Percy Westerman - The Third Officer - A Present-day Pirate Story

"I wonder where they are taking us," said Tarrant.

"That I can't say," replied Alwyn. "But, if it's any information to you, I can inform you that we've been steaming roughly nor'west for the last six hours."

"How do you know that?" inquired Branscombe in astonishment. "Here we are cooped up without a chance of seeing a single star, and yet – "

"I've a compass, laddie," replied Burgoyne. "A liquid pocket compass, and I mean to stick to it as long as I jolly well can. Naturally, in playing a billiard handicap, a fellow…"

He continued discoursing upon the irrelevant subject of billiards for more than a minute, his companions expressing no surprise at the sudden change of topic. It was not until the Chinese sentry had passed and was out of earshot, that the former theme was resumed.

"That chap might understand English," observed Burgoyne. "Well, I can also tell you this; if we hold on our course sufficiently long, we'll fetch up on one of the Aleutian Islands, or else on the coast of Kamtchatka."

"Give me something a little warmer," protested Tarrant. "There's nothing like getting used – "

A voice, hoarse, masterful, and at the same time, slightly incoherent, interrupted the conclave. Captain Blair was recovering consciousness and making a considerable song about it.

"Mr. Angus," he shouted, "can't you whack her up a bit more? Three knots if you burst. The cowardly skunks – women on board, and the villains are shelling us. Mr. Angus, are you there?"

In a trice Burgoyne was by the Old Man's side, fearful lest he should divulge the fact to the pirate that there had been more than one woman on board.

"It's all right, sir," he said soothingly. "We've got the heels of them."

"Eh?" exclaimed the skipper. "Who's that?"

"Burgoyne, sir."

"And we've given 'em the slip, eh? Yes, the firing's stopped right enough. Where am I?"

"In good hands," replied Alwyn. "You've been knocked about a bit, but Holmes and the steward have patched you up all right."

"Yes, I remember," rejoined Captain Blair. "I told you to carry on, and everything's O.K.?"

Reassured on that point, the Old Man gave a long sigh, closed his eyes, and sank into a sound slumber.

Towards morning Burgoyne noticed, by consulting his compass, that the Donibristle had altered her course and was steering due west.

"Kamtchatka's off," he announced, as Tarrant appeared munching a biscuit. "They've altered course four points to the west'ard."

"And that means?" asked the Consular Service man. "That we make Japan if we carry on as we are going," replied Alwyn.

"H'm; s' long as they land me within easy distance of my destination I welcome the alteration," observed Tarrant. "But perhaps they're making for a coral island or something of that sort. Are there any hereabouts?"

"Evidently they mean to give Hawaii a wide berth," said Burgoyne. "After that there are only a few small islands – the Ocean Islands they're called. I've never been there, because they lie to the nor'ard of our regular track and a good way south of the Yokohama-San Francisco route."

"Uninhabited?"

Burgoyne shook his head.

"I've told you all I know," he asserted. "It isn't much. But we'll find out in due course, I expect."

Shortly afterwards the bulkhead door was unlocked, and Withers was unceremoniously shown in.

"What's for brekker?" he asked. "I'm ravenous."

"Ship's biscuit and lukewarm water, old son," replied Branscombe. "What are you doing here?"

"The blighters are letting us work watch and watch," said the Second Engineer, voraciously biting off chunks of the tough biscuit. "I've had my stand-easy, and they sent me aft to get some grub before I'm on again. Angus will be here in another quarter of an hour."

"And the men?" asked Burgoyne "How are they standing it?"

"Fine, everything considered," replied Withers "Even though they are being fed on rice as if they were Chinks." He glanced at the Chinese guards. They were bunched together close to the bulkhead door, resuming an interrupted game of cards. "And Miss Vivian is just splendid," he continued lowering his voice. "We rigged her up a sort of caboose under one of the intake ventilators. She told Angus that she'd slept well, but she couldn't tackle rice and cold water, so I'm going to fill my pockets with biscuits for her. No objections, I hope?"

"Do the pirates worry you much?" asked Branscombe.

"Directly – no; indirectly – yes," was the reply. "They don't post guards in the engine-room, which is a blessing; but they are continually calling for more revolutions. Perhaps they imagine we're a South American republic – how's that for a joke, Branscombe?"

"Feeble," was the reply, "but get on with it."

"There's nothing much to get on with," continued the Second Engineer. "There was a talk of tinkering with the high-pressure slide-valves and stopping the engines, only Angus said that, if the Donibristle did break down, the cruiser would doubtless remove the prize crew and send her to the bottom – and us as well. So that didn't come off. But, I say, who's eating chocolate?"

"No one," replied Alwyn.

"You're wrong, old son," he replied presently, "or perhaps I ought to say 'Mr. Burgoyne' now? Fact remains, I smell chocolate. The air's stiff with it."

"Hanged if I can whiff it," exclaimed Alwyn. "Iodoform, yes, but not chocolate."

For answer the Second Engineer grasped Burgoyne's arm and led him across the compartment. With a sense of smell almost as acute as that of a dog, he led Alwyn to a dark corner formed by the angle of one of the cabin bulkheads with the ship's side. There, seated on an upturned bucket, was Miles – and there was no doubt now as to the reek of chocolate. Filled with indignation at the gross selfishness of the drummer, Burgoyne held out his hand.

"I'll trouble you to hand over what's left," he said curtly.

But Miles was not going to surrender his spoils without protest.

"Say, what for?" he asked. "If I took the precaution to lay in a stock, that is my affair."

Burgoyne with difficulty restrained his temper.

"At once," he exclaimed sternly. Having been trained from his early youth to manage men, he was not going to stand any nonsense from a coward.

The passenger gasped but complied. Burgoyne found himself possessed of a slab of chocolate weighing nearly a pound. The wretched fellow, taking advantage of the fact that during the chase the steward's pantry was unattended, had taken and concealed the toothsome stuff.

"Mr. Holmes!" sang out the Third Officer

The purser appeared.

"This is part of the ship's stores, is it not?" inquired Burgoyne.

Mr. Holmes replied in the affirmative, volunteering the additional information that the chocolate was stamped with the company's initials – a fact that in his haste the pilferer had overlooked.

"Right-o, Mr. Holmes," continued Alwyn. "That leaves me with a clear conscience. Take charge of the stuff and issue it out in equal shares to everyone aft. Keep back a share for Mr. Angus and the Third Engineer when they arrive."

But when Withers returned to the engine-room his pockets were bulging – not only with biscuits, but with small cubes of chocolate. Spontaneously, and almost without exception, every temporary occupant of the steerage had given up his share to Hilda Vivian.

After four days and four nights of captivity, during which period the Donibristle had covered about 600 miles, the engines ceased their steady throb, and the prisoners heard the muffled roar of a chain-cable running through the hawse-pipe.

Speculation was rife as to where the captured merchantman had brought-up, while the majority of the captives expressed an opinion that, provided they found themselves in the open air, the locality of the anchorage didn't very much matter just at present. After nearly a hundred hours of close confinement, fed on meagre and monotonous fare, unwashed and unkempt, they welcomed the prospect of a change.