The Nameless Island Part 21

"That was a lucky thought of yours, Ellerton, my boy," exclaimed Mr.

McKay, when the little party was safely on board. "They scooted like rabbits. But, by Jove! it was a narrow squeak."

CHAPTER XIV

ROUTING THE SAVAGES

There was not the slightest doubt about it. The expedition had failed disastrously. Quexo was badly wounded, the white men all more or less exhausted, while barely forty utterly demoralised natives were cowering in their canoes.

"Well, we can't stay here," remarked Mr. McKay, after the mulatto's hurts had been dressed and the wounded man placed on one of the bunks.

"They will be starting in pursuit, I'm thinking, and so, Mr. Blight, will you tell those black rascals to man two of their canoes and destroy the others? By that means we may be able to get the survivors back to Ni Atong."

Mr. McKay's opinion of the ex-pearler was undergoing a change. No doubt the man was a bit of a scoundrel, he thought, but he was older and possibly more of a reformed character than in the old days in Torres Strait. He had certainly fought well and had impressed the lads as a resolute and cautious combatant.

"I'll tell 'em, boss," he replied. "But, by snakes, it's a bad look-out."

"It is," a.s.sented Mr. McKay, as he prepared to go below and bind up a slight wound on his shoulder. "Your friends will have to be content with Ni Atong for a while, I'm thinking."

Andy was also in the cabin, where he was attending to a surface wound on his forehead--the legacy of one of the savages' showers of stones--so only Terence and Ellerton remained on deck with the ex-pearler.

"Couldn't the boss bring over the rest of your pals and settle our score with those n.i.g.g.e.rs?"

"What pals?"' asked Terence, taken aback by the suddenness of the question.

"Why, the other chaps on your island."

"There are none," replied Terence.

Barely had the words escaped him, when he realised that he had made an admission. He had revealed the comparative weakness of the defences of McKay's Island.

"Oh! Is that so?" was the rejoinder.

Blight said no more on the subject, for the yawl was now within hailing distance of the forlorn flotilla.

The natives accepted their white companion's orders without demur. The two most serviceable canoes were brought up with their full complement, and the rest were scuttled till they floated awash--useless to friend or foe. Then with a light breeze the three craft--the yawl leading the forlorn procession--headed for the opening in the reef.

Jimmy Blight was thinking. He was not of a thinking nature, but scheming and plotting were the only intellectual subjects in which he excelled. In fact, he was a past master in the art of intrigue.

He briefly summed up the situation and enlarged upon it. His house and store at Ahii were in the hands of a hostile race of savages. His wealth of copra and other valuable native products had vanished.

Had his black friends been able to regain possession of Ahii, he would not have hesitated to incite them to fall treacherously upon the white men from McKay's Island, and the doubtless valuable stores of that place would be his. Now, with fewer than forty of his savage friends at his command, the risk was too great--at least at present.

No, he must wait his time, return to Ni Atong, and endeavour to find an opportunity of surprising and slaying the handful of whites. If only he dared! With a fully charged revolver he might make a sudden attack----

This wicked scheming was suddenly interrupted by a shout from one of the canoes. The keen-eyed savages had detected an ominous movement ash.o.r.e. Their enemies were launching their canoes in pursuit of their discomfited adversaries.

"Say, boss!" exclaimed the ex-pearler, as Mr. McKay emerged from the little cabin. "What's to be done now? There ain't no wind, in a manner o' speaking, and those reptiles'll overhaul us hand over fist."

Mr. McKay did not reply at first, but anxiously scanned the sh.o.r.e with his gla.s.ses.

"There are seven canoes," he announced. "Three for us to tackle and two for each canoe. 'Tis long odds, but I reckon we'll come out on top."

"Why not get aboard the canoes, and let this 'ere packet go?" asked Blight. "There'll be more chance with the blacks using their paddles.

It'll be a flat calm in a minute or so."

"No," replied Mr. McKay. "We'll fight it out as we are, though we've had quite enough for one day."

The crews of the two friendly canoes were still lying on their paddles, realising that their only hope was in remaining by the white man's boat. Their indifference had vanished, and weapons were brandished in a way that showed a grim determination to fight to the death.

"Tell them to paddle for all they are worth," exclaimed Mr. McKay.

"What for?" demanded Blight, his old aggressive manner beginning to return. "What's the use? Let's keep together, I vote."

"I mean to," replied Mr. McKay coolly. "Now do as I tell you."

Sullenly the ex-pearler obeyed, and the natives, plying their paddles to the accompaniment of a mournful chant, soon increased the distance between them and the almost becalmed yawl.

"Now, Andy, start the motor."

Great was Blight's astonishment as the engine began to purr, and the little craft shot through the water at a good eight knots. He had never seen an internal combustion engine before. Although motor-driven craft are common amongst the pearling and trading fleets in the Pacific, he had left the fishing-grounds some years before the first motor had made its appearance.

Nor was the wonder of the crews of the friendly canoes any the less.

To them the white man's boat, vomiting clouds of vapour from the exhaust and producing a series of rapid explosions, was nothing more or less than a fiery-dragon.

"We are going the pace too much," remarked Andy, for the yawl was easily outdistancing the canoes, whose crews were showing signs of physical distress.

"Yes, we must stand by them," replied his father. "See, our pursuers are gaining; you are quite sure the motor is thoroughly tuned up, I hope?"

"Running like clockwork," was Andy's enthusiastic reply.

"Good! Now, lads, it's revolvers for this business. Get the canvas off her, then. Keep well under cover; I'm going to ram the leading canoe."

The sails were quickly stowed, and the bowsprit run in. The five men, revolvers in hand, kept in the c.o.c.kpit so as to be sheltered by the raised roof of the cabin.

"Now, Ellerton, how's your nerve?"

"Perfectly fit."

"Then put your helm over when I give the word and strike yonder canoe square amidships."

The pursuers had trailed out in a long, straggling line, a couple of hundred yards separating the foremost from the second.

On they came, fearlessly. Ellerton could see the foam flying from the sharp prow, the muscular backs of the straining oarsmen, and hear the steady yet rapid thud of the paddles. Now he could discern the whites of the eyes of the fierce-looking warriors who were gathering in her lofty bows.

"Make due allowance for the way she carries," cautioned Mr. McKay.

"Now, hard over!"