Sand-bagged
During the next three weeks there was plenty of work for all hands.
It was hard work, too; but everyone stuck to it grimly and
determinedly in spite of aching muscles, blistered hands, and a
variety of small ailments consequent upon unaccustomed handling of
white-lead, paint, tar, pitch, and sooji-mooji.
The latter was unanimously voted a tough proposition. Composed
principally of caustic soda, it is the shell-back's sheet anchor
where old paint has to be removed. The amateur crew of the _Titania_
found that it removed other things as well--for it burnt into their
fingers, had a decided tendency towards destroying their clothes, and
not infrequently spoiled their foot-gear.
There were other minor casualties. Griffiths, an ex-R.E. officer, and
one of the two representatives of the British Army amongst the
_Titania's_ ship's company, found by practical experience that a
marline-spike has a sharp point, and that even when dropped from a
height of a couple of feet can rightly claim to be best man in an
encounter with a human toe. Merridew, too, discovered, to his extreme
physical inconvenience, that there are two ways of using an adze--the
right and the wrong. Subsequent reflection on the part of the victim
resulted in a decision that there was even a better way of dealing
with adzes--to leave them severely alone.
Also the amount of brain-work required to equip and provision the
ship was not small. Nothing superfluous was to be taken--only the
absolute essentials. In the old days, "when there was a war on",
procuring stores for M.L.'s was a comparatively simple matter. The
officer in charge signed a "demand note" for a quantity in excess of
what he actually required, taking this step to safeguard himself
against the parsimony of an official known as a Naval Stores Officer,
who had a nasty habit of cutting down the demands. In the case of the
_Titania's_ equipment this would have been a financial disaster. Each
man knew in effect it was his own money that he was laying out and
acted accordingly.
Within eight days of the purchase the _Titania_ was docked, cleaned,
and "compoed", undocked and berthed alongside a wharf. This had been
done by the yacht-yard hands, but Harborough and his "merry
buccaneers", as he generally referred to them, were toiling like
galley-slaves.
The grey, rust-stained sides had been scraped and had been given two
out of a final three coats of white paint, and white paint at the
present time costs money. But it was money well laid out. The health
and comfort of the ship's company, as the yacht sweltered in the
Tropics, depended largely upon the almost non-absorbing properties of
white paint to the terrific glare of the sun.
The grimy decks were scraped and then scrubbed with wet sand; the
dull varnish on the teak-work was removed and the bare wood given
three coats of copal. The masts were rubbed down and painted a
pale-buff colour, and the whole of the standing and running rigging
renewed. Fortunately, the sails were in excellent condition.
"What arms are we taking?" asked Villiers.
"Nothing very formidable," replied Harborough, who, at his own
request, was no longer addressed as Sir Hugh by his fellow
adventurers. "I don't anticipate any scrapping. Bloodthirsty
cannibals are back numbers in the part of the Pacific we are making
for, and I don't suppose that our rival treasure-hunters will go to
the extent of armed aggression."
"Still, we ought to be prepared for emergencies," rejoined Villiers.
"There's virtue in the barrel of a Maxim gun."
Harborough shook his head.
"Not always," he replied. "When there's a hot-headed fellow fingering
the firing-button, for instance. No, no; we'll dispense with a Maxim
or a Lewis. A couple of rifles will be useful, perhaps, and half a
dozen automatic pistols. I'll take a dozen 12-bore shot guns. It's
remarkable what a deterrent a charge of small shot can be. Verey
Lights and rockets we'll take. You might see to the ship's armoury.
Most of the guns, the rifles, and two automatic pistols are already
at Thalassa Towers. Bring them down next time you have room in the
car. Oh, by the by, you might read this."
He handed Villiers a long blue envelope. Within was a communication
from the underwriters of s.s. _Fusi Yama_ agreeing to grant Sir Hugh
Harborough the sole rights of salvage subject to a 5-per-cent
royalty.
"Five per cent," exclaimed Harborough. "Evidently they think we're on
a fool's errand. However, now everything is fair and above board. We
are the legitimate firm; Borgen & Co. are mere interlopers."
"Talking about Borgen," observed Villiers, "just step aft a minute.
See that tramp lying alongside Anstruther's Wharf? The one with the
black, yellow, and blue funnel."
"Ay," assented Harborough. "Is she our rival?"
"I don't know--yet," replied Jack. "We haven't our intelligence
Department in full working order at present. All I know--on the
authority of the Yard Foreman--is that she's the _Geier_, one of
Germany's surrendered mercantile fleet, and she's just been sold to a
Swedish firm."
"And thence back to Germany," commented Harborough. "Verily the ways
of our politicians passeth understanding. However, if Kristian Borgen
has a finger in that pie we'll have to watch the _Geier_."
Villiers laughed.
[Illustration: SANDBAGGED]
"Shouldn't be surprised if the _Geier's_ people haven't been watching
us pretty carefully for the last few days," he remarked. "Don't you
think it would be as well if a couple of us slept on board in future?
Several of the cabins are quite habitable."
"There's a night watchman," observed Harborough.
"Yes, for the whole of this yard," added Jack. "He can't be
everywhere at once."
"Very good," agreed Harborough. "Pick out two of the crowd and warn
'em for sleeping aboard."
"I'll take the first week," volunteered Villiers. "Beverley will,
too. And we may as well have Tommy on board."
Tommy was an Aberdeen terrier belonging to Sir Hugh--a sharp-faced,
long-nosed little animal who seemed to be perpetually asleep with one
eye open all the time.
"Good enough," agreed Harborough. "Seen O'Loghlin about? I want to
speak to him about those diving-dresses."
Four more days passed--the days in strenuous activity, the nights in
utter tranquillity. Villiers and Beverley found the new arrangement
quite comfortable. They were afloat once more, even though the
_Titania_ was berthed alongside a wharf in a sheltered tidal river.
During working-hours a "brow" or gangway gave access to the vessel,
but when the working-party packed up, the brow was removed, and the
only means of direct communication with the shore was a wire "Jacob's
Ladder" that led to a long raft moored between the _Titania_ and the
jetty, whence a wooden ladder, its lower rungs slippery with weed as
the tide fell, enabled access to the wharf.
It was Saturday evening. Manual work on board had been set aside to
be resumed early on Monday morning. Beverley, who was beginning to
feel the strain of long hours and hard toil, had turned in early.
Villiers, with the small table of his cabin covered with technical
books, was deep in _Norrie's Epitome_ and _The Nautical Almanac for_
1920.
"Yacht, ahoy!"
Jack heard the hail but did not stir. Calls of that sort were common,
considering that there were half a dozen yachts, with hands living on
board, lying in the tier out in the stream.
"_Titania_, ahoy!"
"For goodness sake why didn't you say so before?" exclaimed Villiers
to himself. "Where's Tommy? Why didn't he bark, I wonder?"
Getting into his pilot-coat, for the night air blew coldly down the
river and contrasted forcibly with the warm cabin, Villiers went on
deck.
"Ahoy, there!" he exclaimed.
On the edge of the wharf stood a man with his back to the feeble
gleam of a gas-lamp.
"Telegram for Harborough, yacht _Titania_," he announced. "Prepaid
wire."
"Come aboard," said Jack.
"Sorry, sir," was the reply. "I'm a stranger to this sort of game. No
hand at ladders, I'm not."
Considering the awkward means of gaining the _Titania's_ deck, the
man's objection was reasonable enough, so Villiers descended the
wire-rope ladder, crossed the raft, and ascended the vertical steps.
The tide had almost finished on the flood, and there were only a few
rungs to scale.
"Prepaid, eh?" remarked Villiers. "All right. I have a pencil. Let's
go under the gas-lamp."
The next instant a multitude of dazzling lights flashed before his
eyes, and without a cry he pitched head-long on his face.
* * * * *
"Jack, old thing!" shouted Beverley, throwing back his blankets and
jumping from his cot. "What's the time? Why, it's eight bells! Who's
turn is it to light the stove this morning?"
Receiving no reply from the adjoining cabin, Bobby laid hold of a
sponge, dipped it in the water-jug, and made his way softly to
Villiers' berth. He opened the door and looked in.
"What's he doing?" he thought in wonderment, for the cot had not been
slept in. The lamp was still alight, but on the point of burning
itself out. It was an oil-lamp, for the electric-lighting
arrangements were not yet in working order. The table was littered
with books, two of them open, while a pipe, with a small heap of
white ash, lay upon the open page of the _Nautical Almanac_.
"I believe he's been swotting all night, the mouldy old book-worm,"
thought Beverley. "Now he's gone to the bathroom to shove his heated
brow in cold water."
But the bathroom was empty. A hurried search brought no sign of his
chum--nor of the dog.
Fearful of his own surmises, Bobby looked over the side. Almost the
first thing he noticed was the dead body of Tommy left stranded on
the mud by the falling tide, but of Villiers not a trace.
Even as he looked at the unfortunate Aberdeen, a swell threshed
sullenly against the evil-smelling mud and lifted the dog's body a
couple of feet or so nearer the weed-covered piles. A steamer had
just passed--a tramp, outward bound, with the name _Zug_--Malmo, on
her stumpy counter.