The Third Officer: A Present-day Pirate Story

"Perhaps," thought Alwyn, as he turned away, "perhaps it was as well that Miss Vivian did go below. There are limits even to the endurance of human nature."

The voice of the pirate lieutenant bawling out orders in broken English attracted Burgoyne's attention. A signal had just been received from the Malfilio countermanding the previous order, and instructing Henriques to send the prisoners below and get under way. So the boats were swung in again and secured.

By the time that this work was completed, and before the British deck-hands and officers could be sent below, a faint buzzing that momentarily increased caused all hands to look skywards. Approaching the Malfilio at a high speed was a small seaplane. At first Burgoyne and many of his comrades thought that it was a naval scout, and that deliverance was at hand; but the fact that no hostile demonstration was made on the pirate cruiser quickly banished this hope.

The seaplane was winding in a wireless aerial as she circled round the Malfilio. Without the slightest doubt it was by this means that the Malfilio had been placed in touch with her prey. The fuselage was dumpy and the monoplane spare and small, and by the corrugations of the wings Burgoyne rightly concluded that they were of metal. She was of an earlier type with a single motor of comparatively low power – but quite sufficient to enable her to be a valuable adjunct to the pirate cruiser.

The "winding-in" completed, the seaplane alighted on the surface and "taxi-ed" alongside the Malfilio. A derrick swung outwards from the cruiser, and a steel wire rope was deftly shackled to the eyebolt of a "gravity band" round the fuselage. Even as the machine rose from the water, dangling at the end of a wire rope, her wings swung back and folded themselves against the body, and in this compact form the aerial scout vanished from sight behind the Malfilio's superstructure.

This much Burgoyne saw before he was compelled to follow the remaining officers and deck-hands, including the Cockney who had been told to stand by the whistle lanyard, and who, during the operation of swinging in the boats, had seen his officer's signal for recall.

Once 'tween decks, the men were herded for'ard and locked up in the forepeak, an armed pirate being stationed on the hatchway. The remnant of officers and the passengers were ordered aft, and secured in the steerage, where they found Captain Blair, Mostyn, and the other wounded. There were four cabins at their disposal, the whole separated from the rest of the ship by a transverse bulkhead in which was a single sliding door. Outside this a sentry was posted, while, as an additional precaution, that for some reason was not taken in the case of the men, four villainous-looking Orientals, armed to the teeth, were stationed with the prisoners. The dead-lights were screwed into the scuttles, and the captives warned that any attempt at tampering with them would be punishable with death; and, since the electric light had failed, the steerage was dimly illuminated by half a dozen oil-lamps.

The door had not been locked more than a couple of minutes before the prisoners heard the thresh of the twin propellers. The S.S. Donibristle under her new masters was steaming ahead, under greatly reduced speed, in the wake of the pirate cruiser Malfilio– but whither?

The reaction of the excitement and peril of the last few hours now set in, and a state of lethargy took possession of most of the prisoners. The hot, confined, ill-ventilated space, the reek of iodoform pervading everything, and a sheer hunger and fatigue all combined to suppress any desire for conversation. For some hours the silence was broken only by the moans of the wounded and the clank of the freshwater pump, as the parched men quenched their burning thirst with frequent and copious draughts, while constantly their Chinese guards, with their expressionless yellow faces and slanting eyes, paced to and fro, like sinister demons from another world.

Hour after hour passed. Darkness succeeded daylight. At intervals the guards were changed, and at about nine o'clock a negro brought in a small sack of ship's biscuits.

About midnight Miles attempted to start a conversation by grumbling to Tarrant about the bad methods of the Mercantile Marine, and the British Columbian and Chinese Line in particular, in allowing ships to leave port in a defenceless condition. Tarrant promptly "shut him up", amidst a murmur of applause from the men in the vicinity, for the drummer's anxiety for his own safety, and disregard of the plight of his companions, had not failed to be noticed.

"That's the way to deal with him, Mr. Tarrant," remarked Alwyn. "We've quite enough to put up with without having to listen to the yapping and whining of a spiritless fellow like that."

"Yes, it's deucedly unfortunate," said Tarrant, "but so far we haven't been badly treated."

"No," agreed Burgoyne, "we haven't. They've spared our lives, although that rather puzzles me. One would have thought that, being pirates, they would emulate the Hun and do the 'spurlos versenkt' stunt. Piracy is a hanging matter, and having gone thus far it's a wonder they didn't go the whole hog. However, they haven't and I don't think they will now."

"I always thought that there was no such thing as piracy nowadays," remarked the purser, "at least only in a small way in the China seas."

"Then you'll have to revise your ideas, Holmes," rejoined Burgoyne. "It came as a shock to all of us. One of the aftermaths of the Great War, I suppose, and the very audacity of it brings temporary – let us hope – success. This game can't last long. Once the world gets wind of it there'll be British, Yankee, and Jap light cruisers and destroyers on the Malfilio's heels, and she'll be rounded up in double quick time."

"I wonder where they are taking us," said Tarrant.

"That I can't say," replied Alwyn. "But, if it's any information to you, I can inform you that we've been steaming roughly nor'west for the last six hours."

"How do you know that?" inquired Branscombe in astonishment. "Here we are cooped up without a chance of seeing a single star, and yet – "

"I've a compass, laddie," replied Burgoyne. "A liquid pocket compass, and I mean to stick to it as long as I jolly well can. Naturally, in playing a billiard handicap, a fellow…"

He continued discoursing upon the irrelevant subject of billiards for more than a minute, his companions expressing no surprise at the sudden change of topic. It was not until the Chinese sentry had passed and was out of earshot, that the former theme was resumed.

"That chap might understand English," observed Burgoyne. "Well, I can also tell you this; if we hold on our course sufficiently long, we'll fetch up on one of the Aleutian Islands, or else on the coast of Kamtchatka."

"Give me something a little warmer," protested Tarrant. "There's nothing like getting used – "

A voice, hoarse, masterful, and at the same time, slightly incoherent, interrupted the conclave. Captain Blair was recovering consciousness and making a considerable song about it.

"Mr. Angus," he shouted, "can't you whack her up a bit more? Three knots if you burst. The cowardly skunks – women on board, and the villains are shelling us. Mr. Angus, are you there?"

In a trice Burgoyne was by the Old Man's side, fearful lest he should divulge the fact to the pirate that there had been more than one woman on board.

"It's all right, sir," he said soothingly. "We've got the heels of them."

"Eh?" exclaimed the skipper. "Who's that?"

"Burgoyne, sir."

"And we've given 'em the slip, eh? Yes, the firing's stopped right enough. Where am I?"

"In good hands," replied Alwyn. "You've been knocked about a bit, but Holmes and the steward have patched you up all right."

"Yes, I remember," rejoined Captain Blair. "I told you to carry on, and everything's O.K.?"

Reassured on that point, the Old Man gave a long sigh, closed his eyes, and sank into a sound slumber.

Towards morning Burgoyne noticed, by consulting his compass, that the Donibristle had altered her course and was steering due west.

"Kamtchatka's off," he announced, as Tarrant appeared munching a biscuit. "They've altered course four points to the west'ard."

"And that means?" asked the Consular Service man. "That we make Japan if we carry on as we are going," replied Alwyn.

"H'm; s' long as they land me within easy distance of my destination I welcome the alteration," observed Tarrant. "But perhaps they're making for a coral island or something of that sort. Are there any hereabouts?"

"Evidently they mean to give Hawaii a wide berth," said Burgoyne. "After that there are only a few small islands – the Ocean Islands they're called. I've never been there, because they lie to the nor'ard of our regular track and a good way south of the Yokohama-San Francisco route."

"Uninhabited?"

Burgoyne shook his head.

"I've told you all I know," he asserted. "It isn't much. But we'll find out in due course, I expect."

Shortly afterwards the bulkhead door was unlocked, and Withers was unceremoniously shown in.

"What's for brekker?" he asked. "I'm ravenous."

"Ship's biscuit and lukewarm water, old son," replied Branscombe. "What are you doing here?"

"The blighters are letting us work watch and watch," said the Second Engineer, voraciously biting off chunks of the tough biscuit. "I've had my stand-easy, and they sent me aft to get some grub before I'm on again. Angus will be here in another quarter of an hour."

"And the men?" asked Burgoyne "How are they standing it?"

"Fine, everything considered," replied Withers "Even though they are being fed on rice as if they were Chinks." He glanced at the Chinese guards. They were bunched together close to the bulkhead door, resuming an interrupted game of cards. "And Miss Vivian is just splendid," he continued lowering his voice. "We rigged her up a sort of caboose under one of the intake ventilators. She told Angus that she'd slept well, but she couldn't tackle rice and cold water, so I'm going to fill my pockets with biscuits for her. No objections, I hope?"

"Do the pirates worry you much?" asked Branscombe.

"Directly – no; indirectly – yes," was the reply. "They don't post guards in the engine-room, which is a blessing; but they are continually calling for more revolutions. Perhaps they imagine we're a South American republic – how's that for a joke, Branscombe?"

"Feeble," was the reply, "but get on with it."

"There's nothing much to get on with," continued the Second Engineer. "There was a talk of tinkering with the high-pressure slide-valves and stopping the engines, only Angus said that, if the Donibristle did break down, the cruiser would doubtless remove the prize crew and send her to the bottom – and us as well. So that didn't come off. But, I say, who's eating chocolate?"

"No one," replied Alwyn.

"You're wrong, old son," he replied presently, "or perhaps I ought to say 'Mr. Burgoyne' now? Fact remains, I smell chocolate. The air's stiff with it."

"Hanged if I can whiff it," exclaimed Alwyn. "Iodoform, yes, but not chocolate."

For answer the Second Engineer grasped Burgoyne's arm and led him across the compartment. With a sense of smell almost as acute as that of a dog, he led Alwyn to a dark corner formed by the angle of one of the cabin bulkheads with the ship's side. There, seated on an upturned bucket, was Miles – and there was no doubt now as to the reek of chocolate. Filled with indignation at the gross selfishness of the drummer, Burgoyne held out his hand.

"I'll trouble you to hand over what's left," he said curtly.

But Miles was not going to surrender his spoils without protest.

"Say, what for?" he asked. "If I took the precaution to lay in a stock, that is my affair."

Burgoyne with difficulty restrained his temper.

"At once," he exclaimed sternly. Having been trained from his early youth to manage men, he was not going to stand any nonsense from a coward.

The passenger gasped but complied. Burgoyne found himself possessed of a slab of chocolate weighing nearly a pound. The wretched fellow, taking advantage of the fact that during the chase the steward's pantry was unattended, had taken and concealed the toothsome stuff.

"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.