The voice of Phil Branscombe quickly reassured the startled Burgoyne.

"It's all right, old man," exclaimed Phil in a low voice. "Everything's O.K. How are things?"

"Ravenous, the pair of us," declared Alwyn.

"I thought so," rejoined the Fourth Officer, "and so as a reward for a good little boy I've brought both of you some grub. Save you drawing on the tinned stuff," he added.

"And Young Bill?"

"Young Bill is there," replied Branscombe, indicating the cave. "She's as plucky as they make 'em. The Old Man got a move on at the finish. Do you want to see him? If so, he's on the top of the cliff."

Burgoyne shook his head. He couldn't speak just then because he was munching bread and bully beef.

"No," he replied at length. After his strenuous exertions and with the prospect of more to come before very long, he did not feel equal to the task of ascending and descending the cliff. "No, he gave me final instructions. I don't think there's anything else. Hello! Why, that's Mostyn! Thought you were still on the sick list, old man. What are you doing here?"

"Coming along with you," replied the Wireless Officer. "Old Man's orders."

"Dash it all!" exclaimed Burgoyne, somewhat taken aback at the prospect of being saddled with a man who not so long since had been lying on his back with a score or more of wounds. "What do you know about handling a boat?"

"I wasn't always a wireless bloke," replied Mostyn.

"I've been used to a sailing boat ever since I was a kid. Also I've brought my share of the grub and a bit over."

Burgoyne capitulated without further protest. Mostyn's declaration that he knew how to sail a small boat more than wiped out the objection.

"All right," he said; then addressing Branscombe and Twill—the third member of the shore party—he continued: "It's no use hanging on to the slack any longer. We've found a water-tank and it wants filling. Mostyn, you might put all the provisions and spare gear on board. Yes, the canvas tanks. They may come in handy."

With four men to handle the tank the task of conveying it filled with water to the boat was a fairly simple one. Under Burgoyne's direction it was stowed between two of the thwarts and immediately for'ard of the centre-board case.

"That's everything, I think," remarked Alwyn. "Now the sooner we're off the better. I want to get at least thirty miles from the island before dawn. Now, Phil, if you will kindly bring Miss Vivian—I mean Young Bill—we'll put off."

Branscombe carried out instructions. Hilda Vivian wearing an old pilot coat (a gift from Captain Davis) over her borrowed clothes, which during her stay on the island consisted of a duck jumper and trousers and a sailor's straw hat, came up to greet Alwyn.

"I'm ready, Mr. Burgoyne," she said; then with a suspicion of a smile she added, "and may I keep my face clean now, please?"

She shook hands and said good-bye to Branscombe and Twill, and was assisted by Alwyn into the boat.

Slipping into the stern sheets Burgoyne gave the word to push off, and the voyage began.

Hilda Vivian was told to sit down upon a pile of canvas in front of the water-tank, where she would be least in the way when the time came to step the mast and hoist sail. Mostyn was pulling bow oar and Minalto stroke. Burgoyne steered, the while keeping an anxious eye upon the cliffs fronting the still hidden Observation Hill.

During the last hour the clouds had dispersed and the stars shone brilliantly, reflecting long shafts of shimmering light upon the gently-undulating water.

Alwyn expressed no appreciation of the change, although rather philosophically he remarked that it was a jolly good job the stars weren't out when they were rowing round the island. Now, although not desirable, the starlight did not count to such an extent. If the boat were sighted it would be an awkward circumstance, but before the pirates could stand in pursuit the life-boat would establish a useful lead and be lost in the darkness.

"You know how that foremast steps, Mostyn?" he inquired in a low voice.

"Ay, ay," was the reply. "I've been watching it, and I've overrun the gear."

"Good enough," rejoined the Third Officer, considerably impressed by the initiative of the latest addition to the crew. "We may have to hoist sail in a hurry before very long."

"Isn't the surf making a roar to-night?" remarked Hilda from her "quarters" for'ard of the water-tank.

"Yes," replied Alwyn. "Good thing; it prevents anyone ashore hearing the sound of oars."

He purposely omitted to add that the exceptionally noisy roar of the surf was occasioned by a heavy ground swell, that, taken in conjunction with the torrential downpour unaccompanied by wind, betokened bad weather at no distant date. None of the officers or men of the captured merchant ships possessed an aneroid, so for prognosticating the weather they had to rely upon Nature's signals—and the unwonted thunder of the surf was one of them.

"Now, steady all," cautioned Burgoyne, as the lifeboat drew away from the shelter of the cliffs. "Clean strokes and no fancy feathering."

Nearer and nearer drew the isolated rock that marked the limits of visibility from the Observation Station. Carefully avoiding the shoal that extended some distance seaward, Burgoyne held on his course until the rock bore broad on his port beam. Another five minutes and the risk of detection would be past.

Slowly starboarding his helm Alwyn brought the boat round until she was eight points off her former course. By so doing, although the action was the only practicable one, he exposed the whole of the life-boat's broadside to the shore instead of being "end on" as previously; but at that increased distance from the island the boat would appear little larger than a walnut-shell.

"We've done it!" he announced gleefully. "Another twenty strokes and we can hoist sail."

The next instant a flash of flame leapt from the pirates' look-out station, and a bullet whizzed shrilly above the heads of the fugitives, ricochetting fifty yards beyond the boat.

"Give way for all you're worth!" yelled Burgoyne. "Keep well down, Miss Vivian, in case they get one in."

Two more flashes followed in quick succession, but where the bullets struck remained a matter for conjecture. Then another, throwing up a feather of spray twenty yards short, ricochetted and sent splinters flying from the life-boat's gunwale.

"Another ten strokes!" shouted Alwyn. "Put every ounce into it."

The stuttering rattle of a machine-gun from the summit of the Observation Hill warned Burgoyne that Ramon Porfirio's ruffians had not had their last say in the matter. The pirates evidently knew how to handle the weapon to the best advantage, for they were training it about five degrees in a vertical plane, so that the hail of bullets struck the water short and beyond the boat and almost every inch of the distance between. They had only to traverse the machine-gun slightly to the right literally to smother the life-boat with lead.

"Way 'nough!" ordered Burgoyne. "Take cover!"

Waiting until Mostyn and Minalto had thrown themselves on to the bottom-boards, Alwyn relinquished the tiller and crouched on the stern gratings. He knew that by the combined action of the wind and tide, added to the way ............