Closely followed by the five native boats, that in which Raymond was seated with MaliÊ, and which was steered by Randall Cheyne, first came alongside, and the latter called out to Foster, who was standing in the waist, to pass down the end of the tow line. This was at once done, and then, as MaliÊ and Raymond left the boat and ascended to the deck, Cheyne went ahead with his tow line, and was soon joined by the native craft, and within a quarter of an hour the Esmeralda was moving through the water.

The instructions given to the half-caste by the chief and Frewen were to tow the ship to the south-east, with the land on the port hand. This would not only take her out of danger, but would prevent suspicion being engendered in the minds of the mutineers by their seeing that she was actually being taken away from, instead of towards the land. Both Frewen and MaliÊ had decided that she was not to be re-captured till she was well into soundings, for events might arise which would necessitate her being brought to an anchor, especially if continuous heavy rain should fall during the night.

As soon as Raymond and the stalwart chief ascended to the poop, the pseudo-captain received them most affably, complimented them on the smart manner in which the boats had gone ahead with the line, and then asked them to take some refreshment The offer was accepted, for neither had had the inclination to eat anything on shore—they, like their men, were too eager to get possession of the ship to trouble about food.

Ryan sat at the table with them as they ate, and repeated his fiction regarding the accident to his chief officer, at which the planter politely expressed his concern. Then the mutineer, in a casual sort of a way, asked Raymond if there had been any English or American war-ships cruising about Samoa lately.

“No, not for a long time, but I did hear that the American corvette Adams was expected here last year, but she must have passed by here, and gone on to Fiji There is always work for a man-of-war there at any time—the Fijians are a rough lot, and hardly a month passes without some European trader or sailor being killed and eaten, or else badly hurt. Even at the present time all the people living in the eastward islands of the Fiji Group are rank cannibals. It is a place to be avoided.”

“Ah, well, I won't go near there,” said the mutineer, somewhat meditatively.

“No, of course not,” said the planter; “I suppose that your course for Batavia will take you to the northwest after you leave here—Fiji is six hundred miles to the south-west.”

“I did think of putting in there when my mate met with his accident—thought I would find a doctor there; but now, thanks to your friend, I shall not need one for him—he is much better already.”

“That is fortunate,” said Raymond: “he might have died before you could reach the port of Levuka in Fiji. And besides that, I doubt if you would find a doctor living there. I have never heard of any medical man being settled in Fiji. On the other hand you could have left him on shore, where he would at least have met with good nursing from some of the English ladies there; and you could easily have obtained another mate; there are dozens of ex-skippers and mates idling about in Fiji.”

Ryan had learnt all he wanted to know, and he changed the subject. He was still anxious about Almanza not living—for no one could tell what might occur to the Esmeralda if he died and the ship was left without a navigator. He (Ryan) and Foster would have had no objection to ridding themselves of him, were either one of them able to navigate the ship as far as the Philippine Islands. They had all three previously agreed with the rest of the crew as to their future plans, after they had disposed of Marston and those who were faithful to him. When within sight of Luzon—and abreast of Manila—the ship was to be scuttled, and the mutineers with their plunder in two boats were to make for a part of the coast where there was a village, well-known to Rivas and Garcia. Here the money was to be divided, and every man was to shift for himself—some to go to Manila, others taking passage to that den of thieves, the Portuguese settlement of Maoao, where they meant to enjoy themselves after their manner.

When Raymond and the chief returned on deck, they found the ship was making good progress through the smooth sea, the natives in the boats singing a melodious chorus as, all in perfect unison, they plunged their broad-bladed paddles in the water, and the tow line surged and shook off thousands of phosphorescent drops at every united stroke. The night was dark, but not quite starless, and presently Frewen, who was talking to Foster, remarked that some heavy rain would fall in a short time.

“Our natives won't like that,” said Raymond to “Captain Ryan”; “like all Kanakas, they hate being wetted with rain, though they will spend half a day in the rivers bathing and playing games in the water.”

“A few bottles of grog will keep up their courage,” said Frewen, “especially some rum. Have you any to spare, captain?”

“Any amount.”

“Then I'll tell Cheyne to let the boats come alongside in turn, and we'll give all the natives a good rousing nip before the rain comes.”

He walked for'ard and stood on the topgallant foc'sle and gave a loud hail.

“Boat ahoy!”

The singing ceased in an instant, and then Randall's voice answered—

“Hallo! what is it?”

“Come aboard and get a glass of grog. Tell the men in the other boats they can follow in turn.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the half-caste in such loud tones that he was heard distinctly on the after-deck, “they'll be glad enough of it; we'll get plenty of cold fresh water presently outside, and some rum to put inside will be just the thing.”

Both Raymond and the two Greeks laughed, and then a minute or two later Cheyne and his boat's crew were alongside, and were given a pint of rum between them. They drank it off “neat,” and after lighting their pipes, went back to their boat, and let another come alongside. She was manned by a dozen natives, who were all given a stiff glass of grog. They remained but a few minutes, and then went off to give place to the third boat, in which were twenty men. They scrambled over the side, laughing and talking, and then, just as the first five or six of them had been served, the rain poured suddenly down and made such a terrific noise that the shouts of the men in the other boats could not be heard, and the ship was at once enveloped in a thick steamy mist, which rendered even objects on deck invisible.

“It will only last about ten minutes,” shouted Frewen to Ryan as they, with Raymond and MaliÊ, took shelter in the companion-way.

“Where are all those men of yours?” asked the mutineer somewhat anxiously.

Frewen's answer reassured him. “All bolted for shelter,” he said with a laugh, “without even waiting to get their grog. I hope your men will let them crawl in somewhere.” Then turning to MaliÊ, he said in English—

“Call to them, MaliË.”

MaliÉ stepped out on the deck, and presently Ryan and the others heard him speaking. In a minute or two I he reappeared with three or four stalwart natives, all dripping wet, and said something to Raymond, who translated the remark to Ryan.

“All the others have bolted like rabbits, some into the galley, and others into the foc'sle,” he said.

In less than the ten minutes predicted by Frewen the rain ceased as if by magic; the natives gathered together again on the main deck, completed their grog drinking, went into their boat again, and poshed off to resume their labour.

In the course of another half an hour every one of the native boats' crews had had his small tumblerful of neat rum, and then, as their paddles plunged into the placid water, once more they sang their chorus—

“Ala, tamaaitii, Alo foe!” (“Pull, boys, pull!”)