"The island is named Boya, Señor Capitán."
"Then," declared Mendoza, striking an attitude, "behold us—the Buccaneers of Boya!"
The hands—or rather those who were not kept to their hammocks by reason of their wounds, received in the encounter with the natives of Talai—were thereupon mustered on deck. Mendoza, supported by Miguel Fe and Lopez, harangued them, outlining in rosy terms a scheme whereby they could enrich themselves and have plenty of adventure until the unavoidable delay in the search for the black pearl beds became a thing of the past.
The mutineers hailed the proposal with acclamation and gestures of assent. Given a guarantee that Mendoza would attempt no piratical act against a vessel likely to turn the tables on them, they were only too keen to try their hand at buccaneering. The audacity of the business was a factor in its favour. They were determined and unscrupulous ruffians who would knife a man through sheer wantonness, or make him walk the plank just to afford themselves a little amusement. Provided their sinister, cowardly work was performed in a neat and effectual manner, and care was taken completely to cover their tracks, they could raise Cain in the Pacific for a couple of months, and then disappear from the High Seas before suspicion was aroused on the part of the maritime powers on account of ships failing to reach their destined ports.
As soon as the muster was dismissed, steps were taken to put the first part of Lopez's plan into execution. This time no protests came from the mutineers against the disposal of the dory. The boat was man-handled from 'tween decks and placed on the starboard side ready to be hoisted out. Two of the hands, clad in loose garments saturated with strong disinfectants—their appearance resembling that of the "familiars" of the Holy Inquisition—brought the corpse of José Nundico from below, and dumped it into the boat with more caution than ceremony.
The wounded native was then told by means of signs that he was at liberty to go ashore. His idea of how to do so differed vastly from Mendoza and Co.'s plans; for in spite of his badly injured leg he made preparations to dive overboard and swim to the beach.
"That will not do!" exclaimed Lopez. "Pass a chain round the savage's sound ankle and shackle it to the thwart."
The native submitted to the treatment without protest. Outwardly his features were calm and expressionless. Apparently he had not the slightest notion of the risk he was running by being in almost actual contact with the dory's gruesome cargo.
As soon as the boat was afloat the painter was cast off, and the native told to make for the island. Using one of the oars as a paddle, he made good progress against the light off-shore breeze until the dory was about a hundred yards from the yacht. Then, without any apparent effort he slipped his foot from the securing chain and dived into the water. The dory, with the corpse of José Nundico rolling sluggishly with every movement of the boat, began to drift seawards.
"Let us hope the savage will carry the infection," quoth Lopez.
"The salt water will act as an antidote," declared Miguel Fe, who never lost an opportunity to be-little his immediate subordinate's remarks. "What say you, Capitán Mendoza?"
Mendoza shrugged his shoulders, strode to the foreside of the bridge and shouted for steam to be brought to the capstan.
Ten minutes later the stockless anchor, its flukes glistening with particles of pulverized coral, was weighed and secured. The Paloma, gathering way, glided through the gap in the reef and settled on her course for the island of Boya.
CHAPTER XIII. THE REEFS OF BOYA
"Do you think they've chucked the idea of finding the pearls?" asked Peter.
Kenneth shook his head.
"Can't say, old son," he replied. "These dagoes are too deep for me. You never know what infernal schemes they have up their sleeves, so to speak. I don't suppose they are taking the Paloma out for a joy-ride and are putting back to Talai to-night. Perhaps Mendoza's got the wind up over that scrap ashore. It put the wind up me, too, you take my word for it! I thought I was done for when the natives started to rush the boats."
"And the sight made me feel a bit queer," admitted Peter. "Of course, I wouldn't have worried the faintest little bit if all the mob of mutineers had been done in, but for the fact that you were there. In fact I was jolly glad when old Miguel Fe gave orders for the gun to open fire, even though it meant death to dozens of the islanders. It saved the situation—and you."
The chums were yarning on the fo'c'sle. Two hours had elapsed from the time the Paloma weighed anchor, and they were still ignorant of her destination. One thing, however, was clear enough. They were being treated with scant consideration. The sort of pact between Mr. Heatherington and Mendoza was evidently dissolved, for the former was kept under lock and key in one of the cabins, and the two chums were not allowed to rejoin him.
"You will work, see?" exclaimed Mendoza, addressing the lads in broken English. "You will take your turn at performing whatever duties you are called upon to do. If you refuse—then no food."
"Unfortunately we aren't cut out for hunger-strikers," remarked Kenneth to his chum. "Mendoza's got us cold on that stunt."
"Strikes me the blighter's got to wind'ard of us," observed Peter moodily, after the mutineer captain had delivered his ultimatum. "If your Pater kicks, Mendoza takes it out of us. If we kick he docks our grub. What's to be done?"
"Knuckle under and don't give trouble," counselled Kenneth. "We must wait our opportunity: it will come, sure enough. When it does then we must seize it with both hands."
"I'd rather seize that oily swab," muttered Peter wrathfully.
"Same thing," rejoined Kenneth.
"What's that fellow doing?" inquired Peter, pointing to one of the crew, who was ascending the bridge-ladder with four lifebuoys under his arm.
The sailor took his burden to his skipper. Mendoza bent over the buoys. The canvas screen prevented the lads from seeing what he was doing, but they guessed—and guessed rightly—that he was writing something on the buoys.
At intervals he handed one of the lifebuoys to the seaman who promptly heaved it overboard. When the four were thus disposed of a party of men swung out one of the whalers, which had had her gunwale badly damaged during the fight on the beach. The boat was then lowered bows foremost, so that she promptly filled. She was then cut adrift and was left rolling sluggishly in the Paloma's wake, and kept from sinking only by her copper air-tanks.
The yacht herself was then subjected to drastic alterations. Her name was painted out, and a fictitious one substituted. Her whole upperworks were painted a dull grey, her buff funnel became red with a black top. Her topmasts were struck and secured to the lowermasts, so that the whole resembled a pair of stumpy masts with the characteristic derrick of a tramp steamer. Finally the hull was partly covered with squares of red-lead to give the impression that the ship had left port hurriedly before she could be properly painted.
It was Mendoza's idea of covering his tracks. The lifebuoys and the whaler all bore the name "Paloma—Barcelona". In due course some of them might be sighted by a passing vessel and duly reported. What the inference would be, he knew—the Paloma would be posted as overdue and missing.
The task of transforming the yacht was hardly completed when land was sighted dead ahead—a single, uninviting, cone-shaped peak rising above the horizon. As the Paloma closed with the island its aspect became more and more forbidding. North-east and sou'-west of the highest peak rose others of a subsidiary nature, each being about four hundred feet high, or two hundred less than that of the culminating point. Except on the lower slopes and fringing the water's edge the island was destitute of verdure. The hills were undoubtedly of volcanic agency and of no remote date, judging by the size of the few coco-palms in evidence. At distances varying from one to three miles jagged reefs—partly volcanic, partly of coral—showed like sharks' teeth, just above the surface, their seaward fringes thrashed by the ceaseless surf of the Pacific rollers. Viewed from the offing there appeared to be no clear entrance whatsoever, the milk-white foam extending in an unbroken line between the extreme visible points of the shoals.