By the position of the sun they realized that the Paloma was practically retracing her course for Boya. About a mile astern was another vessel—the craft that had assumed the name of Talca. Naturally the chums concluded that she was a prize, although they were puzzled to see her afloat. They expected that when the merchantman had been systematically looted she would be sent to the bottom with all hands, except those who volunteered to join the buccaneers.
Still in the dark as to the real nature of the developments, Kenneth and Peter made their way to the salt-water pump where, as best they might, they removed most of the effects of their two hours' trick in the stokehold. Then they donned the clothing they had wisely discarded before going below. As they put on their coarse and grubby shirts and jumpers, they remembered with whole-hearted regret the bountiful supply of garments they had brought with them—now lost to them for ever; and contrasted the hardships and discomforts of the fo'c'sle with the lavishly fitted state-rooms that had been at their disposal before the mutineers showed their true colours.
Then to a meal, helping themselves to the remains of the coarse fare which their boorish mess-mates had left in the stew-pan; eating under conditions that would have appalled them but for their hunger. The while the mutineers were chattering vociferously, discussing the new phase of the proceedings; but owing to their total ignorance of Spanish, the chums were unable to gather any idea of what had taken place.
There were no fresh faces amongst the crew, so the theory that recruits had been obtained from the prize was knocked on the head. Nor did there appear to be any reduction in the numbers of the buccaneers. That pointed to a bloodless capture, which was another remarkable item. It could hardly be possible for the crew of a vessel like the Talca to surrender tamely—yet not a man in the Paloma's fo'c'sle bore signs of even so much as a recent scratch.
The meal over, the chums kept out of sight of the bridge as far as possible. Quite naturally they did not want to catch the eye of Captain Mendoza and his subordinates. Had they done so, they would be given another task to perform, and already they were feeling utterly worn out. They were too dog-tired even to discuss the presence of the Talca, which was still following the Paloma at an almost unvarying interval.
Shortly after one bell in the first dog watch, a sail was reported hull down on the starboard bow. A hurried exchange of signals by semaphore between the Paloma and the Talca took place, in which Paquilla suggested that Mendoza should close and investigate the stranger, and, if deemed prudent, attack. The Talca meanwhile was to steam away, and by virtue of her superior speed, circle and come up to the stranger while the latter's attention was attracted by the Paloma.
Again the buccaneers were ordered to action stations. In the bustle and confusion Kenneth and Peter escaped notice, and, having no wish to be sent to the stokehold again, they took refuge in the lamp-room—a compartment under the bridge, from which they had a fairly extensive range of vision through the scuttles.
The Paloma "made her number"—a purely fictitious one. The stranger replied, announcing that she was the Dutch S.S. Het Volk, of and from Batavia, and bound for Rotterdam via the Panama Canal.
"Be careful," cautioned Miguel Fe, addressing Mendoza. "She may have Dutch troops on board. They often send small detachments home from Batavia in craft of this description. In any case these Dutchmen fight like dogs at bay."
"If she has soldiers on board, she'll be bound to have a doctor," rejoined Mendoza.
"We will quickly find that out. Signalman! Make a signal requesting medical assistance!"
The flags WP, meaning "Will your doctor come on board?" were hoisted; to which the Het Volk replied with WM—"No doctor available".
Having gained one useful piece of information, Mendoza signalled to know whether the Het Volk could take off an injured passenger. To this the Dutchman replied that she had no accommodation for passengers.
By this time the two vessels were only half a mile apart, and if their respective courses were maintained, they would pass, port to port, within a quarter of a mile of each other. The Talca was now hull down and commencing to turn in order to come up under the Dutchman's starboard quarter.
Raising his whistle, Mendoza gave a long shrill blast. Up to the Paloma's foremast rose the signal letters ID—"Heave to; or I will fire into you". Simultaneously the screens concealing the quick-firer were dropped, and the powerful weapon trained upon the Het Volk's bridge.
It took the stolid Dutch skipper a considerable time to grasp the significance of the peremptory command. After the manner of his countrymen he was slow to act, but when he did act, he did so with a set and grim purpose.
Thrusting his helm hard-a-port he steered the ponderous Het Volk straight for the Paloma with the intention of ramming her amidships. Manœuvre and counter-manœuvre could be likened to a huge Frisian bull charging a first-class toreador.
Round swung the Paloma, her relatively small turning circle enabling her to avoid the Het Volk with half a cable's length to spare. The quick-firer barked viciously, sending a shell at point-blank range into the Dutchman's upperworks. Chart-house, wheel-house, and the greater part of the bridge vanished in a cloud of acrid-smelling smoke, from which fragments of charred woodwork were hurled in all directions. With the bridge went the gallant Dutch skipper, the quartermaster and two of the hands. Others of the crew were wounded by slivers of metal from the bursting projectile.
The gun's crew saw red. Shell after shell they planted in the Het Volk's upperworks, shattering boats, ventilators, deck-houses, derricks, and other top-hamper, and riddling the funnel like a sieve. Regardless of Mendoza's frenzied orders to cease fire they continued to work the gun until the upperworks of the Dutchman were blazing furiously.
The Het Volk lost way and came to a standstill, broadside on to the wind. Either one of the surviving deck officers had given an order for the engines to be stopped, or else the demolition of the bridge had resulted in the engine-room telegraph indicator being set to "stop".
"Away boats!" ordered Mendoza. "Look lively and bring off everything of value before she's burnt out. Dios! She must be a rich prize or they would have surrendered at once."
With Miguel Fe as boarding officer, about twenty buccaneers all armed to the teeth went away in the boats and headed for the victim. Even then, although not one of the Dutchmen possessed a firearm, the crew of the Het Volk put up a desperate resistance. Fire-men, no longer required in the stokehold, joined in the defence, hurling firebars and scraps of iron at the boarding-party, while the deck-hands, wielding capstan-bars, boat stretchers, and other improvised weapons, prepared to give a warm reception to the first Spaniard who came within reach.
Thrice under the cover of a volley of revolver shots the buccaneers attempted to gain the side of the Het Volk. Each time they were repulsed, for after the first onslaught the hot-blooded Spaniards learnt to respect their stolid opponents, and pressed the attack with less impetuosity. Even the presumption that the Dutchman carried a valuable cargo ceased to be an attraction when the boarding-party realized that in the attainment of Mendoza's plans they might not be left alive to participate in the distribution.