It was an awe-inspiring sight to watch the eight canoes, with their lofty prows ornamented by grinning heads with enormous eyes, leaping through the tranquil water, each urged by the regular, almost mechanical, beats of thirty paddles.
Dry-throated, Kenneth watched the approaching peril, wondering if, after all the little band had gone through, this was to be the end. He knew well enough the fierce character of the natives of Talai when aroused; and yet he could not understand why they should be so aggressive. According to reports they were an inoffensive crowd. Mendoza had given them good cause to attack his landing-party, but that hardly seemed justification for the massacre of a hapless boat's crew. It was certainly rough luck, reflected Kenneth, to have to pay for Mendoza's ill deeds.
His thoughts were interrupted by Captain Gregory shouting to his companions to fight to the last.
"We'll sell our lives dearly," he added, as he hurriedly reloaded his revolver. The rest followed his example, for they had with them two rifles and several revolvers taken from the pirates' armoury at Boya.
With faultless precision and at equal distances apart the canoes took up a semi-circular formation, with the object of their attention in the centre of the arc. For a brief instant the paddles beat the water in a reverse direction in order to check the canoes' way. Then came a dead silence, the eight canoes lying motionless, with only the rapidly spreading wavelets set up by the paddles to ruffle the mirror-like surface.
The whole manœuvre was obviously executed with the idea of spectacular effect to subject their victims to a display of ruthless menace before closing to settle the unequal encounter. At any rate the four white men found the period of silence far more nerve-racking than the din raised by the swarm of natives on the beach.
"Pick off that chap in the white feather cloak, sir," exclaimed Captain Gregory. "I'll drill a hole through that chap with the cock's feathers. There'll be a few vacancies for headmen before we go under. Don't fire until they attack."
Quietly and composedly—he was surprised at his own coolness that followed the period of dry-throated agitation—Kenneth set the back-sight of his rifle to three hundred yards, thrust a cartridge into the breech, closed the cut-out to the magazine, and placed a handful of cartridges on the thwart beside him. Until the natives came to close quarters he would keep the magazine intact and rely upon single loading.
"Why don't they make a move?" exclaimed Peter, hardly conscious that he had voiced his thoughts.
A whistle sounded shrilly from the beach. The noise seemed absolutely incongruous. It reminded Kenneth of the referee's whistle on the playing fields at school. It was almost the last thing he expected to hear in a Pacific Ocean lagoon.
The signal was promptly obeyed. Each canoe turned and paddled away from the boat, but the natives took care not to leave a loophole of escape open. They brought up in a compact formation right across the entrance to the lagoon.
But the four white men paid scant heed to them. Their attention was attracted to a small outrigger canoe putting off from the beach. It was the same craft which they had fallen in with on nearing the island. Two natives—probably the same who had previously manned her—plied the paddles. Aft sat a huge man dressed in white. His face was tanned to the colour of red mahogany, but his beard was sufficient to enable the four to recognize him.
It was Captain Asger Holbaek, the Danish skipper of the Svend.
"Good day, Mr. Heatherington!" he exclaimed, as the canoe came within easy hailing distance. "There is nothing to fear now. My subjects were under a wrong impression, and until I recognized you through my glasses I was also misled. I hasten to make amends."
"It certainly was rather a warm reception," replied Heatherington.
"And if I may be allowed to say so, it was your fault," rejoined Captain Holbaek. "It was the boat that caused the mistake. The natives recognized it as one belonging to the pirate ship, and concluded, very naturally, that the villains were returning for the third time."
"For the third time?" echoed Kenneth's parent.
"Surely. Once just after I succeeded in escaping; the second occasion was about a week ago. The Paloma put in—"
"She won't do so again," interrupted Kenneth. "Sorry, I didn't mean—" he ended apologetically.
"Why will she not?" asked the Dane.
"Because she's a total wreck. There were no survivors. Mendoza's dead."
Holbaek threw back his head and laughed boisterously. The others looked at him in astonishment, surprised that he should show such unrestrained glee at the news of the pirate captain's fate, villain though he was.
"He tried to wipe out the natives and myself," said Holbaek. "He tried to send ashore the corpse of a man who had died of a virulent disease. Sent him, mark you, in my own boat, and with one of the natives. The Kanaka jumped overboard and swam ashore. That was a possibility that Mendoza had overlooked. He had forgotten that salt water is a good disinfectant. Directly I found out what had happened, I quarantined the Kanaka, but nothing happened.
"Then Mendoza came again. He began to sound the lagoon. Seized half a dozen of the islanders to work for him as divers. This I would not permit. We fell upon the men in the boats and rescued the captives. Then the pirate vessel went off. But, gentlemen, I am neglecting the common courtesies of hospitality. My house is at your service."
Again the Dane blew the whistle. From the shore a hundred men or more plunged into the water and swam off to the boat. This time they were unarmed, and their faces were wreathed in smiles.
"Throw them your painter," exclaimed the Dane, who had meanwhile stepped from the canoe into the stern sheets of the boat.
A dozen swimmers took hold of the rope. Others grasping the gunwales struck out with one arm, until propelled by a human motor of uncalculated horse-power the boat became the centre of a triumphal procession to the beach.
To anyone not acquainted with the simple, almost childish moods of the South Sea Islander, the sudden change of demeanour seemed incomprehensible. Gone were the fierce shouts, the savage gestures, the formidable display of weapons. Good-natured smiles, friendly greetings, and songs of welcome were everywhere in evidence. Many of the natives presented garlands to the now dead-beat arrivals; but—somewhat to Kenneth's and Peter's pleasurable disappointment—there was no attempt on the part of the islanders to rub noses.
These demonstrations continued until the Dane and his guests arrived at the former's hut, for such he termed it. Actually, it was quite a spacious bungalow-like building, standing on sloping, open ground, about a hundred yards from the village. It was constructed of stone set in a kind of cement made from coral. The roof was thatched with palm leaves; a wide veranda surrounded it. The windows were innocent of glass, but when required could be closed with jalousied shutters. The building looked glaringly new; in fact it was not yet completed, having been constructed by native labour under Holbaek's supervision since the latter's arrival at Talai only a few weeks ago, but already flaming hibiscus and luxuriant creepers were doing their best to clothe the glaring white walls in a lavish mantle of vegetation.
"One moment!" exclaimed the Dane, as they reached the shade of the veranda. "I know you are most fatigued, but it would be well to say a word to my subjects."
A blast on the whistle transformed the wildly excited mob into an orderly gathering. Addressing the natives on behalf of the newly-arrived white men, Holbaek explained why they had come in one of the boats belonging to the pirates and blackbirders who had so seriously interfered with the even tenor of the islanders' existence. Told them that, thanks to their guests, the Paloma would never return to trouble them with her unwelcome presence; that the four white men were blood-brothers of his and must be treated with the utmost friendliness, adding significantly that their belongings were tabu. That meant that their goods were safe from the almost unpreventible depredations of these simple natives who, from infancy, exhibit an utter disregard for the elementary rules about meum et tuum.