up the rear of the column of prisoners, but behind were six of the pirates. Consequently Burgoyne was close to the girl, only the purser being between them. Alwyn saw Hilda shrink back. It was only a slight movement but nevertheless perceptible.

"That's done it!" muttered the Third Officer, striving in vain to think of a hurried plan whereby he might be able to save the girl without arousing instant and fatal suspicion.

But a deus ex machina had turned up at the critical moment. Black Strogoff, who had not accompanied the prisoners, had just emerged from the tunnel, and his imperious harsh voice was shouting for one Fernando. The barrack-master turned on hearing his name called and hastened to his superior.

When at length Strogoff dismissed the fellow the immediate danger was over. There was no further attempt to search the prisoners, but once more Burgoyne realized that there were limits even to the vagaries of fate, and that the presence of Hilda Vivian was causing complications that indicated more trouble at no distant date.

His anxiety was shared by the rest of his comrades. Up to the present, apart from the gruelling they had received during the one-sided engagement resulting in the capture of the Donibristle, they hadn't much to complain about. In fact it was rather amusing and exciting, this adventure, were it not that they were saddled with the responsibility of concealing the sex and identity of a young and pretty girl.

The march was resumed, the prisoners moving in fours with their guards on either flank and in front and rear of the column. The route lay over fairly regular grassland that for nearly half a mile rose gradually. Well on their left was a grove of coco-palms, otherwise the island seemed devoid of growing timber. Ahead lay a rounded hill, towering about two hundred feet above the general level of the plateau, while to the right were a number of wooden huts where the pirates lived when not required to be afloat.

There were other buildings that served as workshops. The pulsations of petrol motors, the rasp of circular saws, and the rapid beat of a pneumatic riveting-tool, clearly indicated the purpose to which these buildings were put. And Burgoyne had good reason to believe that the workmen were prisoners, since there were armed guards lolling about outside the doors.

As the Donibristle's men continued their enforced march, they passed patches of cultivated land and enclosed portions of pasture on which cattle and sheep browsed. There were men working in the fields, scantily-clad, bronzed and bearded fellows, who waved their hands to the new-comers. Some of them shouted greetings, but the distance was too far for the words to be audible.

"They're from the Alvarado and Kittiwake, I guess," remarked Phil Branscombe. "So it looks as if we shall be on the same lay before long. Did you notice they've all grown magnificent whiskers?"

"Aye," replied Burgoyne. "Couldn't help noticing that. 'Bearded like a pard' as Will Shakespeare wrote."

"And we'll be in the same boat if we're here long enough," continued Branscombe drily. "The blighters have collared our shaving-tackle. I've reason to believe my beard's red. What colour is yours, old man?"

He paused, deep in thought. Burgoyne made no reply. He, too, was thinking.

"By Jove!" continued the Fourth Officer. "I said 'we'll all be growing beards'. What about Miss Vivian? Won't that give the show away?"

"Yes," agreed Alwyn gravely. "We aren't having amateur theatricals. The false beard stunt wouldn't work. They'd twig it."

"We'll think of some wheeze, old man," rejoined Branscombe. "There's time yet, although I'm not one to shelve a proposition until it's too late."

He caressed his chin, already showing four days' growth of soft reddish down.

"An' they collared our shaving-mirrors," he continued. "Wonder what I look like now? What was the idea?"

"'Spose they thought we'd use them as heliographs," conjectured Burgoyne. "As for the razors, perhaps they've seen a nigger run amok with one. I did once. It was in New Orleans, and the fellow raised Cain till he was scuppered."

"But why safety-razors?" persisted Branscombe. Then, pointing to a fence, he changed the subject by exclaiming: "And there's home sweet home, my festive!"

The prisoners had now breasted the low ridge that, without taking into consideration the isolated hill, formed the dividing ridge of the island. Right ahead they could see the north-western part of the sea-girt base, terminated on three sides of an irregular quadri-lateral by tall cliffs. The fourth or landward side was enclosed by a lofty metal fence, made of pointed steel bars painted with the familiar "dazzle" affected by ships and fortifications during the Great War. In the fence was a large gate, on either side of which was a blockhouse on a slight artificial mound, with a pair of machine-guns so mounted as to command the whole of the enclosed space. Within the barrier was a conglomeration of huts, tents, and rough shelters, the whole forming the compound where the Malfilio's captives spent their scanty hours of rest and slumber.

Between the two blockhouses a halt was called, and the prisoners were again counted. Although no attempt was made to search any of them, they were evidently meant to be kept under strict surveillance, since the pirates had taken the precaution of counting them in spite of the fact that they had been under an armed guard during their journey across the island. That boded ill for any adventurous individual who felt tempted to escape.

Through the gateway the new arrivals were herded. Then they were told to halt and kept waiting until Strogoff appeared, riding on a motor-cycle of American manufacture and recent make. He had unbuckled his sword and lashed it to the frame, and the fact that in dismounting he had forgotten it and had got considerably mixed up with the scabbard did not improve his temper.

"Listen!" he shouted to the prisoners, who were concealing their hilarity under a wooden-faced demeanour. "In two hours you will be ready for work. Four men will be cookers – I mean, cooks. Twelve used to engines will go to the smiths-shop. The rest to the fields. The officers responsible will be for the good work and behaviour of the men. At six o'clock – not one minute in advance – you knock off and return to compound. No use to give trouble."

He pointed meaningly in the direction of the machine-guns.

"We have wounded officers and men with us," protested Burgoyne.

Black Strogoff waved his hand deprecatingly.

"The cookers – no, cooks – they can look to the sick men," he replied. "Do you not think you will have so much to eat that four men take all their time to get it ready? If you want to know more ask the Kittiwake captain. You waste time," he added meaningly. "Only one hour fifty minutes more."

The pirate lieutenant signed to two of his men to bring along the recumbent motor-cycle; then, followed by the guards, he strode to the gate, conscious of a rapidly swelling bump on both of his shins.

"Let's get a move on, lads!" exclaimed Burgoyne cheerfully. "We've got to find a place to sling our hammocks and get ourselves sorted out. We'll have to lie low for a bit until we find our feet, I'm thinking."

At first sight it seemed as if the huts were untenanted, but presently in one corner of the compound Burgoyne noticed smoke arising in a thin cloud in the still air.

"Stand easy!" he ordered. "Mr. Holmes, you might come with me and interview the people tending that fire."

As Burgoyne and the purser approached they found that the fire was burning in the centre of a roofless, three-sided canvas screen. Voices raised in heated argument could be heard above the crackling of the burning logs. The men were evidently unaware that there were new-comers to the compound.

"D'ye call that the proper way?" demanded a deep voice. "You aren't in a land of plenty, sonny, and don't you forget it."

"I've allus cut one up like this afore, sir," replied a rather subdued voice.

"Then you waste half of it," continued the first speaker with asperity. "Seeing we only get one sheep a week 'tween the lot of us, it'll have to go a jolly sight further, Sammy, or you'll be looking for another job."

Warned by a look on the face of the culprit, the deep-voiced man wheeled abruptly and saw Burgoyne and the purser standing by the open side of the screen.

"What, more of them?" he exclaimed, glancing at the marks of rank on the Third Officer's torn and dirty drill uniform. "Glad to meet you, present circumstances notwithstanding. My name's Davis, Cap'n Davis, master of the S.S. Kittiwake. What's your tally?"