During the next few days the utmost activity prevailed on the island. Demolition parties blew up the gun-pits and levelled the defences. The store-houses were overhauled, and the plunder carefully examined and labelled with a view to restoring it to its lawful owners. Work, too, proceeded at high pressure on the Kittiwake and Alvarado, and both vessels soon looked like being able to get away under their own steam.
At length the day fixed for the departure of the Australian Squadron arrived. In the morning there was a ceremonial parade ashore, attended by every available man of the warships backed up by the crews of the three merchant vessels.
Amidst the ringing cheers of the officers and men, the Union Jack was hoisted, and the secret base taken over as a dependency of the Commonwealth of Australia.
The few surviving members of Ramon Porfirio's mob were then embarked on board the seaplane carrier. A garrison of fifty volunteers from the squadron was left to take charge of the new acquisition, together with a few of the merchant seamen, who, curiously enough, showed no immediate desire to quit the island.
One of the destroyers was ordered to Honolulu to take the survivors of the Donibristle's crew. Colonel Vivian and Mr. Tarrant had accepted the Commodore's offer to give them a passage to Australia.
Phil Branscombe eyed his chum curiously when Burgoyne told him of his intention to return to Sydney.
"I think I know why you're shaping that course, old bird," he remarked sagely.
"I bet you don't, any old way," rejoined Alwyn.
"Oh, anyone would know that," continued Phil. "There's a lady in the case. Look here, I'll bet you a hundred Havanas that you'll be engaged to Miss Vivian within the next three months?"
"Done," agreed Burgoyne. He was none too certain that Phil would lose; on the other hand if Branscombe won, he, Alwyn, would pay up most cheerfully.