Mendoza could not restrain a gasp of astonishment at the appearance of the captain of the pearler. He was a giant in stature, being at least six feet four inches and with a girth in proportion to his height. He wore a yachting-cap, with a spotlessly white cap-cover, perched with a slight rake upon his flaxen-coloured hair. His eyes were of a light blue that contrasted vividly with his brick-red complexion. He sported a heavy moustache and pointed beard of a tawny yellow hue. His white duck uniform fitted him so precisely that his general sartorial appearance was that of the captain of a racing-yacht rather than that of a pearler. Shorn of his uniform he would have been an artist's ideal of a Viking.
The captain of the schooner stalked aft, bent the ensign to the peak-halliards and sent it aloft, where it hung listlessly in the still air.
"What flag is that?" demanded Mendoza, turning to Miguel Fe.
"Tonga, I think," replied the second in command. "Or, perhaps—yes it is Tonga."
"He's a long way from his home port, then," commented Mendoza. Then he waited until the Paloma, gradually losing way, crept within hailing distance of the schooner.
"Ahoy! What ship is that?" hailed Mendoza in broken English.
"Svend of Tonga," was the reply.
"What cargo?"
"Yams and copra. We have had bad luck with the pearl fishery."
"Are you sure you are not the Tolima?" shouted Mendoza. "We are on the look out for her and your description seems to tally. We are the Peruvian Government fisheries protection vessel. Bring your papers on board."
"This is a British registered ship and I am a Danish subject," protested the skipper of the schooner. "Why should I show my papers?"
"Merely to prove that you are not what I think you are," replied Mendoza in a conciliatory tone. "We have the right of search."
The Dane made no audible reply, but the Kanakas quickly hoisted out a dory. Into her dropped a couple of hands followed by the skipper with the ship's papers.
Already the Paloma's accommodation ladder had been lowered, and as soon as the dory ranged alongside Mendoza made a pretence of descending the bridge to greet his involuntary visitor.
The accommodation ladder creaked and groaned under the weight of the ponderous Dane. All unsuspecting he gained the deck, took three paces forward, smiling tolerantly at the idea that he had been mistaken for a maritime poacher.
At a signal from the Spanish captain, one of the hands standing behind the Dane dealt him a violent blow across the top of his head with a short length of armoured hose. The blow would have been sufficient to stun any ordinary man, and probably would have crushed a thin skull like an egg-shell.
Taken entirely by surprise the captain of the Svend staggered, recovered himself and swung round like an infuriated lion. Before the Spaniard could repeat the blow the Dane had him by the throat. The fellow's eyes started from their sockets. He went black and blue in the face. Still the Dane maintained his remorseless, avenging grip, while others of the mutineers, rushing to their comrade's aid, rained blows upon the giant's unprotected head.
In the end numbers told. The Dane, with the fingers of his muscular hands still maintaining a bull-dog hold, toppled inert and senseless to the deck. With difficulty his original assailant was released, but it was too late. His spinal cord had been broken under the terrible strength of the Dane's grip.
"Never mind about Pedro," shouted Mendoza to the horrified mutineers, "lash the big man up securely before he recovers his senses, and then pass him below. You, Lopez, get the handcuffs and post a sentry outside the cabin."
"What made you do that, Señor Mendoza?" inquired Miguel Fe. "Surely we have enough on our hands already without saddling ourselves with a powerful man like that. He'll give no end of trouble, mark my words."
"Will he?" retorted the mutineer captain sneeringly. "You'll see. Dios! We want an experienced pearler, and these Kanakas will serve us well. Order those two men in the boat alongside to come on board. Tell them they won't be harmed if they obey orders."
"And the boat?"
Mendoza gave a careless glance over the side. The boat was a serviceable one, but the Paloma was well equipped in that respect. A boat, he argued, was evidence, and in that case undesirable.
"Sink her," he replied curtly.
Meanwhile the Svend was still becalmed at a distance of roughly a cable's length off. Her crew could see nothing of what had occurred, although it was certain that they must have heard the noise of the unequal struggle. Yet they showed no signs of either apprehension or curiosity, merely gazing apathetically at the relatively enormous hull of the Paloma.
"Hurry, there!" shouted Mendoza, noting the reluctance on the part of his subordinate to execute the order.
"It is a good boat," expostulated Miguel Fe. "We could dispose of her for many pesetas to a passing vessel."
"That we could!" agreed several of the crew within earshot. Although they valued human life lightly they were strongly averse to destroying an article that might bring even a small amount to add to their individual profit.
For twenty seconds Mendoza hesitated—and was lost. He lacked the courage and determination to enforce his command because the objectors were many. In the case of the Spaniard whom he had so wantonly shot down, he knew that the fellow was unpopular with his companions and that the risk of his drastic action was slight. To attempt to force his men over the simple matter of a boat was a different matter.
"Hoist her inboard, then," he countermanded, "and stow her away out of sight."
As soon as this was done Mendoza rang down for half speed ahead, and directed the quartermaster to lay her alongside the Svend.
It was not until the mutineers, armed to the teeth, leapt from the Paloma's rail upon the deck of the pearler that the Kanakas bestirred themselves, by taking to their heels and disappearing below. Thereupon Miguel Fe, addressing them, explained the situation according to his lights, adding that the Danish captain had entered into partnership with the supposed Peruvian officers, and that the crew of the Svend were to tranship to the Paloma.
The harangue, delivered in broken English, was not understood by the majority of the pidgin-English-speaking Kanakas, and until the situation was still further explained and enlarged upon by the schooner's bo'sun—a hulking brown-skinned Polynesian only a few inches shorter than his skipper—pandemonium reigned below decks.
Finally the Kanakas emerged, looking considerably scared and clambered on board the Paloma.
The cargo was then overrun. A quantity of yams—or sweet potatoes—was taken on board the mutineer, but copra, being of little use, was left alone. The Danish captain's cabin was ransacked and everything of value removed. Then a couple of hands went below and started some of the Svend's planks, returning to the Paloma with the information that the water was pouring in like a mountain torrent.
"Cast off!" ordered Mendoza, at the same time telegraphing for easy ahead.
The yacht gathered way, leaving the sinking schooner wallowing drunkenly in her frothing wake. In less than ten minutes from the time of starting the leak, the Svend kicked up her heels and slithered, amidst a smother of foam, to her last resting-place on the bed of the Pacific.
CHAPTER VIII. THE ARRIVAL AT TALAI
Owing to the change of helm Kenneth and Peter had been unseen spectators of the outrage to the inoffensive pearling schooner. They could do nothing. Even if they had hailed the Danish captain through the scuttle no good purpose would have been served. True, they might have placed him on his guard, but that would only have protracted his resistance with the worst results to himself.