The disappointment hit Mendoza heavily. So far the buccaneering business had failed dismally. The only bright spot, according to his views, was that he had rid himself of two rivals—Paquilla and Lopez. Both were dangerous in different ways. The Talca was out of the running for all time; the disrated officer of the Paloma was in Mendoza's power; he would make Lopez bitterly rue the day when he sought to usurp the command of the piratical crew.
He had also to deal with a growing sense of discontent amongst the hands. They knew that the promised guerdon of unlimited wealth had not materialized. They had worked hard, run risks, and had nothing to show as the result of the unlawful endeavour. A shortage of provisions tended to add fresh fuel to the smouldering fires of discontent. Yams and taro-roots grew on the island, but not in sufficient quantities to feed a swarm of men with healthy appetites; besides, yams and taro-roots with a somewhat bounteous supply of coco-nut formed a diet that was bound to pall unless it was varied by more staple food. There were no pigs on the island. Fish were caught, but some of those cooked and eaten proved to be of a distinctly unwholesome kind, and many of the crew were taken ill with a mild form of blood-poisoning. After that the hands drew the line at fish except those recognized as non-poisonous.
Food had to be procured. The idea of looting the island of Talai, where provisions were abundant, occurred to Mendoza, but he remembered that to his belief the whole population was infected with the germs of small-pox. Talai was tabu. Until the danger of infection was over neither the foodstuffs nor the black pearls of Talai were open to the pirate's activities.
In the circumstances Mendoza decided to replenish coal-bunkers and put to sea again, with the intention of capturing one of the comparatively slow and small vessels homeward bound from either Australia or New Zealand, with cargoes of frozen meat. One such haul would provision Boya Island for months; and with an abundance of coal the buccaneers' lair would be a secure base for further operations.
Meanwhile the crew of the Paloma tightened their belts and thought longingly of the flesh pots and olive groves of sunny Spain—their native land whence they had voluntarily banished themselves on a chimerical quest for easy-gotten gold.
CHAPTER XX. A DASH FOR FREEDOM
"I'll take jolly good care not to make another voyage in the rotten old Paloma!" exclaimed Kenneth resolutely. "Look here, Peter, old son; what's to prevent us doing a bunk and lying doggo until the yacht sails? There are dozens of secure hiding-places in the island."
"What about your Pater?" inquired his chum. "Mendoza will be as wild as anything when he finds we've given him the slip. 'Sides, if we escape from the yacht, how do we get clear of the island?"
"We might be able to release the Pater and Captain Gregory," replied Kenneth. "You see, there are only five men left to look after things ashore while the Paloma's out on a raiding expedition. Four against five isn't long odds by any means, especially as we have the element of surprise on our side. I've been observing things pretty closely since we came ashore."
"And it strikes me that the pirates are observing us pretty closely," rejoined Peter, as he prepared to resume his arduous work. "Get a move on, old thing, or they'll suspect we're up to some dodge or other."
It was the second day following Mendoza's unsuccessful attempt to retrieve the Talca's precious cargo. Replenishing the depleted coal bunkers of the buccaneering vessel was in full swing, and, as before, Kenneth and Peter had to perform more than their fair share of filling and transporting sacks of coal from the store to the pier-head.
Of Lopez they saw or heard nothing from the moment when he was unceremoniously bundled below. Of his fate they were in complete ignorance. Whether Mendoza had caused the would-be superseder to be shot, or whether he was carrying out his dark threat to wreak a terrible vengeance upon the man was a question that the chums had no means of solving.
During the long working hours, they had little opportunity for conversation. It was only when they passed and repassed each other that they took the risk of placing their burdens on the ground and exchanging a few words.
Although Kenneth kept a watchful eye upon the store-house that, judging by the presence of a triple line of barbed-wire fencing, evidently was used as a prison, he saw nothing of his parent or Captain Gregory. The prisoners never appeared at the barred windows facing the coal depot; if they were allowed out for exercise it was never during the hours in which the working-party was on the island. Except for the armed guards who constantly patrolled the now well-worn path surrounding the prison hut, there was nothing to indicate that the building contained prisoners against whose escape special precautions were taken.
Mindful of Peter's warning, Kenneth shouldered his sack of coal—he had now learnt the art of transferring it to his back with the minimum of effort—and tramped stolidly towards the beach; while his chum, laden with a number of empty coal-sacks, trudged up the hill towards the steadily diminishing but far from exhausted stack of fuel.
As Kenneth continued his way, he covertly studied the land. Instinct prompted him to make for the highest of the three peaks when the time arrived for the chums to risk a dash for freedom, or at least a brief spell of restricted liberty. Caution urged him to keep to the lower ground. There were hiding places in scores amongst those volcanic fissures. Their pursuers, presuming that the flight were discovered before the Paloma unmoored and proceeded to sea, would devote their energies to overrunning the high ground and more than likely leave that part of the island nearer the harbour out of their calculations. At any rate, he decided, it was sound reasoning.
The ideal hour for making the attempt was in the bustle that took place just before the Paloma got under way; only it seemed improbable that Mendoza would again risk a night passage through the reefs, since he was not hurrying to intercept a supposed easy prey. It seemed a forlorn hope to attempt to swim ashore in broad daylight.
At length the last sack of coal required to fill the bunkers was sent off, and the working-party was ordered to return to the ship. Peter and Kenneth made their way to the pile together, under the watchful eye of the bos'n; who, judging by his demeanour, was still anxious to get even with the English lad who had caused him to bump the back of his head upon the hard ground.
As the chums passed over the side they were greeted by Miguel Fe.
"You will keep middle watch in the stokehold," he ordered curtly.
Peter gave his chum a lugubrious glance at the information. The Paloma was about to raise steam. It looked as if the chums were to engage upon another involuntary cruise.
"Very good," replied Kenneth. "Are we sailing at once?"
The question was put so naturally that Miguel Fe was taken off his guard.
"No," he replied. "At daybreak."
After partaking of the unappetizing supper served out to the hands, the chums stole off to their sleeping quarters under a winch tarpaulin on the fo'c'sle. They made no attempt to sleep. They discussed in low tones their plan of action.
At a quarter to four the reliefs were mustered for the morning watch, the deck hands and firemen falling in separately. Kenneth and Peter took their places with the latter: half a dozen ruffianly-looking men whose sole clothing consisted of a pair of canvas trousers and rope-soled shoes.
The chief fireman read off the names, each one answering with a curt sí, and the roll having been called the watch tumbled down the vertical steel ladder leading to the hot, ill-ventilated stokehold.