The bare thwarts grew so hot as to be almost unbearable to the touch. The paintwork, already worn by usage and neglect, blistered in the heat, the reek of the oil combining, with decidedly unpleasant results, with the smell of the stagnant salt water in the bilges.
After three hours of this torment the wind piped up, continuing to blow steadily until sunset, when it again fell to a flat calm until dawn. In these conditions progress was tediously slow, and it was not until about nine in the morning of the fourth day that the welcome cry of "land on the port bow" roused the remaining sparks of the chums' waning enthusiasm.
Two hours later the boat approached the island sufficiently to enable Captain Gregory to affirm that it was not Talai, but one of the outermost of the group.
"Our destination is twenty miles to the west'ard," he declared. "Dead to wind'ard too. Down canvas, lads! Out oars! Bless me, in this light breeze, twenty miles is nothing under oars. We'll make Talai in a matter of four hours."
At last the island of their endeavours and hopes appeared above the horizon. Their discomforts forgotten, the chums pulled lustily at the oars, each being relieved in turn by Mr. Heatherington. Nevertheless, it was late in the afternoon before the entrance to the lagoon could be discerned in the otherwise unbroken line of surf that thundered unceasingly upon the reef.
Making for the lagoon was a small dug-out canoe, with an outrigger and manned by a couple of dusky natives.
"So that rascal Lopez hasn't succeeded in killing off all the inhabitants," observed Kenneth. "Those chaps look healthy enough!"
He waved a greeting to the natives. No friendly gesture was received in reply; but with every appearance of frantic haste the two islanders plied their paddles and steadily increased the distance between the boats.
"I expect they've got the wind up or something," remarked Captain Gregory. "I wonder why? They surely can't take us for blackbirders."
It was an easy passage through the gap in the reefs, and presently the boat entered the tranquil waters of the lagoon. Viewed from seaward the prospect was alluring. A greater contrast to the inhospitable cliffs of Boya could hardly be imagined. The luxuriant foliage, the dazzling white sands, the limpid blue water, as clear as a sheet of glass, all tended to present a picture of perfect tranquillity.
The only living creatures to be seen were the two natives, who, having beached their catamaran, were stolidly watching the approach of the slower craft. Presently they disappeared into the cover afforded by the thick undergrowth, leaving the canoe with half a dozen others high and dry above high-water mark.
"There's one village just behind that bluff," said Mr. Heatherington, pointing to a palm-topped crag about a mile to the nor'ard of the entrance to the lagoon. "The other is almost in the centre of the island. The question is: where shall we land? Here, opposite the path leading to the principal village, or farther along abreast of the waterside one?"
"I suppose the natives will be all right?" remarked Kenneth, mindful of the attack upon the Paloma's boats when Mendoza attempted to land.
"Quiet as turtle-doves," declared his father. "Naturally, if they are rubbed up the wrong way they'll kick. It's a wonder to me why the whole village hasn't shown up on the beach to give us a welcome."
"P'raps the smallpox has played havoc with them," suggested Peter.
"Stroke ahead, lads!" exclaimed Captain Gregory. "It's no use hanging on to the slack."
The boat glided gently towards the beach.
"Way 'nough," ordered the skipper, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the slanting rays of the sun.
Suddenly the silence of the apparently deserted island was broken by the roar of a hundred voices. From the scrub appeared swarms of dark-brown natives, brandishing spears and clubs, and yelling their loudest.
For a few moments the little band were too taken aback to grasp the situation. The cries might be shouts of welcome, although they did not sound as such. Then a volley of stones settled all doubts on that score. The water was churned by the missiles, most of which fell short.
"Back her out!" shouted Gregory, at the same time grasping an oar to assist in the task.
It was no easy matter to check the boat's way and go astern. Already the lithe and muscular natives, abandoning their stone-throwing, were charging down the beach.
Raising a revolver, Gregory fired the contents above the heads of the mob. The natives hesitated. They already had good cause to respect the weapons of the white man. Then, finding that the shots had done no harm—and it was a grotesque sight to watch the islanders looking inquiringly at each other, in order to ascertain possible casualties—the pursuit was continued.
"BACK HER OUT!" SHOUTED GREGORY—Page 280
Already the boat had backed several yards from the beach. Dozens of the natives plunged into the water and swam in pursuit. Backed, the heavy boat stood little chance of eluding the powerful swimmers. Forge ahead she might, but the turning operations would take up valuable time.
Round swung the under-manned craft, Gregory menacing the foremost natives with his empty revolver. One man succeeded in grasping the gunwale on the port quarter, but a sharp blow from the butt of the captain's weapon made him relax his grip.
Another attempted to scramble in over the bows. Kenneth thrust his oar into his father's hand, swung round and dealt the native a straight left between the eyes, with the result that the man turned and swam for the shore, yelling the while like a frightened child.
By this time the boat's head had been turned seaward. Double-banking the oars the four rowed desperately and outdistanced their pursuers.
"Unfriendly set of beach-combers!" ejaculated Captain Gregory. "Now what's to be done? Try and parley with them or make for the open sea? It's a long run across to Panama or South America."
"I don't know how we can bring that crowd to listen," observed Mr. Heatherington. "Frankly, after our reception, I'm not at all keen on making the experiment. What is the island we sighted this morning?"
"Tofua," replied Captain Gregory, "I don't go much on that. A bad reputation, according to what I've heard. It's not inhabited, I understand; but it's a sort of meeting-place for cannibal-inclined natives. Occasionally Uncle Sam's gunboats show up to keep an eye on things, but so far they haven't been able to catch the natives red-handed."
"Let's make for Tofua, then," suggested Mr. Heatherington. "We must take our chances with the natives. They may not be there. There may be a likelihood of being picked up by a vessel."
"Too late, sir, I'm afraid," declared Captain Gregory quietly. "Look over there!"
Coming round a projecting bluff and making towards the entrance of the lagoon were eight large canoes packed with armed savages.
CHAPTER XXIX. HOSPITALITY
There was no mistaking the natives' intentions. While one section attacked the boat as it approached the beach—and only a lack of generalship prevented the natives waiting until the white men had actually landed before taking them by surprise—another, manning the huge war canoes, put off and paddled at a great pace to intercept the fugitives.