The boat backed away, most of the buccaneers bearing marks of the encounter, Miguel Fe losing interest in the business owing to a painful and permanent parting from four of his front teeth.
The moment the attackers sheered-off the Dutchmen promptly took cover, the steel bulwarks of the Het Volk being proof against either rifle or revolver bullets. Yet sooner or later they would be compelled to give in or else perish in the steadily increasing flames.
Watching from the bridge the discomfiture of his men, the pirate captain almost cried with rage and mortification. But for the belief that the Dutchman was a highly valuable prize he would have sunk her by gunfire. He dared not run the Paloma alongside and board by reason of the fire that was consuming the Het Volk's upperworks. Her wireless had been amongst the first things to be knocked away, but there was always the possibility of other vessels, attracted by the cloud of smoke, hurrying to the spot to render aid. And if one of those succouring vessels happened to be a warship—. Mendoza heartily cursed the Dutchman and his unsuccessful boarding-party with the utmost impartiality.
He dared not steam off and leave the Het Volk afloat. He must sink without a trace, acting on the principles adopted by the Huns in their submarine warfare. The Pacific was not the Atlantic in the vicinity of the British Isles. A ship could be utterly destroyed without the risk of the cowardly act being witnessed by aircraft or swift coastal motor-boats. Still he hesitated, his decision influenced by the prospect of lucrative booty even from a fiercely burning ship.
Mendoza's outburst of rage was in full blast when the Talca came pelting up at full speed. Her appearance was hailed with joy by the surviving Dutchmen, who imagined her to be a haven of refuge from the assaults of the buccaneers, especially as the Paloma began to steam away. They crowded to the bulwarks cheering and waving to their supposed rescuers, until half a dozen machine-guns sprayed death and wounds amongst the hapless men.
The surviving Dutchmen, with the exception of three too badly wounded to move, rushed below, where they prepared to sell their lives dearly.
"Help yourself to what is left!" semaphored Paquilla to his partner in piracy.
This time Mendoza went off in the boats, leaving Lopez in charge of the Paloma, since Miguel Fe was still too dazed to undertake any responsibilities.
Gaining the well-deck, Mendoza surveyed the scene. Amongst the wounded was a junior officer, whose legs had been riddled with bullets, as he stood on the bulwarks in order to signal to the supposed friend in need.
"Do you speak Spanish?" demanded the buccaneer.
The Dutch officer maintained silence.
"English? Do you speak English?"
Still no reply.
"French, then? Young man, you are obstinate. Let me see if this will make you open your mouth."
He levelled his automatic at the wounded officer's head. The Dutchman never flinched, although he was suffering acutely from his wounds.
"No matter," continued Mendoza, lowering the weapon. "It would be too easy a death for a mule-headed fellow like you. Wait till the flames devour you."
This possibility had a chastening effect upon the wounded man.
"I speak Spanish and five other languages," he announced. "What do you want to know?"
"Where are the ship's papers?" demanded Mendoza.
"They went when the bridge and captain's cabin were demolished."
"What cargo have you?"
"Jute."
"And what else?"
"Nothing. All our holds are packed with jute."
Mendoza uttered a furious oath. Jute! What was the use of jute to him? It was a valuable cargo, but even if he was able to break bulk and remove most of it from the Het Volk's holds it would be labour wasted. It would be practically impossible to dispose of the stuff without risk of almost certain detection.
"Take anything of value, men!" he ordered. "All the food you can find. Be sharp! The fire's gaining rapidly."
Already the hatches were closed and battened down upon the luckless Dutchmen who had survived the Talca's machine-gunfire. Braving the smoke the buccaneers ransacked the after cabins and the spirit and provision rooms. Beyond a fair quantity of food there was little of value to reward their efforts.
"A good haul, I hope?" inquired Paquilla, who had just come over the side.
"A good haul!" repeated Mendoza wrathfully. "She carries nothing but jute. I'll be hanged if I touch a Dutch craft again. If they resist like this over a cargo of jute what will they fight like if they carry a rich cargo?"
Paquilla shrugged his shoulders.
"Fortunately there are few Dutchmen in these waters," he observed. "You've burnt your fingers, amigo Mendoza, and I have burnt much coal in standing by and finishing off the business for you. I'll have to sample some of the German coal at Boya. After that we'll cruise in company, starting from the island with empty holds and returning thither with bulging hatches. Let us be going, unless you wish to roast in a Dutch oven."
Mendoza recalled his men, and the buccaneers lowered themselves into the boats and returned to their respective vessels. By the time the boats were hoisted up and swung in, the Het Volk was a mass of flames from stem to stern.
The captain of the Paloma took no chances over the blazing vessel. He gave an order. The quick-firer was again manned, and a number of shells were plastered amidships and on the water-line of the doomed craft. Five minutes later she plunged to the bottom, leaving a pall of smoke trailing miles to lee'ard of the spot where she had disappeared.
CHAPTER XVIII. LURED TO HER DOOM
The two pirate craft made the outer reefs of Boya without sighting any other vessel. Mendoza's chief anxiety was not the doubt of his ability to find his way through the intricate channel, but the question whether the Talca had sufficient coal to enable her to make the lagoon under her own steam.
He was loth to have to tow Paquilla's vessel. That would seriously interfere with his sinister plans, for already Mendoza had determined that the Talca would never drop anchor at his secret base.
The run had been decidedly disappointing and unprofitable. First the fiasco over the Talca, and then that of the Het Volk. He blamed Paquilla for the whole business. Paquilla had lured him out under false pretences: Paquilla would have to foot the bill. He, Mendoza, did not want to act in concert with another piratical craft; still more was he reluctant to play second fiddle to the captain of the Talca. And the dominating factor of Mendoza's schemes was the knowledge that the Talca was chock-a-block with rich booty.
Mendoza had no scruples over the dastardly, treacherous plan. He had not the faintest doubt that Paquilla would not hesitate to despoil the Paloma if she carried a considerable quantity of loot and the Talca had none.
It was a fine, windless afternoon when the two vessels approached the outer fringe of reefs. Although the sea broke heavily over these, there was hardly any disturbed water in the inner channel. Consequently Mendoza realized that if his plan were to be successful he would have to act before the Talca was fairly within the outer barrier.
According to a previous arrangement, the Paloma was to precede the Talca by half a cable's length, the former signalling to the latter when a change of course became necessary.