Biggles Flies West

by W E Johns

  Dick stared at the face, speechless, his reeling brain trying to fit together the confusing pieces of a dreamlike jigsaw puzzle. ‘Biggles!’ he cried weakly.

  Chapter 10

  What Happened to Biggles

  When Biggles, on the sinking aircraft, had been driven beyond the point of rock that hid him from the others’ gaze, his position was not quite so desperate as it undoubtedly appeared to them. In the first place, the half empty tanks, and the air filled wings that still trailed behind the hull, gave it a certain degree of buoyancy. Secondly – and this, of course, they could not see – the wreck was being driven towards a small islet, little more than a big mound of rock, that rose out of the water some distance farther along, perhaps two hundred yards from the main island. It appeared to be a piece broken off the end of the island, the very tip of the crescent which in shape it resembled. Beyond it lay the open sea.

  Biggles, watching with a degree of anxiety that can be better imagined than described, saw at once that if the wreck went ashore at the islet he might be able to climb up the face of the rock beyond the reach of the waves, from where, when the sea calmed down, he could swim to the island. On the other hand, if it was blown beyond the point, it would certainly be carried out to sea where it would quickly founder.

  It was a close thing. At one time he thought he would strike the islet fairly in the centre, but at the last moment a contrary current, or a back-blast of wind, slewed the wreck sideways, so that it became obvious that it would miss it. Observing this, he took a desperate risk, although it was his only possible chance of salvation. He waited for a momentary lull between the waves, and then jumped. He fell short, as he knew he would, but half a dozen desperate strokes took him to an out-jutting crag, to which he clung with the strength of despair. The next wave struck him before he could pull himself up, but he was prepared for it, and although what little breath he had left was beaten out of him by the force of the blow, and the backwash nearly tore his arms out of his body, he managed to drag himself above the water line, where, still drenched by spray, he sank down, utterly exhausted.

  For some minutes he remained still, his face buried in his hands, elbows on his knees, while he recovered his strength; then, seeing that he was on the seaward side of the rock, he started climbing to the top, from where he hoped to obtain a view of the island and thus let Algy and Ginger know that he was at least temporarily safe.

  Before he reached the actual peak, however, a surprise was in store for him. With a mild shock he realized that the stones over which he was climbing were artificial; that they were hand-hewn in great blocks, forming a sort of ramp, or bastion. It took him some time to find a way over them, but when he did, he saw to his astonishment that he stood in what, in the remote past, had been a fort. A low, castellated wall circumscribed the top of the knoll, which had been levelled and paved with flat stones. Placed at intervals, some pointing landward and some seaward, were six old-fashioned iron cannon on rotting wooden carriages. Small heaps of cannon-balls lay beside them.

  Biggles stared about him blankly, realizing that he was standing in one of the many forts that had been established by the navigators and settlers in the great days of discovery.* At one corner a flight of stone steps led downward into the heart of the living rock, but with Dick’s fate weighing heavily upon him, he was in no mood for exploration. Remembering the others, and the anxiety he knew they must be suffering, he walked over to the landward side, and leaning over the battlements, looked long and steadily at the island, hoping to see them. They were not in sight, however, so as the sea was still in such a state that it would have been suicidal to attempt to swim the channel, he sat down to await their arrival.

  For once he was utterly sick at heart. Dick’s fate, which he did not for one moment doubt, depressed him to the point of complete dejection. He had grown fond of the lad with his ever-ready cockney wit. The other things, bad as they were, did not really matter. The expedition had gone to pieces. They had lost two machines and all their belongings. They were stranded on an unknown island, without food, without clothes, without weapons – in fact, without anything. Never in all their adventures had they been in such a plight. Meanwhile, Deutch and his companions were no doubt on Treasure Island, using their machine, living on their stores, and perhaps unearthing the doubloons. The memory of the way he had been tricked made him writhe.

  In this melancholy mood he could only sit and wait. Where were the others? Why didn’t they come? Already the sun was far down; soon it would be dark. The sea was abating rapidly, but it would still be some time before he dare risk the swim. Pensively, he gazed at the rocks nearest to the islet, those on which he would have to land – the ‘Land’s End’ of the island, now softly purple in the glow of the setting sun. Where were Algy and Ginger? Doubts began to assail him. Could it be possible that they had been washed back into the sea after all? Miserable, he could only stand and stare. If he could get to the island he might be able to do something. Looking down, he saw that the face of the rock below him was almost sheer, so he began to walk round the ramparts looking for the easiest way down when the time should come for him to go.

  He was not greatly surprised when, on the side opposite to the one up which he had climbed, he saw a number of rough steps cut in the rock, evidently the path used by the builders, and afterwards by the garrison, when a ship called with stores. It struck him suddenly that there ought to be some sort of reservoir in or under the rock, possibly a tank for the collection of rain-water; otherwise the garrison could not have survived a siege; so, as the salt water had parched his mouth, he turned towards the flight of steps that went down apparently into the very heart of the islet. The passage was pitch dark, and it was with a feeling of expectant curiosity that he groped his way downward.

  Before he reached the bottom he could see that light was coming in from somewhere, and presently he saw that it entered through cunningly cut apertures in the rock, which admitted just enough twilight for him to make out the details of the chamber in which he shortly found himself. A strange sensation that he was living in the past swept over him as he gazed around.

  The interior of the fort was one large room some forty feet square, cut out of the living rock. It gave the appearance of having been hurriedly evacuated. A pile of old clothes lay in one corner, while others were thrown carelessly over an old brass swivel-gun that leaned against a loophole. Propped against the rear wall, curled up in positions which suggested a violent death, were two skeletons. Near the bony fingers of one lay a cutlass, pitted with the rust of centuries, while scattered about the floor were several flintlock muskets and pistols. The only other articles of note were six large barrels. Investigation showed that four of them had probably contained food, either salt pork or boucan, for some mouldering bones still remained in three of them, while the fourth was still half full of musty flour. The last two had been used for gunpowder, a little of which remained. In a corner, under a thick coating of dust, was a little pile of objects that looked like marbles. Biggles picked up a handful, but dropped them again at once; he knew by their weight that they were either musket balls, or grape-shot for the swivel gun. There was no sign of a water cistern.

  For a little while he stood silent in the gathering gloom obsessed by a morbid depression as he pondered over the frailty of humanity. Who were these men who had left their bones so far from home? What grim tragedy had been enacted here? He could never know. No one would ever know. With a sigh he turned his back on the dismal scene, preferring to wait in the fresh air above, but at the foot of the steps a thought occurred to him, and he strode back to the pile of clothes. He might as well go clad, he thought, if only as a protection against the briers and the mosquitoes which he suspected would soon appear.

  He selected three garments: a shirt woven in a pattern of broad horizontal bands, a pair of reddish-coloured breeches, and a spotted handkerchief to tie about his head. They smelt stale, musty, but he did not mind that, for the morrow’s sun would, he
knew, purify them. Hunting about, he found a pair of old boots that fitted him, also a piece of tarpaulin, and this he took in order to keep the other things dry during his proposed swim to the island. At the last minute, with a curious smile playing about his mouth, he added a brace of pistols, some bullets and a flask of powder. The flask, once soft leather, was as hard as iron, but it still served its purpose. Satisfied that there was nothing more worth taking, he put the things he had selected on the tarpaulin, tied the ends together, and thrusting the cutlass under the knots as a means of carrying the bundle more easily, he returned to the battlements.

  He saw at once that the sea had gone down as swiftly as it had got up, and, moreover, the tide had ebbed considerably, lessening the distance of the swim; so, throwing his leg over the low wall, he made his way down the outside steps to the water. Another minute and he had slid gently into it. Then, by swimming on his back and holding his burden clear of the water, he was able to reach the rocks opposite without the contents getting wet.

  Finding a convenient place, he shook as much water off himself as possible, after which he donned the old-fashioned garments. This done, he looked about him. The moon had risen; and everything was very still. What dangers lurked, if any? He did not know, but having brought the pistols, he thought he might as well load them, so this he did, and leaving the hammers down for safety, he stuck them in the top of his pantaloons as the easiest way of carrying them. Then, cutlass in hand, he set off along the beach towards the spot where Dick had fallen, and where he had last seen Algy and Ginger on the weed-covered rocks. It still struck him as extraordinary that they had not appeared.

  Reaching the spot, he searched the foreshore carefully, but all he found was Dick’s jacket, which was lying where Ginger had dropped it when he had heard the distant shot. Slowly he walked on, still searching, dreading to find what he sought, until further progress was interrupted by another barrier of rock. He looked at it for some minutes, and then, deciding that there was no point in going on, he returned to the place where he had landed on the island. On the high-water mark he found some coconuts that had been brought down by the recent hurricane. These he collected, and breaking them with his cutlass, drank the milk with relish. Then, utterly worn out by the day’s fatigues, he lay down to rest until the morning.

  For a long time he could not sleep. The fate of the others haunted him, but at last, towards dawn, he must have dropped off, for it was broad daylight when a piercing scream of fear brought him staggering to his feet. For a second or two he stood blinking, fighting for complete consciousness, wondering where he was, and if the scream had been part of the nightmare that had disturbed his rest. But then he saw a movement, and knew that it was no dream. Fifty yards away an enormous black man was kneeling, reaching down for something he could not see. Wonderingly, he began to walk towards him, watching with interest as he got to his feet, dragging something up with him. Unbelievingly, he saw that it was Dick. The whole thing was fantastic, but too vivid to be anything but reality. He saw the man’s arm go up, and caught the flash of steel. Whipping out a pistol, he dashed forward. At ten yards, seeing that he would be too late if he did not act, he took swift aim and fired. The pistol roared. The man twitched convulsively. Dick slumped to the ground. A razor tinkled on the rock.

  Biggles ran forward again just as the man pitched headlong.

  * Such forts, with their old cannon still in place, still exist on many of the West Indian islands, and on the Main itself. WEJ

  Chapter 11

  The Rescue

  Biggles stooped, caught Dick by the arm and helped him to his feet. ‘You’re all right now, laddie,’ he said kindly. ‘I was just about in time, wasn’t I?’ he added gravely.

  Dick nodded. He was too far gone to speak. The sky seemed to be turning purple. His strength seemed to be running out of his feet.

  ‘Here! Hold up!’ cried Biggles sharply. ‘We don’t allow fainting.’

  Dick forced a sickly grin. ‘Sorry,’ he said, wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘I thought I was a goner that time.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Biggles. ‘It was touch and go.’ As he spoke his eyes focused suddenly on a point just beyond where they were standing. ‘Take a look at that,’ he said in a low voice, indicating something that lay on the ground. ‘It should give you something to think about.’

  Dick’s eyes followed the point of the rusty blade. He saw Pedro, lying face downwards. On the water-worn rock a few inches from his outflung right hand was a little yellow disk. It was the doubloon.

  ‘As I have remarked before, that coin doesn’t seem to bring its owner much luck, does it?’ remarked Biggles suspiciously. ‘Don’t touch it,’ he went on sharply, as Dick moved towards it with the obvious intention of picking it up.

  ‘Are you going to leave it lying there?’

  Biggles shook his head, the corners of his mouth turned down. ‘I think the sooner it’s out of sight the better,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ve seen enough of the confounded thing, anyway,’ he added almost viciously, as he walked over to the coin. Then abruptly, with the sole of his boot, he kicked it sideways into the hole in which Dick had sought refuge. ‘That’s that,’ he muttered, as it disappeared from sight. ‘Now then, my lad, we’ve got a lot to talk about. I don’t mind telling you that you’re the last person I expected to meet here. Have you seen anything of Algy or Ginger?’

  ‘I jolly well have!’ declared Dick emphatically. ‘I was trying to get them away when this devil woke up and chased me.’

  ‘Get them away? Then they’re alive! Thank God for that.’ Biggles’s fervent tone of voice revealed the depth of his relief.

  ‘They’re prisoners,’ explained Dick quickly.

  Biggles stared. ‘Prisoners!’ he ejaculated.

  Briefly Dick described his adventures which had led to the present situation.

  When he had finished Biggles drew a deep breath. ‘We must get them out of the clutches of these thugs right away,’ he declared.

  Dick glanced at the figure lying on the ground. ‘What about – him?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t stop to attend to him now,’ answered Biggles coldly. ‘His pals will have to do that’ As he spoke, Biggles reloaded the pistol he had fired. ‘Bring that razor along,’ he ordered. ‘If Algy and Ginger are still tied up it will be useful.’

  ‘Where the dickens did you get these things you’re wearing?’ asked Dick curiously. ‘Great Scott! It must have been you I saw last night,’ he went on quickly, remembering his moonlight adventure. ‘I took you for the ghost of a buccaneer.’

  ‘They were in an old fort I found over there on that islet,’ replied Biggles. ‘I haven’t time to tell you all about it now. I’m worried about the others. Come on, let’s march.’

  ‘Are you going to attack the whole gang?’ inquired Dick as they walked along the beach in the direction of the lagoon.

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll spy out the land first, and make our plans afterwards,’ replied Biggles. ‘I wouldn’t hesitate to attack except for one thing, and that’s this fellow the American told us about, ‘Frisco Jack. Apparently he’s by way of being an expert with a revolver, so it would be asking for trouble to get within range of his guns. These pistols I’ve got are better than nothing, but I wouldn’t bet on their accuracy outside a dozen yards. Anyway, I should be sorry to take on ‘Frisco Jack with a revolver — Hark! What’s that?’ He broke off sharply as a loud hail rang out not far away. It appeared to come from the far side of the first barrier of rocks over which they were about to climb, so he crept quietly to the top and peeped over. He was down again in an instant, and grabbed Dick by the arm. ‘Quick!’ he whispered. ‘Into the bushes.’

  Dick followed him to the edge of the jungle, and by keeping close behind as he forced a passage, was able to follow without scratching himself very badly. ‘Who is it?’ he breathed.

  ‘ ’Frisco Jack, I suspect, and he’s coming this way. He’s probably looking for
his friend, or else he’s wondering who fired the shot. Not a word; this may be a bit of luck for us.’

  From their place of concealment they were able to watch the ex-gangster’s movements. He appeared on the top of the barrier, and from this point of vantage gazed along the shore. ‘Hi! Pedro!’ he hailed. Then, suddenly, he saw the man lying on the rocks where he had fallen, and with a terse oath ran towards him.

  ‘Come on, this is our chance,’ breathed Biggles, and began to force a passage to the beach, making for the far side of the rocks, a position in which the American would not be able to see them. Thrusting the bushes aside with as little noise as possible, they soon reached their objective.

  ‘Now then, where is the place you last saw Algy and Ginger?’ asked Biggles crisply.

  Dick pointed to the next barrier of rocks, the landslide on which grew the clump of coconut palms. Just over the other side of that,’ he answered.

  ‘Then let’s run for it, and try to get there before ‘Frisco Jack comes back,’ announced Biggles, and suiting the action to the word, he set off at a steady run, glancing round occasionally to see if ‘Frisco Jack had reappeared.

  To his intense satisfaction there was still no sign of him when they slowed down near the landslide. ‘Now then, Dick,’ he said quietly. ‘This is where you will have to show your mettle. If we don’t rescue Algy and Ginger now we may never get another chance. It’s no time for half-measures. We shall have to go the whole hog. I don’t go about the world shooting at people for the sake of stirring up strife, but, by thunder, when other people start the row I do my best to make things hot for them. We haven’t more than two people to tackle, Deutch and the fellow who stole our ship – what’s his name? – Harvey. When I stick ’em up at the point of the pistol, you run down and cut the others free. Keep your head down, because if they start any rough stuff I shall let fly. With luck, we ought to be able to rescue Algy and Ginger and get our machine back at the same time. Anyway, that’s what I’m aiming to do. But whatever happens, once we’ve shown ourselves, you must get on with your job, which is to get the others free. Is that clear?’