.
an endeavour to obtain silence. When comparative quiet had been gained, he stepped to the end of the bridge and raised a megaphone.
"Ship Donibristle!" he shouted. "Obtain way off ze ship an stan' by to receive boats."
"Aye, aye!" replied Burgoyne.
Hitherto the Donibristle had been forging ahead at her present maximum speed, which by this time was a bare five knots; while the pirate cruiser had slowed down to the same speed, causing her to yaw horribly.
For the first time Burgoyne noticed that the engine-room telegraph was no longer workable. The voice-tube, however, was intact.
"Mr. Angus," he began.
"Aye, it's Angus," replied that worthy's rolling voice "Is't Captain Blair speakin'?"
"No, Burgoyne," replied the temporarily promoted Third. "The skipper's hit. We're down and out. Stop both engines, and – "
"Weel?" asked the Chief Engineer with more alacrity than he usually displayed.
"Stand by the Kingston valves. The villains have promised to spare our lives, but you never know. So if you hear one blast on the whistle, open the valves and take your chance. Do you understand?"
"Deed aye," replied Angus.
Presently the throb of the twin propellers ceased. The Donibristle carried way for nearly a mile before she stopped. Her head fell off as she rolled gently in the trough of the long crestless waves. The cruiser also stopped, and a couple of boats were swung out, manned, and lowered.
Burgoyne had very little time to complete his preparations, but he made the best of those precious moments. Captain Blair was carried below, with the purser and the steward to attend him. The rest of the engine-room staff, with the exception of Angus, were mustered on deck. Calling one of the hands, a reliable and intelligent Cockney, Alwyn stationed him on the bridge, telling him to keep out of sight as much as possible.
"If those fellows start shooting us down," he said, "they won't waste much time about it. Now keep a sharp look-out. At the first sign tug that whistle lanyard for all you're worth, then shift for yourself if you can, and the best of luck."
Burgoyne's next step was to send Branscombe to bring the passengers on deck. He watched intently as they ascended the companion-ladder, Tarrant and the Fourth Officer assisting Colonel Vivian, and Miles furtively following. But to his keen disappointment and alarm there was no sign of Hilda Vivian. Mental pictures of the ruffianly horde finding the girl below filled him with apprehension.
"Where's Miss Vivian?" asked Alwyn anxiously. A suspicion of a smile showed itself on the Fourth Officer's features.
"It's all right, old man," he explained. "There she is; three from the end of the rear rank of firemen."
Burgoyne gasped.
"Thought I told her to shove on Mostyn's kit," he exclaimed. "Don't you see, she'll have to – to keep with the engine-room crowd."
"Jolly sight safer," declared Branscombe. "She'd attract attention with the few of us who are left. Her father agreed with me. 'Sides, all hands know, and they're white men, every man jack of 'em."
"P'raps you're right," conceded Burgoyne, and as he gave another look he felt convinced that the amended plan was the thing. Unless an unfortunate fluke occurred or, what was most unlikely, someone "gave her away" the pirates would never recognize the slender fireman with closely-cropped hair and begrimed features, and rigged out in an ill-fitting greasy suit of blue dungarees, as a girl of gentle birth. There was certainly nothing in her demeanour to betray her. She was standing in a line with the men, outwardly as stolid as the rest.
Drawing a small plated revolver from his hip-pocket – it was a six-chambered .22 weapon of neat workmanship – Burgoyne thrust it inside his sock, jamming the muzzle between the inside of his boot and his ankle. For the first time he felt grateful to the steward for having spilt ink over both pairs of deck-shoes, otherwise he would not have been wearing boots, and another hiding-place for the handy little weapon would not have promised to be so convenient.
The leading boat from the pirate cruiser ran alongside, and about twenty men, armed to the teeth, swarmed up the Donibristle's side, followed (not led) by a swarthy, black-bearded individual wearing a cocked hat, a blue tunic, with a lavish display of gold lace, a black and crimson scarf round his waist, and a pair of duck trousers with white canvas gaiters. From his belt hung a cavalry officer's sword, while in his kid-gloved right hand he grasped an automatic pistol.
The boarding-party consisted of men of half a dozen nationalities, and at least three totally distinct types of colour. There were Chinese, blue-smocked and wearing straw hats and black wooden shoes, negroes, bare to the waist, Creoles and half-breeds from various South American states, a couple of South Sea Island Kanakas, and a gigantic Malay armed with a kriss and a magazine rifle. Bunched together they eyed the motionless crew of the Donibristle so fiercely that Burgoyne momentarily expected to find them slashing, hewing, and shooting down their helpless, unarmed captives.
The pirate officer stepped forward in the most approved melodramatic manner.
"Me Pablo Henriques, tiente po– dat premier lieutenant – ob cruiser Malfilio," he announced. "Señor Ramon Porfirio him capitano. Now I take command ob de – de – "
He paused, unable to pronounce the name.
" – ob dis ship," he continued. "If you no give trouble den all vell. If you do, den dis."
He drew one finger across his throat with a guttural cluck and pointed significantly over the side. The stolid-faced prisoners hardly moved a muscle. With no immediate danger in prospect, provided the pirate kept his word, they were content to let events shape themselves, confident that in the long run the lawful keepers of the peace on the High Seas would adjust matters in the form of a running noose round the neck of each of the pirate crew.
"Now tell me," continued Henriques, addressing Burgoyne. "You no capitan; where am he?"
"Wounded," replied Alwyn briefly.
"Bueno. He make to ram us," rejoined the half-caste lieutenant. "Capitano Ramon Porfirio him angry, so we shoot. Say, is dis all der crew?"
"No," replied Burgoyne steadily. "There are several wounded below. Also the Chief Engineer is in the engine-room."
Henriques darted a glance of suspicion at the British officer.
"Wa for?" he demanded sharply.
Burgoyne returned his look calmly.
"He has to watch the steam-gauges," he replied. "It might be awkward for us if an explosion occurred."
It was an answer that served a two-fold purpose. Not only had Burgoyne given the pirate lieutenant a satisfactory reason for the Chief Engineer's presence in the engine-room, but he had, perhaps unknowingly, shown a certain amount of anxiety for the safety of the ship. Consequently any suspicion on the part of Pablo Henriques that the crew of the Donibristle had arranged to destroy the vessel, the boarding-party, and themselves was totally dispelled.
"Ver' good!" he exclaimed, satisfied with the explanation. "Now, wher' are de documentos – de papairs?"
Burgoyne shook his head and pointed to the wreckage of the chart-house. "Your fire was so accurate that the ship's papers are lost," he replied.
As a matter of fact Captain Blair had weighted them with a lead-line and sinker, and had dropped them overboard almost directly the Malfilio had hoisted the ID signal. They were several miles astern and fathoms deep in the Pacific.
A string of questions followed. What was the nature of the cargo? The amount of coal in the bunkers? Any infectious disease? How many passengers?
All these questions Burgoyne answered promptly He was anxious not to cause trouble and give the pirates an excuse for brutality and perhaps massacre.
"Four," he replied in answer to the last question. "One, a lady, lies dead below. She died during the firing."
Pablo Henriques shrugged his shoulders. That information interested him hardly at all.
"You