Biggles Flies West

by W E Johns

  On the other hand, the range was now point-blank, and a shot, when one went home, did a tremendous amount of damage, although, as the soldiers were still below deck, it was impossible to estimate the actual execution. Between the roar of the guns and the crash of striking shot, the gunners on the rocks could hear Deutch’s furious cursing as he drove the crew on. Above the islet a mighty cloud of white smoke was mushrooming slowly into the air.

  Biggles, perspiration streaming down through the grime on his face, tore off his shirt and flung it aside. ‘Keep your heads down,’ he shouted, as bullets began to whistle through the air or smack against the parapet. He dragged the swivel-gun into a fresh position and poured a withering hail of lead almost vertically into the coaster’s deck. It was his last shot, for with that she crept within the zone of fire and began edging towards the landing steps. He saw that if she reached them the position would become desperate, but it was hard to see how it could be prevented. They had battered the ship to pieces, but her engines were still running; as he had said earlier on, had she been a sailing vessel she would have been out of action long before.

  Algy snatched up a musket, took deliberate aim at the helmsman, and fired. A splinter of wood flew into the air near the fellow’s head, causing him to duck, but did no further damage. Algy tossed the discharged weapon to Dick, who was panting with heat and excitement, and grabbed another. He fired again, and grunted his satisfaction as the man fell, howling, clutching at an arm that dangled uselessly.

  ‘Hold your fire, everybody,’ roared Biggles. ‘Wait till they show themselves, then let them have it. Look out! Stand clear!’

  He had seen that the vessel was now alongside the landing-stage, which was immediately under where they stood, crushing their canoe flat. While the others were still wondering what he was going to do, he had dragged one of the big guns round until the muzzle was pointing at the inside of the rampart wall, and flung a glowing rag across the touch-hole. The hot blast of the explosion made them stagger, gasping in the swirling smoke through which they saw that a large part of the wall had disappeared. The mass of masonry crashed down on the vessel’s deck. Shouts and groans filled the air; bullets smacked viciously, or screamed as they richochetted off the rock.

  Dick, fighting mad for the first time in his life, began heaving cannon-balls through the breach in the wall, cheering hoarsely as he did so.

  It gave Biggles an idea. ‘Hi! Algy!’ he yelled, straining at the gun he had just fired.

  Algy saw what he was trying to do, and joined him. The others rushed to their assistance. Between them they trundled the gun to the edge of the fort. ‘Right over!’ roared Biggles.

  For a moment the mass of iron hung poised on the brink; then it toppled over. With a frightful crash it landed on the deck of the vessel below; it went straight through the top deck as if the planking had been tissue paper, and disappeared from sight. The boat shuddered under the weight of the impact.

  Deutch, with half a dozen men at his heels, appeared, making for the steps.

  ‘Muskets!’ yelled Biggles, snatching up the nearest. He took careful aim at Deutch and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with a splutter of sparks as the weapon misfired. Deutch, by this time halfway up the steps, his teeth showing in an ugly snarl, threw up his automatic. Biggles hurled the musket at him. It struck him on the arm, knocking the weapon out of his hand. Deutch, without pausing in his rush, whipped out a knife. Biggles snatched up a pistol and fired; the shot missed Deutch but knocked over the man behind him. Pandemonium reigned. Biggles, looking frantically for another pistol, flinched as a weapon exploded in his ears, temporarily deafening him. He saw that Algy had fired it. Another of the attackers flung up his arms and went backwards, carrying one of his comrades off the steps with him as he fell. Deutch, mouthing like a maniac, came on and reached the top; two others were close behind.

  Biggles, weaponless, looked round for one, and saw a cutlass lying where it had got knocked over in the fray. He turned to get it, but his foot caught in the broken masonry of the wall, and he fell headlong. Deutch leapt at him like a wild cat. His arm jerked up, the knife flashing in the sun. Biggles wriggled like an eel to avoid the blow, but the sailor’s legs were over his own, pinning them down. For a split second they remained thus, and then, at the precise moment that the knife began to descend, a pistol roared. Deutch stiffened, arm still upraised; it dropped to his side and he fell over, coughing.

  Biggles flung him off and sprang to his feet. Dick, white as death, was crouching a yard away, a smoking pistol in his hand.

  ‘Good work, Dick,’ gasped Biggles, breathlessly, for it had been a narrow escape. He snatched up the cutlass. But during the second that he had been on the ground the whole position had changed. The sole survivor of the boarders, seeing Deutch fall and finding himself alone, waited for no more. He saw Biggles and Algy bearing down on him from either side, cutlasses in their hands. Flinging aside his rifle, he jumped clear off the rock into the sea. The few men left on the deck of the boat were working furiously to push it off.

  ‘All right! Cease fire!’ ordered Biggles, and looked about him.

  Algy was leaning against the wall, his hat gone, his hair on end, perspiration streaming down his face as he reloaded his pistol. Dick was staring down at the ship, wild-eyed. Ginger, pale under a thick layer of black powder-dust, was sitting down, mopping blood off his cheek with a piece of his shirt.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ cried Biggles sharply.

  ‘Nothing to write home about,’ answered Ginger weakly. ‘A bullet knocked off a piece of rock and it hit me in the face.’

  Biggles looked back at the ship, now fifty yards away, and making straight for the shore. ‘They’ve had enough,’ he said. ‘By the shades of Morgan, Louis himself never saw a brisker five minutes than that.’ He struck the top off a coconut with his cutlass and handed it to Ginger. ‘Take a sip,’ he invited.

  ‘What I need is a bucket of water,’ growled Ginger, as he staggered to his feet. ‘I’ve never been so hot in my life. Where’s the boat?’

  ‘If you mean ours, it’s sunk,’ replied Biggles. ‘It was crushed flat. If you mean theirs, they seem to be running it ashore. Those who are left have evidently had enough for one day. So have I, if it comes to that. Keep your heads down; some skunk might decide to take a last crack at us. Did anyone see Harvey in the fight? I was looking for him because he’s the only one who can get away in our machine.’

  ‘No, I didn’t see him,’ answered Algy.

  ‘Nor I,’ echoed the others.

  ‘That’s a nuisance. I’m afraid he’ll make off in the machine before we can get to it,’ muttered Biggles, with a worried frown. He walked to the opposite side of the fort and looked towards the lagoon. A movement on his left caught his eye, and he turned sharply seaward, staring incredulously. ‘What the dickens is this?’ he cried.

  The others, sensing more danger, ran to his side. Less than a mile away, racing towards the island, her bows throwing up two tall feathers of spray, was a dark, slim, rakish-looking craft.

  ‘Great Scott, it’s a destroyer!’ muttered Dick. ‘If she’s after us, we’ve got our work cut out, and no mistake.’

  ‘She isn’t. She’s British,’ cried Biggles excitedly. I can see her ensign.’ He looked at the others. ‘Trust the Navy to pop up when anything’s going on,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t know what they’ll say when they see this mess; buccaneering is a bit out of date. Well, we can only wait and see. Frankly, I’m not sorry to see her; a coconut diet may sound fine in books, but personally I’m pining to look a plate of ham and eggs in the face again.’

  Leaning against the wall, they could see the destroyer’s rail lined with inquisitive spectators, all looking in their direction.

  ‘What about giving them three cheers?’ suggested Ginger. ‘That should let them know we’re British, anyway.’

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Biggles. ‘Let ’em rip. Hip-hip—’

  Raising their voices, they sent three
rousing cheers floating over the water; but there was no answering cheer from the destroyer.

  ‘Miserable blighters,’ grumbled Algy.

  ‘You’ve heard talk of the Silent Service; now you can see it,’ grinned Biggles.

  The destroyer’s bow-wave dropped away suddenly as she slowed down. Before she had run to a standstill a boat was on the water, six pairs of oars flashing as it sped towards them. A dapper lieutenant in white ducks sat in the stern.

  ‘Round the other side,’ shouted Biggles, as he saw him looking for a landing-place.

  A crisp word of command and the boat altered its course; it rounded the islet, and a moment later came to rest at the landing-stage. The officer stepped ashore, staring about him in astonishment at the signs of the conflict. The sailors in the boat grinned up at the four faces peering down at them.

  The officer ran lightly up the steps and then stood still, an expression of comical astonishment on his face as his eyes ran over the guns and the four grotesque, powder-grimed figures. ‘Just what do you think you’re playing at?’ he asked curtly.

  Biggles frowned. ‘Playing?’ he queried. ‘This sort of thing may be all fun and games to you, but I can assure you that during the last hour some very strenuous work has been put in on this blistering rock. If you don’t believe that, you try sticking cannon-balls down a muzzle-loader on a hot day.’

  The other smiled faintly. The black flag caught his eye. ‘Pirates, eh?’ he murmured.

  ‘Something of the sort,’ agreed Biggles, carelessly.

  ‘Sort of Treasure Island?’

  ‘Precisely!’ declared Biggles. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. Captain Smollett, at your service. The gentleman on my left is Squire Trelawny; on my right – with the busted cheek – is Doctor Live-say and young Jim Hawkins.’ He pointed to the huddled body of Deutch. ‘And there’s Long John Silver,’ he added.

  The other started. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘I hope so,’ answered Biggles frankly. ‘He deserves to be, anyway. If he is it will save the hangman a job.’

  The officer shook his head as if the affair was beyond him – as indeed it was. His manner suggested that he thought he was dealing with madmen. Did you get the treasure?’ he inquired politely.

  Biggles raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course; otherwise the story would be all wrong, wouldn’t it? There it is; help yourself to a doubloon or two for luck.’

  The officer stepped forward, and Biggles, watching him, saw that he was about to pick up a doubloon that lay just under Deutch’s pocket. He jumped forward and snatched it up. ‘Not that one,’ he said grimly. Touch that, and you’ll never make another landfall. There is only one place for that particular piece.’ With a quick jerk of his arm he sent Bawn’s doubloon skimming through the air. For a brief moment the sunlight flashed on it as it dropped through space; then, with a tiny splash, it disappeared into the sea. Biggles breathed a sigh of relief as he turned back to the lieutenant. There’s a story hanging to it,’ he explained quietly.

  The other nodded. ‘I think you’d better come and tell it to Captain Crocker,’ he said.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ agreed Biggles.

  In single file they followed the officer down the steps into the boat.

  * Turn unsteadily from side to side.

  Chapter 17

  Explanations

  ‘It was a bit of luck for us that you happened to be coming this way,’ observed Biggles, as they sped towards the destroyer.

  The officer smiled. ‘Luck, do you call it?’ he said. ‘Do you think everyone is deaf? You made enough row to be heard over half the West Indies. We could see the smoke twenty miles away, and as we don’t like wars starting on British islands – at least, not without knowing what they’re about – we came along to see.’

  Biggles laughed, and glanced at the destroyer’s rail, lined with curious, expectant faces. He turned to speak to the others, but the expression on Dick’s face caused the words to remain unsaid. His eyes were round, and his face was as white as a sheet under its grime. Suddenly he buried his face in his hands.

  ‘Here, what’s the matter, laddie?’ cried Biggles sharply, thinking perhaps he had received a wound which he had tried to conceal.

  Dick shook his head. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said.

  Come on, out with it,’ insisted Biggles.

  I thought – I saw – my father; up there on deck,’ whispered Dick.

  Biggles looked sharply at the little crowd lining the rails. A civilian, an elderly man with grey hair, was conspicuous.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he asked the officer tensely.

  But the lieutenant was looking at Dick. ‘Your name isn’t Denver by any chance, is it?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Yes – Dick Denver,’ answered Dick wonderingly.

  ‘Well, that’s about the last straw,’ muttered the officer unbelievingly. ‘We’ve got your father aboard. He went to the Admiral at Kingston with a wild tale about a treasure and a galleon, and the Admiral was so interested that he sent him out with us to locate the island. How in thunder did you get here?’

  But Dick barely heard him. As the boat touched the steps that had been lowered, without waiting for permission he jumped on to them and raced to the top.

  By the time the others reached the deck he was laughing and crying at once in the elderly man’s arms, while a circle of officers and ratings looked on wonderingly.

  ‘This certainly beats all the stories I’ve ever read into a cocked hat,’ whispered Biggles to Algy, as the officer who had escorted them invited them to follow him to an awning on the after deck, where the commander was waiting.

  Captain Crocker was a young man. With his officers behind him, he regarded the curiously garbed, battle-stained quartet with interest, suspicion, and some slight amusement. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I should like to know what’s going on here. Who is in charge of this – er – party?’

  Biggles stepped forward. ‘I am,’ he answered; ‘but before I satisfy your very natural curiosity, may I make three suggestions, all of which have a considerable degree of urgency, or I would not make them now. First of all, a bucket or two of cold water for internal and external use; secondly, that you send a party to take charge of my aircraft, which you can see over there in the lagoon; and lastly, that you send a shore party to the rock we have just evacuated in order to take possession of a fairly valuable collection of gold coins which, as you will no doubt rightly assume, was the primary cause of the undignified bickering that was in progress at the moment of your opportune arrival. You see,’ he explained, ‘a few of the enemy have survived the engagement, and while I do not think it is probable, there is just a chance that they may make a final raid. If, at the same time, while your men are on the spot, they could dispose of some of the casualties which at present litter an otherwise pleasant spot, so much the better.’

  The commander stared at Biggles. ‘Do you mean to say that you’ve actually found a treasure?’

  There are about fifty thousand doubloons kicking about loose on that rock,’ murmured Biggles evenly.

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘There you are, sir, I told you they were not far away,’ cried Dick’s father, who was present.

  ‘As a matter of detail, sir, there are a lot of interesting things on this island,’ observed Biggles quietly.

  ‘Have you found the galleon that we’ve heard about?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll show you over it presently, if you like; but at the moment we are badly in need of some refreshment.’

  The commander got up. ‘Quite – quite,’ he said. ‘I’m still all at sea – but have a wash and a drink; then you can tell me about it. Meanwhile, I’ll send parties to do as you suggest.’

  ‘Thanks,’ nodded Biggles.

  While they were washing, Dick exchanged rapid explanations with his father who, it appeared, had survived the knife wound, but only after a long, painful illness. As soon as he was convalescent he had written a second letter to Dick, but by t
hat time Dick was already on his way to the island, so he did not receive it. As soon as he – Dick’s father – was well enough to travel he had worked a passage to Kingston, Jamaica, and there told his highly improbable story to the Admiral commanding the West Indian Station. The Admiral was sceptical about the treasure, but the story of the galleon, still intact, had aroused his curiosity, and he had dispatched a destroyer to investigate, with Dick’s father to point out the island, and, when it was found, show the captain where the wreck lay hidden.

  These things had only occurred during the last few days. On the previous evening they had picked up a wireless message, sent out by the Pan-American radio station at Marabina, to the effect that four British airmen were missing in the locality and it was for the aeroplane that the destroyer was really searching when the sound of heavy gun-fire was heard. Not a little astonished, she had steamed at full speed in the direction of the supposed battle, with the result that is now known. Dick’s father was, of course, just as astonished to see Dick as Dick was to see him.

  An hour later, after a square meal, they again forgathered under the awning. The Sikorsky had been towed to the destroyer, and now floated lightly close at hand on the limpid water. The doubloons lay in a pile near the commander’s chair. Presently he joined them. ‘There seem to have been some nice goings-on here,’ he said seriously. Take your time and let me have the whole story.’

  Whereupon, seated in a deck-chair with a drink at his elbow, Biggles told the tale of their adventures from beginning to end to a spellbound audience. The manner in which they had held the islet particularly intrigued the naval officers.

  ‘It sounds more like a book than a true story,’ observed the commander when Biggles had finished. By the way, this treasure will have to be regarded as Treasure Trove – that is, Crown property – anyway, until there has been a Court of Inquiry.’