The First Day on the Island
The shrill pipe of the bos'n's whistle, adroitly manipulated by big
Merridew, brought the working-party out of their bunks with the
utmost alacrity. During the stay of the _Titania_ at Nua Leha the
system of routine was to be drastically altered. The port and
starboard watches, responsible for the care and maintenance of the
ship, were reduced to three men each. The remainder were amalgamated
into a working-party whose hours--voluntary, and not subjected to the
dictates of a Trades Union--were from sunrise to sunset, with
intervals for meals and recreation. Thursday afternoons were "make
and mend", as in the Royal Navy, while, except on urgent matters to
safeguard the vessel, no work was permitted on Sundays. From eleven
in the morning till two in the afternoon was "stand easy", since the
heat was too great to allow Europeans to work without grave risk.
For the first time since the _Titania_ left Southampton the
twenty-eight-foot cutter, stowed amidships, was hoisted out. Her
gunwales were protected with rope fenders; she was made fast
alongside, and the work of sending stores and gear to the beach
proceeded immediately after breakfast.
By the time "stand easy" arrived the two sea-planes had been hoisted
out and were in advanced stages of reassembly, under the supervision
of Trevear.
Claverhouse had, in accordance with instructions, gone ashore early
to fix upon a likely site for a sea-plane station. With him went Dick
Beverley, proudly grasping a .303 rifle, and with his pockets bulging
with an assortment of treasures, including sandwiches and half a
dozen ball cartridges.
The ex-R.A.F. officer and his young companion made their way along
the glistening coral beach, on which the limpid water lapped gently
under the influence of a light on-shore wind.
A walk of a quarter of a mile brought them to the bold headland on
the northern side of the little bay in which the _Titania_ lay at
anchor. Here the dark, volcanic rocks ended in a ledge that projected
about fifty yards from the general shore-line. At the extremity of
the natural breakwater the bed of the lagoon dropped abruptly to a
depth of five fathoms, although the bottom could be clearly
discerned.
"Topping place for a bathe," suggested Dick.
"Quite," agreed Claverhouse, "that is, if it's all right. You'd
better hang on till you know there's no danger."
"There are no sharks about," declared the lad.
"Take your word for it, old man," replied Claverhouse. "All the same,
I wouldn't dangle my feet in the water if I were you. There may be
ground sharks, and I believe they don't hesitate to snap at a pair of
paddling trilbies."
"What's a fellow to do if he can't have a swim?" inquired Dick.
"If----"
His words ended in a shout of horrified surprise as a long tapering
tentacle shot out from under a projecting rock and securely fastened
itself to the lad's bare ankle. Then another and yet another dark,
slimy tentacle obtained a grip upon his leg.
Vainly young Beverley strove to free himself from the horrible
embraces of a healthy young octopus. The creature's protruding eyes
and parrot-like beak were plainly visible. Although its body was only
about the size of a soup plate, the eight tentacles averaged a yard
in length. Each of the legs that had obtained a grip were bringing
into play the dozens of suckers with which they were provided, and
the net result was that Dick was a prisoner. So precarious was his
position, and so strong the tractive powers of the cuttle-fish, that
he had to hold on with both hands to prevent himself being drawn off
the slippery rock into the sea.
Claverhouse's first instinct was to grasp Dick's rifle and fire at
the head of the hideous creature; but, thinking that he might
possibly put a bullet through the lad's foot--which, owing to the
refractive qualities of the water, was quite feasible--he whipped out
his knife.
Leaning over the edge, he struck hard and deep. The keen steel sunk
to the hilt with hardly any perceptible resistance, fairly between
the vicious-looking eyes. Then, even as Claverhouse was in the act of
withdrawing the blade, two tentacles attached themselves firmly to
his hand, at the same time binding it to the foot of the now
thoroughly-scared Dick.
The unexpected jerk wellnigh capsized Claverhouse. Resisting the
impulse to hack blindly, he withdrew the knife with his left hand and
prepared to sever the tentacles one by one. It was no easy matter.
Not only was there a danger that the sharp steel might cut either his
hand or Dick's foot, but the octopus, upon receiving the stab, had
liberated a quantity of black fluid that, quickly spreading, made it
almost impossible to locate the slimy quivering arms.
But the octopus had already received more than it bargained for. The
discharge of the inky fluid--nature's counterpart to a
smoke-screen--was a preliminary move to making a strategic retreat.
Almost as suddenly as the attack developed, the suckers relaxed their
grip, and the cuttle-fish withdrew to render first aid to a deep but
by no means vital injury to its anatomy.
The two victims to the tremendous suction exercised by the octopus's
tentacles regained their feet, somewhat ruefully contemplating the
livid marks left by their late antagonist.
"Thanks, awfully, Claverhouse," exclaimed Dick. "I owe you one for
that."
"Enter it in the book, then," rejoined the ex-R.A.F. officer, with
grim jocularity. "Hope the occasion won't arise for you to call
quits."
He quizzically regarded his youthful companion, gauging his physical
inconveniences by his own.
"S'pect you've had enough of the beach to-day," he continued. "If I
were you, I'd go on board and get something for that ankle of yours.
A real Futurist picture, I call it."
Dick decided otherwise.
"I'm not going to spoil a day's sport for the sake of a smarting
ankle," he protested. "It's roast pork for to-morrow's dinner, and
pork I mean to get. I'm all right; I am really."
Claverhouse did not press the point, and the two comrades pursued
their way.
In the bay beyond, Claverhouse found exactly what he wanted. The
ground shelved gradually to the water's edge. The beach was sandy and
free from jagged lumps of coral. There was a good depth of water
close to the shore, while the reef was not only within two hundred
yards of the island, but was in several places a good six feet above
high-water mark.
"I thought coral insects always died when they'd worked their way to
the surface," remarked Dick. "How is it that this part of the reef
sticks up so?"
"I think if we landed there we'd find volcanic rocks," replied
Claverhouse. "Small islands each with a ring of coral round them;
subsiding reefs, as it were. 'Tany rate, this is an ideal sea-plane
base. I'll get some hands to work as soon as possible, so I'll get
back to the landing place. You'll carry on?"
Dick slapped the "small" of his rifle.
"I've got to work for my living," he rejoined facetiously, "so I'll
get a move on. See you later."
Claverhouse made his way to the beach opposite the _Titania's_ berth,
where already a light pier was in course of construction, and crates
and boxes were piled high awaiting a place for storage.
"You're handy fellows with an axe," he exclaimed, addressing
Griffiths and Bell.
"Never handled an axe in my life," declared Griffiths.
"And when I did I cut a slice out of my boot," Bell hastened to
assure the director of the day's destiny.
"Call yourselves ex-Royal Engineers?" remarked Claverhouse, with
assumed scorn. "You've seen Tommies wielding axes, so come and do
likewise."
He mustered his party, including Vivian and Fontayne in the number,
and the five repaired to the site Claverhouse had selected.
It was grand work plying those glittering axes in the yet cool air of
the early morning, and bringing the tall palms crashing to the
ground; but when it came to "grubbing up" the roots, that was quite a
different story.
"Thought we were diving for treasure, not digging for it," remarked
Vivian, pausing to wipe the perspiration from his brow. "By Jove, I
haven't done so much digging since I was in the Naval Brigade at
Lierre. Say, Claverhouse, do crabs climb trees out here?"
He pointed to a felled palm. Out of the crushed foliage a large crab
ambled awkwardly.
"Looks like it," replied Claverhouse. "Wonder what a fellow would do
if one of those beauties climbed into the fuselage of a bus and began
nibbling the bloke's toes. He'd wonder what was wrong with the
rudder-bar."
"There's another, making off with a coco-nut," said Griffiths. "And I
volunteered to sleep ashore," he added, with the air of a man who had
made a bad bargain.
"Nemesis, my son," exclaimed Vivian, "you didn't half chuck your
weight about when yours was the only cabin that wasn't infested by
those flying cockroaches in the Red Sea. I'd advise you to surround
your tent with barbed-wire entanglements, and keep a Lewis gun under
your pillow. Come on. This won't get the work done, and we've an hour
to 'stand easy'."
The five set to work with redoubled efforts, and when the time for
the midday rest came round the ground was cleared and levelled
sufficiently to commence the erection of hangars.
"Dick's busy," observed Claverhouse, as the faint report of a
rifle-shot rang out. "That's the fifth. Suppose it means pork for the
rest of the week."
"Or possibly none at all," added Bell. "I was chipping him last
night, and said he wouldn't fire a single shot."
"He's fired five, anyway," said Fontayne. "If you'd anything on
you've lost, my festive. You said 'fire', didn't you?"
Upon returning to the landing-place, Claverhouse found Villiers and
Beverley resting after their labours, which consisted principally of
digging a deep hole and sinking three large barrels in it. These were
connected by a pipe, and a small stream of pure water was diverted
into them. Trevear and O'Loghlin had practically completed the
reassembly of the two dwarf sea-planes, while the rest of the
landing-party, under Harborough's supervision, had made great strides
with the shore base. Tents were already erected, and a large
storehouse, fashioned after the manner of a Canadian lumberman's hut,
had grown to a height of five feet.
"What have you done to your hand, Claverhouse?" asked Harborough,
when the party sat down to an alfresco lunch.
"Octopus took a fancy to it," replied the ex-R.A.F. officer. "We'll
have to be careful bathing off the rocks. No, it's nothing much,
thanks."
"We saw a couple of sharks as we rowed ashore," announced Merridew.
"They followed the boat into quite shallow water."
"We'll have to take precautions when we bathe," remarked Harborough.
"No isolated swimming. Keep together, and have a boat ready. Pete,
what's the bill of fare?"
"All propah, sah," replied the cook, with a terrific smile. "Same as
in ole Bahamas."
There were roast fowl, taro bread, omelets with bananas and slices of
melon--the whole feast provided out of the natural resources of the
island. Everyone agreed that it was a fortunate chance that brought
Pete on board the _Titania_, for he alone of all the ship's company
was well versed in the vegetable products of the tropics.
Upon the resumption of work, after a long and enjoyable spell in
which pipes and yarns held full sway, strong moorings were laid in
the narrow part of the lagoon for the two sea-planes. There seemed
every indication of the glorious weather holding, otherwise
Claverhouse would not have run the risk of leaving his precious
charges afloat. Nevertheless, he was determined to push on with the
construction of the hangars, which were to be made so strongly that
they would successfully resist the tropical gales.
Before nightfall the big store was ready for the roof of palm-leaf
thatch. The shore-party made themselves at home, and the men told off
to sleep on board prepared to return.
"Where's your young brother?" asked Villiers.
"With Claverhouse, I think," replied Beverley.
"Well, he isn't," corrected Jack. "Alec's just gone down to the
boat."
Bobby ran down to the beach and hailed the airman.
"Not a sign of him," replied Claverhouse. "I thought he'd return
straight to the camp. We'll have to send out a search-party. The
island isn't so very big, but he may have lost his way."
There was no lack of volunteers. Every man ashore, from Harborough to
Pete, expressed his willingness to look for the missing Dick.
The fall of night hampered their task, and at the end of a couple of
hours' strenuous search the party reassembled on the beach with their
aim unattained.
"The moon will be up in another twenty minutes," announced
Harborough, who felt himself responsible for having dispatched the
young huntsman on his shooting expedition. "Who'll have another
shot?"
"We'll carry on till we find him, sir," was the unanimous response.