Biggles Flies West

by W E Johns

  Yard by yard the flying-boat crept nearer to the rocks which Biggles had now made his objective, but for every yard it gained it lost three feet of height. It was nearly on the water. Subconsciously, Biggles was aware of the others crowding behind him, throwing off their clothes. The noise of the waves and the scream of the wind in the wires made normal speech futile. ‘Get ready!’ he roared.

  Dick clutched the edge of the cockpit as the machine hovered for an instant on the edge of the rocks.

  ‘The wing!’ yelled Biggles. ‘The wing! Slide down the wing!’

  Dick saw instantly what he meant. The port wing was actually hanging over the rocks. In a flash he was on it, but before he could find a handhold, a terrific gust had caught the machine and whirled it round, so that instead of being over the rocks he was now over the churning water. For one dreadful moment he clawed frantically at the smooth fabric, seeking in vain for a handhold, sliding all the time nearer to the trailing edge. Another gust shook the machine; the wing seemed to drop like a lift under him and he was flung clean into space. For a fleeting instant he seemed to hang in the air, with the foam-capped waves leaping up to meet him, then he was struggling in a deep blue world with unseen monsters that dragged him this way and that, choking the life out of him as they did so. The blue world began to grow darker, with little flecks of white light flashing in it. Dick knew that he was drowning. And just as he knew that whatever else happened he must open his mouth to breathe, the blueness exploded into white daylight. He gave a great gasp. Air poured into his lungs, but before he could see where he was, or even think of swimming, he was down in the blue world again, fighting a hopeless battle against the unseen clutching hands. He knew that he could not fight much longer. His strength was nearly gone. It would be easier not to fight, but to allow the hands to drag him where they would. They were pushing him up again now – up – up – up.

  Again he burst into daylight. Again he breathed. Weakly, he looked around for something to which he might cling, but all he could see through a smother of foam was a white line of breakers over which tall, graceful palms were tossing their wind-torn crowns. Feebly he struck out towards them, but before he had taken three strokes he was down in the blue world again, turning over and over as he was borne along, as lightly as a feather, in the heart of a wave. A sound like distant thunder, growing ever louder, reached his ears. It seemed to swell in volume until it was all around him, pulverizing him with sound. Then, just as he thought he could bear it no longer, he struck something solid, and clutched at it wildly. But it seemed to slip between his fingers, ever eluding his frenzied grip. Then miraculously the blue world faded away; the noise abated suddenly, and he found himself kneeling on a bank of sand and shingle that was sliding swiftly back towards the churning waves. In his hands were the rolling stones on which he had striven to obtain a grip. Panting, eyes wide with horror, he saw another white-crested wave rushing towards him, its top, flecked with green, curling ominously. Weakly he struggled to his feet and began fighting his way up the shelving beach.

  He knew that the wave would catch him. He could hear it as it hissed along; he could feel it overtaking him, towering high above him. Knowing that he could not escape, he dropped to his knees and dug his hands deeply into the loose stones, at the same time trying to get a grip on them with his feet and knees. He just had time to snatch a last deep breath when the wave, with a roar like an express train, overwhelmed him. In a flash he was whipped up from his unstable handhold and the blue demons had him in their clutches again. Swiftly the blue deepened to indigo, then slowly to black, across which darted flashes of vivid lightning. In his ears was the beating of a thousand drums and the clanging of bells, but the noise grew fainter and fainter as he slipped over an invisible precipice and plunged downwards into a bottomless void.

  He seemed to be falling for a long time. It was not an unpleasant sensation, but he wished it would end. He could see the earth now, in the distance, a vague, misty plain coming up to meet him. Down – down – down he plunged, towards a world of silence, leaving the thunder far behind. The earth leapt upwards. As he struck it, it seemed to explode in a great blaze of crimson flame.

  Chapter 8

  Wrecked

  Out of the corner of his eyes Biggles saw Dick go overboard and disappear under the foam, but he could do nothing to help him. Indeed, as he fought to keep the flying-boat under control, it seemed certain that during the next minute or two the others must join him. Ashen, he looked at Algy. ‘Jump when she hits!’ he cried, in a shrill, strangled voice, and dived deliberately at the rocks.

  He did not quite reach them. The machine struck the sea a few yards short, but the result of the impact was almost the same as if she had struck solid earth. There was a rending crash as the wings tore off at the roots, and the bows crumpled like a crushed eggshell.

  Ginger jumped. He landed on a rock, but it was wet and slippery with seaweed, and he slid back into the water, only to be thrown up again by the next wave. Algy followed him. He landed short but, providentially, the next wave carried him in so that he could grasp the hand that Ginger, with great presence of mind, held out to him. Gasping, he flung himself flat on the rock and took a grip on the slippery weed.

  All this had taken place in a second of time, and before Biggles could get clear of the cockpit the shattered aircraft had been blown a good twenty yards from the land, where it rolled in a boiling maelstrom. To jump now, he saw, would be suicidal, so he threw off his clothes and clung to the top of the hull, ready to make a leap for the shore should an opportunity present itself. But, unhappily, although the force of the storm seemed to have abated suddenly, the wind was still strong enough to blow the aircraft farther and farther from the rock on which the others crouched, and Biggles could only hang on and watch helplessly as the shore receded and the big seas began to batter the flying-boat to pieces.

  Algy and Ginger, safe ashore although not a little bruised, clambered along the rocks waiting for the end that now seemed inevitable. It was apparent that the aircraft could not survive the punishment it was receiving for many more minutes; already it was sinking fast. They followed it as far as they could, but presently a great mass of rock, round which the aircraft was drifting, barred their way. Frantically they sought a way over it, but in vain, and the last they saw of him, as the machine was blown beyond the point, Biggles was still clinging to the half-submerged hull. With horror-stricken eyes they watched the machine out of sight beyond the rock.

  ‘Come on! We must do something!’ cried Ginger, in a voice shrill with anxiety. He was naked except for a pair of elastic topped trunks. His wet hair was plastered down over his face, while blood from a cut in his shoulder, where it had struck the rock, mingled with the water that poured down his body so that it formed little pink rivulets.

  Algy started up, limping, vaguely conscious of a pain in his right ankle; but such was his state of mind that he did not even look to see what had caused it. ‘He’s being carried out to sea,’ he cried in a choking voice. ‘We must get to the other side of this rock.’

  ‘We can’t get over it; we shall have to find a way round,’ muttered Ginger.

  ‘What about Dick?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s gone. We can’t do anything about him, anyway. Let’s try to see what happens to Biggles.’

  They started off in a direction at right angles to the one taken by the flying-boat with the object of forcing a passage through the jungle that overhung the inland side of the rock barring their passage.

  ‘We shall never get through this stuff,’ declared Algy in something like a panic.

  ‘We’ve got to!’

  They did their best, but the task, almost naked as they were, was practically impossible. A direct course was out of the question, but by following the most open places in the luxuriant vegetation they were able to make some progress up the side of the fairly steep hill that flanked the mass of rock they were so anxious to get round. Thorns pricked their feet, briers and tr
ailing lianas clutched at their legs and bodies, but they pushed on, hardly feeling the pain.

  Ginger was first to reach the top, where he pulled up suddenly, staring out to sea. His face, already pale, turned as white as a sheet. ‘Look!’ he muttered hoarsely.

  Algy, following the direction of his trembling forefinger, said nothing. There was no need to say anything. The end of the tragedy was there before their eyes. Nearly a mile away the hull of the wrecked aeroplane was still wallowing in the waves, but of Biggles there was no sign.

  For several minutes, during which neither of them spoke, they stared at the storm-churned water between the wreck and the shore. Then Algy drew a deep breath. ‘He’s gone,’ he said simply.

  Ginger bit his lip. ‘Yes, he’s gone,’ he said in a dull voice. Sitting down, he buried his face in his hands.

  For two or three minutes they remained thus, Algy staring out across the white-capped waves, loath to abandon hope. ‘I’m afraid it’s no use standing here,’ he said at last, in tones of utter misery. ‘Let’s go back to see if we can find Dick.’

  Slowly they retraced their steps, or rather, they tried to, but it was soon clear to both of them that they had lost their original path. Not that they cared particularly. One way seemed as good as another. They knew that by going downhill sooner or later they would come to the seashore, which they did, striking it at a long, sandy beach. Two things caught their eyes at once. One was an elevator that had been torn off the ill-fated aircraft, and the other, a dark object that was being rocked gently to and fro at the extremity of the surging waves. They hurried towards it.

  ‘It’s Dick’s jacket,’ said Algy unnecessarily, for there was no mistaking the water-soaked garment that he dragged from the edge of the sea. He picked it up and stood staring at it, not knowing what to do with it, yet unwilling to cast it aside. Holding it thus, something fell from a pocket and dropped flat on the white coral sand. It was the doubloon.

  Slowly Ginger stooped and picked it up, and gazed at it pensively as it lay in the palm of his hand. ‘I think Biggles was about right,’ he said heavily. ‘One way or another, this piece of metal seems to have caused a good deal of trouble.’

  Algy nodded. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I think I’ve seen about as much of that coin as I want to.’

  ‘Then the sooner it goes where it can’t do any more harm, the better,’ declared Ginger viciously, and throwing back his arm, was about to hurl the doubloon far out to sea when he was arrested in the act by the sound of a distant rifle shot.

  ‘What the deuce!’ muttered Algy, staring in the direction whence the sound had come, which appeared to be just beyond the end of the strand on which they stood.

  ‘It couldn’t be Biggles because he couldn’t possibly have got there in the time, and he hadn’t a rifle, anyway,’ muttered Ginger. ‘This island must be inhabited. Perhaps there is a town or a village a little farther along.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a trading-station, or something,’ murmured Algy vaguely. ‘You had better hang on to the doubloon; after all, it’s gold, and it may enable us to buy food or clothes. Let’s go and have a look.’

  They set off at a brisk pace, Algy limping on his injured ankle, which a swelling suggested had been wrenched. But with the aid of a piece of driftwood, which he used as a walking stick, he was able to make fairly good progress.

  It was farther to the end of the beach than they thought; in fact, it must have been a good two miles, for they were more than half an hour reaching it, by which time it was beginning to get dark.

  Facing them, at the end of the gently curving bay round which they had walked, a mass of boulders lay like a great wall athwart the beach, high on the landward side, but sloping steeply down into the sea, evidently an old landslide from the hills that towered up in the centre of the island. From it sprang a small but graceful group of coconut palms.

  ‘If we can get to the top of that pile we ought to be able to see who fired the shot, if he’s still there,’ observed Algy.

  With a quickening sense of expectancy they scrambled up over the boulders, and arriving at the crest near the palms, stood rooted to the ground in astonishment at what they saw.

  In a small lagoon, made perfect by a coral breakwater that lay across the entrance, rode an aeroplane. One glance was sufficient to reveal that it was the amphibian that had been stolen from them in Marabina. like a giant sea-bird, it sat lightly on the water, rocking gently in the swell coming in through the opening that gave access to the sea. It was some thirty or forty yards from the shore, on which lay the collapsible canoe that had formed part of its equipment, and about the same distance from another landslide that formed the farther side of the natural harbour.

  After one swift, incredulous glance, Algy’s eyes had switched to the beach and the jungle behind it, seeking the men he fully expected to see. But to his blank surprise there was no sign of them. He turned to Ginger. ‘Well, what do you make of that?’ he said tersely.

  ‘Deutch and his crowd must be here.’

  ‘Without any shadow of doubt.’

  ‘Then—’ a sudden, almost unbelievable possibility rushed into Ginger’s mind ‘—then this must be the island,’ he whispered, almost breathlessly.

  Algy stared at him. Curiously enough, that possibility had not occurred to him. ‘What an amazing chance,’ he said.

  ‘What can we do about it?’

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘We can get our machine.’

  Algy looked at the sea, still flecked with white, and shook his head. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘There isn’t room to take off in the lagoon; she’d be swamped in five seconds in the open sea, and the beach is nothing like big enough for a land take-off. We can’t lift the machine over these rocks to the beach on the other side. Besides, it’s nearly dark. It seems a pity, but I’m afraid there is nothing we can do about it except hide up and wait for another opportunity. It’s something to know the machine is here, anyway.’ He spoke without enthusiasm, for the dreadful uncertainty of Biggles’s fate – for he still hoped, although in his heart he feared the worst – left him careless of the future. ‘Let’s get away from here in case Deutch happens to come back. No doubt he is treasure hunting,’ he concluded.

  By mutual consent, they walked quickly along the ridge on which they stood in order to reach the woods, but if they thought their adventures were over for the day they were soon to be disillusioned. They were among the slim boles of the coconut palms, looking for the easiest way down, when they almost collided with a slight, pale faced man, coming in the opposite direction. He was a stranger to them, but his first words, and the manner in which he instantly covered them with the rifle he carried, left them in no doubt as to his identity.

  ‘Waal, waal,’ he drawled. ‘Say now, ain’t that jest too dandy. Come right along. Deutch was hopin’ you’d drop in sometime!’

  Algy eyed the speaker dispassionately. He felt no fear. His only sensation was one of cold anger. ‘You’re ‘Frisco Jack, I suppose?’

  ‘Sure! Come on, let’s go, or we may slip on these stones in the dark.’

  Algy and Ginger were quite helpless, and they had the sense to realize it. Without speaking, they accompanied their captor to the far side of the lagoon where, in a small open space that had previously been hidden from their sight by an outcrop of rock, three men were seated. Deutch was one; a tall man with a slight cast in his deep set eyes, was another; the third was an enormous black man wearing a uniform so elaborate that in different circumstances he might have cut a comical figure. But there was nothing funny about the way he sprang to his feet when the small party appeared, and stood glowering, his mouth half open with surprise and the fingers of his hands slowly opening and closing.

  ‘So you’ve got here, hey?’ began Deutch, addressing Algy, after the first buzz of astonishment had died away.

  ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’ answered Algy evenly.

  ‘You keep a civil tongue in your head, my cock, or I’ll make
you sing a different tune,’ snarled Deutch. ‘Where’s your smart partner – the tall feller?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ replied Algy briefly.

  ‘Come on; no lies. Where is he?’

  Algy was in no mood for lying. In fact, he was so utterly sick that he didn’t care much what happened. ‘To the best of my knowledge he was drowned about an hour ago,’ he said curtly. ‘Our ship was smashed to pieces in the hurricane. It fell into the sea. As far as I know we are the only survivors. Now you know the whole story.’

  Silence fell for a moment or two. There was something so convincing in the way in which Algy had spoken that they could not do other than believe him.

  ‘That comes o’ bein’ too clever,’ sneered Deutch. He turned to the others. ‘What shall we do with ’em, boys?’

  The black man grinned broadly. In an instant he had whipped out a razor which he began to whet in a horrible manner on the palm of his hand.

  ‘Put that thing away,’ growled the cross-eyed man. ‘If there’s any bumpin’ off to be done, let’s have it clean. Why not turn ’em loose? They can do no harm.’

  ‘And have ’em slipping off with the machine? These guys can fly, don’t forget,’ grated the American harshly.

  ‘They might know something about – what we’re looking for,’ suggested Deutch thoughtfully.

  ‘Sure; so they might,’ agreed ‘Frisco Jack. ‘Why not tie ’em up and ask ’em a few questions in the morning? Maybe they’ll feel different then. Anyway, there ain’t no sense in doin’ nothin’ in a hurry.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ agreed Deutch. ‘That’s it, tie ’em up. We can alius get rid of ’em when they ain’t no more use. Get a bit o’ rope, Pedro.’

  Pedro found a piece of cord amongst the pile of stores that lay a little to one side, and grabbed Ginger, who was nearest, by the arm. Involuntarily, Ginger’s fingers opened under the pressure, and the doubloon, which he was still carrying, fell out of his hand on to the sand.