Biggles Flies West

by W E Johns

  ‘How many of them are there, do you think?’

  ‘There can’t be less than a score – probably more.

  ‘That’s how I figured it out. It looks as if it’s a good thing we laid a few nuts in store, doesn’t it? Hark!’

  ‘There he is! It must be Harvey coming back,’ cried Ginger. He pointed to a speck far out to sea, to the southwest.

  ‘Yes, that’s our machine,’ said Biggles, shielding his eyes with his hand. ‘It looks as if we’ve a tidy force opposed to us.’

  Keeping under cover of the rampart wall, they watched the machine land, and then, peeping through various loopholes, they looked back at the point. The troops had withdrawn some distance, but they could see them being addressed by Deutch in the shade of the jungle.

  ‘Hello! What’s he going to do?’ asked Biggles suddenly.

  ‘Looks like a flag of truce,’ answered Algy in a surprised voice.

  With a dirty piece of white rag held high on a stick, Deutch advanced to the nearest point of the rock. ‘Hi, you over there,’ he bellowed.

  Biggles spoke sharply to Algy. ‘Keep me covered,’ he said. ‘Let drive at the first sign of dirty work.’ Then he stood up. ‘Hello yourself,’ he answered.

  ‘I’ve come to offer you a square deal,’ shouted Deutch.

  ‘What’s your idea of a square deal?’

  ‘You show us where you’ve hid the dough and we’ll give you a passage back to Marabina.’

  Biggles smiled. ‘Thanks,’ he called sarcastically. ‘We’d sooner be where we are.’

  ‘You mean you won’t show us where you’ve hid the dibs?’

  ‘Not a mother’s son of ’em.’

  ‘All right, my cock. You won’t chirp so loud by the time I’m through with you; maybe I can find a way of making you talk.’

  ‘Not forgetting that you’ve got to catch me first.’

  Deutch cursed vindictively. ‘I’ll skin you alive when I lay hands on you,’ he roared as he turned away, shaking his clenched fist. He rejoined the troops, and a minute later two or three detached themselves and set off at a run down the beach.

  ‘I wonder what they’re going to do?’ murmured Algy.

  ‘I should say they’re going to fetch a boat from the coaster,’ returned Biggles. ‘They’ll bring it back here and then try to storm us. I’m afraid we’re in for a sticky time, but our only chance is to fight it out. Well, whatever happens, Deutch isn’t getting those.’ He pointed to the heap of doubloons that gleamed dully in a corner. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll heave the whole lot into the sea rather than he should get his hands on them. Come on, let’s get busy and load every weapon we’ve got. We’ve a good card up our sleeves and we’ll keep it there as long as we can. Deutch knows we’ve got muskets, but he doesn’t know about these babies.’ He touched one of the cannon with his toe. Then he smiled. ‘As a soldier I’ve always been curious to see the effect of a charge of grape-shot, and it looks as if this is my chance,’ he observed. ‘Let’s get the swivel-gun up here; I’ve got a feeling that it is going to upset Mr Deutch’s calculations.’

  ‘How can we fire the guns?’ asked Algy suddenly. ‘We haven’t a match between us.’

  ‘We can soon get over that difficulty,’ answered Biggles promptly. ‘When we’re ready I’ll snap a pistol into some loose powder with some pieces of dry rag in it. We shall have to keep a little fire going.

  The sun blazed down as they rammed the powder into the guns. Algy picked up a cannon ball weighing perhaps five pounds. ‘If this happens to hit anybody in the teeth there’ll be no need for him to see a dentist,’ he declared cheerfully, as he thrust it into a yawning muzzle.

  The swivel-gun was dragged up from below, and with perspiration streaming from them, they aligned it on the channel. All the powder, shot, and small arms, including another cutlass and a pike, were brought up, and placed in handy positions. When it was done Biggles nodded approval as he glanced round. ‘Well,’ he observed, ‘they may take us, but before they do there will be such a noise as should cheer the mouldering bones of Louis le Grande. By gosh! I’ll tell you what! We’ll fly his flag. It’s many a day since the Jolly Roger flapped over the Main, and if it never flaps again we’ll be the last to fly it.’ He ran below and returned with the grim emblem of piracy. He picked up the pike, and after tying the flag to it, wedged the handle into the draining hole in the corner.

  Dick regarded it with shining eyes. ‘That’s the stuff.’ he cried approvingly. Then he burst into song:

  ‘Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,

  Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum.’

  The others joined in the famous refrain, roaring it at the top of their voices.

  ‘Drink and the devil had done for the rest,

  Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum.’

  Algy, looking through his loophole, saw the astonished faces of the soldiers peering out of the jungle. ‘They think we’ve gone crazy,’ he declared.

  Biggles nodded. They’re not far wrong, either,’ he murmured drily. Then his eyes glinted. ‘Avast there, pipe down,’ he cried. ‘Here comes the boat.’

  A small boat had appeared from the direction of the lagoon; it was being rowed by four men, who kept close into the shore. It disappeared behind the headland, and presently the watchers, from their eyrie, saw Deutch’s crew creeping down towards it.

  ‘How many men can they get into that boat?’ asked Algy.

  ‘Not more than a dozen,’ replied Biggles shortly. ‘Here they come,’ he added quickly, as the boat shot round the end of the point. It was low in the water under the weight of the men crowded into it. Four were rowing, urged on by Deutch who sat in the stern.

  ‘Hold your fire until I give the word,’ ordered Biggles.

  He waited until the boat was half way across. Then, ‘Fire!’ he roared.

  The four muskets blazed, their booming reports echoing again and again in the hills. Water splashed round the boat. A man collapsed, but the rowers continued to ply their oars. Biggles snatched up another musket. ‘Rapid fire!’ he yelled.

  Under the fusillade of musketry, two more of the soldiers collapsed, one springing up and falling overboard; but the boat still surged towards the islet.

  Biggles leapt to the brass swivel-gun, snatching up a piece of smouldering rag from the fire he had lighted for the purpose. There was a curious smile on his face as he brought the long barrel to bear. He dropped some loose powder on the touch-hole; then leapt aside as he fired it with the rag. A stream of flame and sparks spurted from the muzzle as the gun roared; a great cloud of smoke bellied outwards.

  Had Biggles been serious when he said that he wanted to see the result of grape-shot, his wish was fulfilled. And it exceeded anything he imagined. In the first place, the recoil was terrific. He had rammed probably a hundred bullets into the gun. They struck the boat, and the water around it, in a murderous hail of lead. The water was churned into foam for an area of several square yards. The boat nearly overturned. Shouts and groans rose on the air. Inside the boat all was chaos. Only one of the rowers retained his oars, and these he was unable to use because of the turmoil. Above the uproar rose the frenzied cursing of Deutch. The bows of the boat, seemingly of their own volition, turned back towards the shore. The rower got his oars free and recommenced rowing furiously. A soldier snatched up another oar and helped him, using it as a paddle.

  Biggles barely saw these things, for he was working like a madman reloading the gun. By the time he had finished the boat had nearly reached the sand near the point, but pressing home his advantage, he snatched up another piece of rag and fired the touch.

  Boom! Another great cloud of smoke rolled turgidly towards the island.

  When it had cleared somewhat they saw that the boat had overturned, and was lying awash in the gentle ripples on the beach. Two or three men were splashing in the water; others floated motion less. One was crawling up the sand. Three or four others, Deutch among them, were running for cover, and pre
sently disappeared behind the rocks.

  ‘Go on firing at the boat,’ shouted Biggles. Try to knock some holes in her bottom.’ Suiting the action to the word, he snatched up an undischarged musket and fired. A splinter of wood leapt from the upturned keel. Reloading, he fired again. For another five minutes they continued the fusillade before he gave the order to cease fire. ‘That’s given them something to think about, I fancy,’ he observed with satisfaction. ‘As Louis would say, there’s confusion amongst them. Recharge all the muskets,’ he added, as he set about reloading the gun that had done so much damage.

  Algy grinned as he looked at him, for his face was black with powder smoke. ‘As you say, that should have given them something to think about,’ he agreed. ‘Do you think they’ll try it again?’

  ‘There’s no knowing what they’ll try,’ growled Biggles. ‘Deutch is desperate for the doubloons, and he’ll try everything before he gives up. If all else fails, he may try to starve us out, in which case, since we’ve no means of leaving the island, things may get awkward.’

  ‘Talking about starving, what about cracking the odd nut?’ suggested Dick. ‘I’m hungry.’

  A bullet splashed against the parapet.

  ‘You’ll get your own nut cracked if you don’t keep it down,’ Biggles told him grimly. ‘I saw you dancing about while the fight was on as if there were no such things as bullets.’

  Dick raised his eyebrows. ‘Did they shoot at us?’

  ‘I should jolly well think they did. The rest of the crowd, hidden amongst the rocks opposite, were sniping at us as fast as they could go. Don’t forget that next time. All right; go below everybody and get a bite. I’ll keep watch. Come up and take over when you’ve finished eating.’

  The afternoon wore on, and by the time the others had finished, and Biggles had snatched a hasty meal, the sun was far down in the west. There was no sign of the enemy apart from an occasional shot that smacked harmlessly against the parapet, which served as a warning that the islet was being closely watched.

  In the twilight four men made a dash towards the boat, but they had no heart for their job and beat a quick retreat under the fusillade poured at them from the ramparts. Twilight deepened into night, but there was no further activity on the island.

  ‘We shall have to keep strict watch tonight,’ declared Biggles. ‘We had better make our beds up here. Dick, no prowling about, remember.’

  Dick shook his head vigorously. ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ he said with an emphasis that made them all laugh.

  Chapter 16

  Warm Work

  Dawn the following morning saw Algy doing duty as guard. A slight mist hung over the sea and shrouded the island in a soft, lavender-tinted mantle, but as the rays of the sun dispersed it, his sharply uttered, ‘All hands to repel boarders’ brought the others scrambling to their feet.

  ‘What’s happening?’ demanded Biggles tersely, wide awake on the instant.

  Algy pointed, and following the direction of his outstretched finger, the others saw the coaster, which was really a ketch fitted with an auxiliary engine, standing towards them over a flat sea that shimmered with all the hues of mother-of-pearl. With the island background, the tall mainmast reflected faithfully in the water, and the long ripple of the wake flashing like a jewelled chain, the boat made a delightful picture. ‘A painted ship upon a painted ocean.’ But Biggles saw no beauty in the scene, for her mission was all too clear.

  ‘So that’s the idea,’ he murmured quietly. ‘They’re going to try to board us from the big boat. Unless I’m mistaken, this is where things start to warm up.’

  ‘I can’t see anybody, except the man at the wheel,’ remarked Algy, one foot on the low parapet, leaning against his cutlass as he regarded the oncoming ship with brooding eyes.

  ‘Don’t be deceived by that. I imagine they are all below, out of reach of our shot – or so they think. They know all about the swivel-gun now, but they know nothing about our heavy metal. If only we can aim straight we can still give them a jolt. Listen, chaps,’ he went on earnestly. ‘We’ve talked a lot about Louis le Grande, and we’ve played at being pirates, but there is going to be no fun about this. We’re facing reality, even if the clock has been put back two hundred and fifty years. We’ve got to fight because we can do nothing else. It would be fatal to fall into Deutch’s hands. We know too much, and he’d see to it that we didn’t pop up at some future date to lay evidence against him for murder. “Dead men tell no tales” is his motto. It was Dakeyne’s, under whose flag we are fighting, so we may as well make it ours. If Deutch wins, it will be a case of “Them as die’ll be the lucky ones”, as Long John Silver would say, so we’ll fight as men were expected to fight in the days when the Jolly Roger flapped at the peak. That’s all.’ Stooping, he snapped his pistol in the little heap of powder he had prepared, and after the flash, stirred the rags it had ignited. ‘Come on,’ he added. ‘Let’s have the guns over to this side and stand by to give them a broadside.’

  Dick helped to drag the heavy guns into position, and again the feeling came over him that he was living in the past; that he was doing something he had done before in some other age. But there was no time for contemplation.

  ‘The skunks are taking good care to keep out of sight,’ muttered Biggles, as he watched the approaching boat.

  ‘What is the maximum range of these guns, do you think?’ asked Algy.

  ‘I haven’t the foggiest notion,’ confessed Biggles. ‘I’ve handled a good many different weapons in my life, but not this sort. They were a bit before my time. All the same, I’ve taken a great fancy to them.’

  ‘Try a sighting shot; we should be able to reach them now,’ suggested Algy.

  ‘Yes, I think we may as well open the ball,’ agreed Biggles. ‘Stand clear when I fire; she’ll jump like a wild horse. Get ready to reload.’ He crouched behind the gun, squinting through the small round hole that served as a crude sight. ‘Get a light, Algy,’ he ordered, as he made a slight adjustment in alignment.

  Algy snatched up a piece of glowing rag on the end of his cutlass and stood ready.

  ‘Fire!’ shouted Biggles, jumping aside.

  A long tongue of orange flame, followed instantly by a churning cloud of smoke, leapt out across the sea as the gun exploded like a thunderclap and jerked backwards under the power of the recoil. While the echoes were still reverberating in the hills a column of water spurted into the air beyond the boat, now about a quarter of a mile away.

  ‘You’re over her,’ cried Algy, stooping down to peer under the smoke. ‘Your line was good; a little less elevation and you’ll hit her.’

  ‘I’ll get the hang of it in a minute,’ answered Biggles, darting to the next gun, while Dick and Ginger started reloading the one he had just fired. Algy stood ready with the rag.

  ‘Fire!’

  Boom!

  Again a stream of flame and smoke flashed towards the boat. There was a crash of timber and a cloud of splinters flew from her counter.

  ‘Got her!’ yelled Algy delightedly. ‘Keep it up.’

  ‘We’ve got to land one in her engine-room, or hole her at the water-line,’ muttered Biggles. ‘In the old days they could shoot at the rigging to put a ship out of action, but that doesn’t work any longer – more’s the pity. Now we’ve got the range we’ll give her a broadside; it should put the wind up them, at any rate.’

  Again Ginger and Dick reloaded feverishly while Biggles sighted the other guns.

  ‘Everyone get some rag and stand by to fire,’ he cried. ‘Ready! Fire!’

  The fort shook under the roar of the guns. A huge cloud of smoke completely hid the target. While it was clearing they all worked like madmen at reloading.

  ‘Hurrah!’ Algy’s cheer was taken up by the others as the smoke cleared sufficiently for them to see the ship.

  ‘You’ve got her mast,’ shouted Dick, dancing in his excitement.

  It was true. The mainmast trailed over the starboard q
uarter. This, of course, did not affect the boat as it would have done had it been under sail, but the extra resistance on one side caused her to yaw.* The crew had evidently realized it and were trying to correct the trouble, for three men were slashing furiously at the tangled cordage to clear it. Half the wooden superstructure had also been carried away, so it was clear that at least two shots had found their mark.

  ‘Muskets!’ roared Biggles. ‘Try to drop those fellows who are clearing the tackle. If we can stop them it may foul the rudder.’

  They opened up a brisk fire with their small-arms. One of the men dropped; another bolted. The third, with commendable courage – for the range was short – braved the fire and went on with his work.

  Biggles dropped his musket, sprang to the swivel-gun, took quick aim, and fired. His aim was true. The deadly grape-shot swept the deck and sent splinters flying in all directions. The one survivor of the working party dropped, but after rolling about for a moment or two, he managed to get to his hands and knees and crawl away to cover.

  Biggles was astonished at the effect caused by the gun, and he expressed it ‘It’s more effective than shrapnel,’ he declared. ‘We stung her badly that time – look.’

  The boat was now definitely veering off its course, although the helmsman, whom they could see crouching in the damaged superstructure, had got his rudder hard over.

  ‘Ginger, Algy, go on firing the big stuff,’ shouted Biggles. ‘Don’t wait for me. Load and fire as fast as you can. Dick, re-load all the muskets.’

  They began a furious cannonade, Biggles using the swivel-gun, the others firing solid ball. The boat was hit several times; her planking was torn and furrowed; splinters lay everywhere, both about the decks and on the water, but in spite of their efforts, the helmsman managed to get his craft under control and it crept steadily nearer.

  Biggles began to look anxious, for he saw that within a few minutes she would pass inside the field of fire of their guns, the muzzles of which were already depressed almost to their limits. Further, she had gone out to pass the islet on the seaward side, presumably to reach the steps, which Deutch had either seen or assumed were there, and time was lost while they dragged the guns to point in that direction.