Six bells struck, and then once more the stars went out, and the sky changed from blue to dull grey.

“Very heavy rain will fall again presently,” said Raymond to the leader of the mutineers, “and as the ship is well now in the counter current and out of danger, the chief would like to call his men alongside for a rest. But we'll tow you for another mile or so after the rain ceases—if you wish it.”

Ryan was keenly anxious to put as much distance between the land and the Esmeralda as possible, for he was haunted by the fear that the captain's boat had been picked up by some ship which might be sighted at any time. The further away from the land, the safer he would feel.

“I should like them to tow me along for another hour or two, after the rain is oyer,” he said. “I will pay liberally.”

Raymond spoke to the chief in Samoan and told him the captain's request, and MaliÈ answered in the same language.

“As you will, LÈmonti. But why toil any longer? My men are all ready and anxious. We can take the ship now at any time, once my men are here.”

“And I, too, am ready, Alalia. But it was in my mind to wait and see if, when the bell strikes eight, half of the auva'a (ship's crew) would not go below to sleep, so that we shall have less disturbance.”

“What matters it?” said Alalia with good-humoured contempt; “there are less than a score of them, and when the word is spoken they will be as easily overpowered and bound as a strong man can overpower and bind a child.”

“Then let it be as you say,” said Raymond in the same quiet tones; “let us call the men on board, and, when the bell is struck at midnight, we shall seize those evil men together—as the bell is struck the last time.”

“Good!” said the chief, as he nonchalantly rolled himself a cigarette in a piece of dried banana leaf which he took from his tappa waist cloth. “I will tell them how to act.”

“What does he say?” asked Ryan.

“He is quite willing, but he says his men are really tired now, and want a good long spell. They are not used to such work, and he does not want to give them cause for grumbling. They are very touchy sometimes. However, after the next downpour clears off, they will tow you another two or three miles.” (And Raymond meant this literally, for he, Frewen, and the chief wanted to see the Esmeralda at anchor off Samatau by daylight.)

At a call from Raymond the boats came alongside, and as the crews clambered on deck MaliÊ told them how to dispose themselves about the ship so that when the signal was given the mutineers could be seised without their being afforded any opportunity of resistance. Five or six of his best men followed him aft, whilst the others mingled with the crew, most of them going down into the foc'sle. The Chilenos, however, although satisfied of the friendly intentions of their visitors, were still a little nervous, for, despite the fact that none of the natives carried even so much as a knife, the wild appearance they presented was somewhat disconcerting to men who had never before come in contact with what they termed “savages.” Fully one half of MaliË's followers were men of such stature that the undersized though wiry Chilenos looked like dwarfs beside them; then, in addition to this, their immense “mops” of bright golden hair—dyed that colour by the application of lime—and their wonderfully tatooed bodies, with the first intricate lines beginning at the waist and ending at the knees, accentuated the velvety and rich reddish brown of their skins. Each of the Chileno seamen still carried a brace of pistols in his belt and a cutlass hung by his side, but the natives apparently took no notice of such a manifestation of distrust, and they and the mutineers exchanged cigars and cigarettes as if they were the best friends in the world.

Suddenly the rain fell, and all other sounds were deadened by the downpour; it continued for three-quarters of an hour, and then, as Frewen remarked, ceased with a “snap.”

In the main cabin Raymond, with MaliÊ, was seated at the table talking to Ryan; on the poop and under the shelter of the temporary awning were Cheyne, Frewen, Foster, the ruffianly Rivas, and two other of the Ghileno seamen, with three of the natives who had accompanied Cheyne and his Mend from LepÂ.

Five minutes before eight bells Foster turned to Rivas, and, speaking in Spanish, told him to go for'ard and tell the hands that there would be no watch below that night, all hands were to stay on deck till daylight.

Frewen gave Cheyne a glance, and the half-caste sauntered off after Rivas, whilst the three Samoans moved nearer towards the two Ghilenos.

“Mr. Foster” went to the skylight and looked down into the cabin at the clock, which was placed so that it could be seen by any one standing beside the binnacle. Then he looked at a handsome gold watch, which two days previously had been in Villari's vest pocket, and, stepping to the break of the poop, called out—

“Eight bells!”

The big bell under the topgallant foc'sle sent out its deep, sonorous clang, and as the last note was struck, “Mr. Foster” went over on his back with a crash, and in another five seconds Frewen had turned him over on his face and was lashing his hands behind him. The Greek was too stunned to even try to speak, and when he came to again he found lying beside him Rivas and the other two Ghileno sailors, with half a dozen Samoans standing guard over them.

Down in the cabin Raymond and MaliË had been equally as quick, and when Frewen and Cheyne came below they found “Captain” Ryan, together with the Chileno who was acting as steward, tied hand and foot and lying outside Captain Maraton's stateroom door.

“Everything all right, Mr. Frewen?” inquired Raymond.

“Everything. All the gentry up for'ard are bussed up comfortably like fowls for cooking. No one has been hurt; MaliÈ's men simply picked the mongrels up by the scruff of their necks and then tied them up. The ship is ours.”

“Then you are in command, Mr. Frewen. Please give your orders.”

“Very well, Mr. Raymond. But first let me see to the distinguished Senor Almanza.”

He opened the door of Almanza's stateroom. The Chilian was asleep. Frewen was about to touch and awaken him but pity for a badly wounded man predominated, so he let him lie undisturbed.

“Now, Mr. Raymond, I am at your service. Will you ask MaliË to man his boats, and we will start towing again.”

“With pleasure. But let us first call our good men together and drink success to ourselves and the Esmeralda. And then, whilst we are being towed towards Samatau, we can overhaul poor Captain Marston's cabin. All the specie, so this scoundrel tells me”—and he pointed to the Chileno steward—“is still in a safe in the captain's cabin, and has not yet been touched. But it was to be divided to-morrow.”

And then Randall Cheyne sprang on deck and shouted out in Samoan—

“Friends, the ship is ours! Let ten men remain on board to guard these murderers, and the rest take to the boats and tow the ship to Samatau.”

The willing natives answered him with a loud “Ave!” and ten minutes later the Esmeralda was again moving through the water.

An hour before daylight her cable rattled through her hawse-pipe, and she swung quietly to her anchor in Samatau Bay.

END OF BOOK I

BOOK II