Up and Down
"All ready? Stand clear."
With a deafening clatter the powerful little motor of the _Cormorant_
sea-plane fired, and the aluminium propeller revolved until it merged
into a dazzling circle of light.
Slowly, but with increasing momentum, the compact air-craft began to
skim along the placid surface of the lagoon, leaving a long and
ever-widening wake.
It was the _Cormorant's_ first ascent since the trial flight at the
works. The sea-plane's tanks were but half full in order that the
single seater might accommodate a passenger.
Claverhouse, leather-helmeted and goggled, was at the joy-stick.
Behind him on a somewhat precarious perch strapped to one of the
struts was Trevear, armed with a camera.
Originally it had been Harborough's intention to equip the two
sea-planes with a wireless-telephone outfit, but, further
consideration ended in the proposal's rejection on the grounds that
the practical results would not justify the initial outlay. The
application of aerial photography would be of great service in
locating the sunken _Fusi Yama_, and the view thus obtained would be
of a more or less permanent value. Reporting by wireless telephone
would have been satisfactory up to a certain point. There would not
have been the delay entailed in the use of photography with its
processes of developing and printing, but on the principle that the
camera cannot lie Harborough hoped for definite and important
results.
There had been keen competition on the part of the _Titania's_ crew
to "go up", but Harborough reminded the applicants that they were not
joy-riding at a couple of guineas a flight, and proceeded to whittle
down the aspirants for the part of aerial photographer, until
Trevear, the reserve pilot, was alone left in the running.
Every available boat carried by the _Titania_ was pressed into
service to act in conjunction with the seaplane. Fitted with
mark-buoys and sinkers, the boats paddled across the lagoon ready to
buoy the wreck if luck enabled the airmen to spot it.
Ascending in wide spirals, the _Cormorant_ rose to a height of two
thousand feet. At that altitude the _Titania_ was dwarfed to the size
of a dingy, while the boats looked no bigger than pea-pods. The
greater part of the lagoon showed clearly through the water--a
pale-green unbroken expanse of sand fifteen to twenty fathoms beneath
the surface. Here and there were opaque ill-defined patches that
required careful investigation.
For twenty minutes the flight continued, Claverhouse swinging the bus
to and fro in a succession of short turns, working methodically from
the entrance of the lagoon to the part where it almost joined the
island itself, while Trevear, with binoculars glued to his eyes,
carefully examined the floor of the broad sheet of tranquil water.
Suddenly the observer ejaculated an exclamation of satisfaction and
jogged the pilot on the shoulder.
"Got it!" he yelled, and grasped his camera.
"Good enough for a record," he soliloquised, and, drawing a Verey
pistol from a rack, he proceeded to fire a green light.
That was the signal for the boats to close. The motor-boat towing the
whaler and the gig approached the spot, the crews keeping a sharp
look-out for the signal that was to indicate that they were over
their unseen objective.
It was a long task. With feelings of exasperation, Trevear watched
the boats pass wide of the mark over and over again, only to be
recalled and started on a fresh course by means of pre-arranged
signals from the Verey pistol.
"There must be a current running round that point," thought Trevear.
"Every time they appear to be swept away. Ah! That's better; they've
discovered the same thing."
He raised a pistol and waited while the boats approached the dark,
ill-defined patch on the edge of which lay something of
fairly-symmetrical shape.
"Good enough!" exclaimed the observer, letting fly with three red
lights. "Bring her down, Alec!" he shouted.
Claverhouse did so, vol-planing seawards in a steep, exhilarating
dive that proved that the master-hand of the ex-R.A.F. bomber had not
lost its cunning. Striking the surface with a double bump, the
_Cormorant_ taxied in the direction of the boats, from which the
mark-buoys had already been dropped. They were now bobbing sedately
in an exaggerated curve over the site of the wreck.
"Fifteen fathoms!" announced Harborough, as the sea-plane was taken
in tow. "We're in luck, if that is the wreck. I bargained for twenty
to twenty-five."
"She's in a big patch of weeds," said Trevear, "and lying well over
on her bilge."
"Weeds generally mean mud," remarked Harborough. "Awkward stuff to
work in. However, we're lucky to locate the wreck so quickly. By the
old-fashioned method of creeping and grappling we might have taken
weeks. Stand easy. We'll start diving-operations this afternoon."
Accordingly, when the heat of the day showed signs of abating, the
diving-party proceeded to the spot. Swaine, clad in his diving-dress,
sat in the stern sheets nursing his copper helmet. As the outfit was
self-contained there was no necessity for the cumbersome air-pump and
pipe. A wire-rope ladder and a shot-line and distance-rope comprised
all the gear necessary for lowering from the boat.
During the week that had elapsed since Dick's adventure, Jack
Villiers had been undergoing a diving-course. Already he had made
good progress under the experienced Swaine's supervision, and
although he had not yet reached a depth of fifteen fathoms he was
ready, if need were, to descend to his comrade's assistance should
anything go wrong.
"You'll have to watch the current," observed Harborough, as the boat
swung to her anchor. "Better to work against it than with it on a job
like this."
"Right-o, sir!" replied Swaine, as his assistant prepared to complete
the hermetically-sealing process by placing the copper helmet on his
head and screwing down the front and side plates.
Encumbered with leaden-soled shoes, slabs of the same metal fixed to
his chest and back, and wearing his chemically-created air-reservoir
and a diver's electric lamp, Swaine was helped over the gunwale.
Awkwardly he descended the rope-ladder, till the water reached the
level of his shoulders. Then, raising his bare hand in a gesture of
farewell, he disappeared beneath the surface, leaving a trail of
air-bubbles to mark his descent.
Swaine had declined to take the portable telephone with him on the
preliminary descent, objecting on the grounds that it would hamper
his movements. On the other hand, Harborough had strictly enjoined
him not to attempt to enter the hull of the wreck, but to content
himself with an examination of the hull and report upon its position
and condition.
The moment the diver reached the bed of the lagoon all communication
with him was cut off. All he could do was to advance as near as
possible in a straight line, paying out his distance-rope as he
plodded through the ooze until he reached the wreck.
The watchers in the boats could note the trail of air-bubbles as
Swaine walked away from the shot-rope. The bubbles were the only
indications of his presence and of the fact that the life-sustaining
apparatus was still working.
"He's progressing against the current," observed Bobby Beverley.
"Perhaps it's only a surface-current," rejoined Harborough. "If so,
so much the better. Sharks? No, I don't fancy they'll dare attack a
diver. They'd be more frightened than the man. An octopus is another
proposition. They are apt to be found in weed; but they don't grow to
any very large size in these parts."
"If that's the wreck, sir," said Claverhouse, who, having seen the
_Cormorant_ safely moored, had rejoined the boats, "it would be
better to get to her from the land, I think. She's within a hundred
yards of the beach, and, although the water deepens pretty quickly, a
diver ought to make his way up and down with very little trouble."
"Good scheme, Claverhouse," replied Harborough approvingly. "We might
even rig up a semi-permanent guide-rope, and later on an endless line
for getting the stuff ashore."
"He's returning, sir," announced Villiers, pointing to the line of
bubbles.
"That's splendid," exclaimed Harborough.
He could hardly conceal his impatience, for there were moments when
the generally-inscrutable features of the baronet did betray the
state of his mind, and this was one of them.
The quivering of the rope-ladder under the influence of the current
gave place to a series of violent jerks. Swaine was ascending.
"Trim the boat!" ordered Harborough, as the crew leant over the
gunwale from which the rope-ladder hung.
It was a necessary caution, for in their eagerness to witness the
return of their comrade the men had put the gunwale dangerously low
down.
At length the great copper helmet, showing green in the clear water,
came into view. Another twenty rungs and it appeared above the
surface.
Waist deep, Swaine waited until the glass observation-discs in his
helmet were unscrewed. He was breathing heavily, and his red woollen
cap was damp with perspiration.
"Well?" inquired Harborough. "Found it?"
Swaine shook his head.
"Found something," he replied, "but not the _Fusi Yama_."
His gaze fell upon Claverhouse.
"Say, Alec, dear old thing," he continued. "Weren't you the guy who
bombed a P-boat, in mistake for a Fritz submarine?"
"Yes," admitted Claverhouse; "but I missed her, thank Heaven."
"Next time you go up you'd better take me to spot for you," resumed
Swaine. "I guess I might be able to distinguish between the _Fusi
Yama_ and a wooden two-decker. Fact, sir," he declared, replying to
Harborough's unspoken question. "It's the wreck of a frigate or
something of the sort. Couple of centuries old, I should imagine.
She's lying hard over on her starboard side. Amidships she's
practically broken in two. Her foremast is still standing, but the
main- and mizen-masts are half buried in the mud; water-logged and
held down by the weight of the metal-work, I suppose."
"Didn't go on board?" asked Beverley.
"Not much," replied Swaine emphatically. "Looked too jolly rotten to
my liking. I'd tackle it if I had a chum down with me."
"However," broke in Harborough briskly, "since we are looking for the
_Fusi Yama_, investigations on the wooden vessel can wait. When will
you feel equal to another ascent, Claverhouse: to-morrow morning?"
Alec looked up and noted the position of the sun. Oblique rays were
of little use, but for the next hour operations might be possible.
"I'll go up at once, sir," he replied.