A Good Night's Work
The _Cormorant_ sea-plane flew for the best part of an hour, covering
practically every square yard of the lagoon, and it was not until the
sandy bottom began to grow dim in the increasingly-slanting rays of
the sun that Claverhouse and Trevear came down.
"Not a sign, sir," replied Trevear. "We could see the wreck of the
frigate plainly enough. There are a couple of foul patches, one a
little to the south-west of the entrance to the lagoon, and another
off the south-eastern point of the island. The _Fusi Yama_ might be
lying on the weeds on one of them."
"I don't think so," replied Harborough. "In his yarn Williams
mentioned that the German cruiser towed her prize into the lagoon and
ported helm when she got inside. So I take it that the object of our
search lies northward of a line drawn between the entrance and our
shore-station."
"We'll tackle it again to-morrow morning," said Claverhouse. "A
little after eleven o'clock is the best time."
"Very good," agreed Harborough. "We'll rig awnings on the boats, and
that will give us a chance during the heat of the day."
Dick Beverley was tremendously excited over the news of the discovery
of the frigate. It appealed to him almost as much as if the _Fusi
Yama_ had been located.
"Think my ankle will be well enough for me to go afloat, Bob?" he
asked that evening, just as Bobby was "turning in".
"That's for you to say," replied his brother. "It's your ankle, not
mine."
"I felt fit to get about yesterday," declared Dick, "only the skipper
wouldn't let me get out of my bunk. Do you think Swaine will let me
have a diving-dress and go down? It must be frightfully exciting."
"You'd better ask him," replied Bobby diplomatically.
"What was she like?" asked Dick. "The frigate, I mean."
"Smothered in seaweed, and as rotten as a ripe pear."
"And yet Trevear saw her lying on the mud and weed," said Dick
thoughtfully. "I suppose the two vessels weren't lying close
together?"
"By Jove, Dick!" exclaimed his brother. "That looks like business.
Well, good-night. I'll speak to Harborough to-morrow, and see if
he'll let you go in one of the boats."
Bobby altered his plans. Instead of "turning in"--he had been
sleeping on board the _Titania_ since his brother's accident--he went
on deck and dropped into the skiff dinghy, which was lying at the
lower boom. Then, taking to the oars, he rowed silently towards the
shore.
It was a calm, moonless night. Overhead the stars blazed like points
of fire, their reflections scintillating on the smooth surface of the
lagoon.
He landed on the coral beach, dug the fluke of the boat's anchor
firmly into the ground, and made his way toward the encampment. A
hurricane-lamp was still burning in the tent shared by Claverhouse,
Trevear, and Swaine.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the former in some surprise. "What brings you
ashore this time o' night?"
"Shop, old bird," replied Bobby.
"Let rip, then," rejoined Alec, in mock tones of resignation.
"Thought, perhaps, you came to borrow my safety-razor."
"You two fellows both saw the wreck, I suppose," said Beverley,
addressing the airmen. "What shape did it appear like?"
"Where's a pencil?" inquired Trevear, fumbling in the breast-pocket
of his white drill tunic. "Right-o. Paper's scarce in this part of
the world, so I'll sketch it on the table. There you are."
"Yes; that's like it," agreed Alec.
"You've drawn the plan of a boat," continued Bobby. "Swaine swears
she's lying on her beam ends."
"So she is," declared the diving-expert.
"You didn't go round her, did you?" asked Beverley.
"Not much use," he answered. "I could see she wasn't the _Fusi Yama_,
and there was a pretty stiff current setting round the bows and
stern. I was glad to use her as a sort of breakwater."
"Pity you hadn't carried on round," resumed Bobby; "lying on her beam
ends with a broken back, she wouldn't present such a profile as
Trevear has drawn. I believe--and Dick put me on to the wheeze--that
the _Fusi Yama_ is lying fairly close alongside and nearer inshore."
"By Jove, Beverley!" exclaimed the three men in chorus.
"Hope you're right," added Trevear, anxious to restore his lost
prestige as an aerial observer.
"Game to have another shot at it to-night?" inquired Swaine,
beginning to pull on his rubber boots.
"Surely you're not going to dive again to-night?" asked Claverhouse.
"If it comes to that," said Swaine, "it makes very little difference
whether it's night or day at that depth and in muddy water. But what
I propose doing is putting off in a boat and taking soundings. Is
there a lead-line in the dinghy, old thing?"
"What are you fellows doing kicking up such a deuce of a row at this
time of night?" inquired a gruff voice. "Go to bed, and get your
beauty sleep, you noisy blighters."
Griffiths, blinking in the light, had shoved his head and shoulders
through the tent-flap.
"Just the man we want, soldier!" exclaimed Beverley. "A little
practice at rowing a dinghy, you know."
"Not in these trousers," protested the ex-Engineer officer,
displaying a leg clad in pyjamas of variegated hues. "What's the
move? Are you fellows trying to camouflage a nocturnal bridge-party?"
"At him, lads!" exclaimed Swaine, and the four hurled themselves upon
the interloper. In spite of his desperate resistance Griffiths was
dragged into the tent, and while Beverley sat on his chest the others
rammed a pair of rubber boots on his feet and a sou'-wester on his
head.
"Kamerad!" exclaimed Griffiths. "Chuck it! I'll fall in with your
rotten scheme, whatever it is."
By this time the commotion had aroused the remainder of the
shore-party, and to them the nature of the proposed expedition was
explained.
"Right-o!" said Vivian. "We'll launch the cutter and have a moonlight
trip, only there isn't any moon."
Eleven men put off from the beach, four in the skiff-dinghy, the rest
in the cutter. Expectations ran high, and everyone was in good
spirits.
"Not so much noise there," cautioned Beverley, "or you'll wake the
Old Man."
"We'll wake him right enough, if we find the ship," rejoined Swaine.
"Port helm a bit, Bobby; I can see the mark-buoys."
The first cast of the lead gave fifteen and a half fathoms. Working
shorewards, they found, contrary to their expectations, that the
lagoon grew deeper, the soundings increasing to seventeen. Then,
without warning, the depth decreased to eight.
"Lower a small grapnel," suggested Swaine. "Bend a stout line to it,
and we may drag up something."
This they did, and very soon the barbed point of the grapnel engaged.
"Something pretty tough," declared Bobby, as the transom of the
dinghy was drawn almost level with the water under the efforts of her
crew of four, "We've lost that grapnel."
"In a good cause," added Claverhouse.
"We'll get the cutter to bear a hand at hauling it up," continued
Bobby.
For some minutes it seemed as if the united strength of eleven strong
men was of no avail. The cutter, in spite of her relatively greater
buoyancy, was well down aft under the terrific strain.
"Belay and go for'ard," ordered Beverley.
The eleven men were crowded uncomfortably in the fore part of the
cutter when suddenly the strain on the grapnel relaxed. The boats'
bows dipped. Volumes of water poured in over her bows and under she
went, leaving her crew struggling to clear each other.
Almost before the men in the dinghy could grasp the situation
properly, there was a terrific swirl in the water and a large
greenish-white object shot up to the surface.
It was a ship's boat, green with weed. Its copper air-tanks still
retained their buoyancy, and the additional strain imparted by the
grapnel had wrenched the boat from the lashings that secured it to
the chocks. Fortunately, in its violent ascent to the surface the
boat missed the evicted crew of the cutter.
The water was warm and there were no sharks about, or if there were
the unusual splashing had scared them off. The cutter, being provided
with air-compartments, floated with her gunwale a couple of inches
above the surface, so that with the aid of a brace of buckets and a
baler the water was soon thrown out and the men regained their craft.
This done the dinghy and the cutter started in pursuit of the unknown
boat, which, in the grip of the current, was drifting towards the
entrance to the lagoon.
Holding on to the "horse" of the recovered boat, Beverley scraped the
slimy deposit of weed from a portion of the transom. Underneath, in
faded letters that were still legible, was painted the name _Fusi
Yama_.
"Good enough!" declared Bobby triumphantly. "Let her go. I don't
think she'll drift out of the lagoon. If she does, it is of little
consequence. Now, you blighters, pull for the _Titania_."
The rest of the proceedings savoured of a "glorious rag", for on
making fast alongside the yacht the crews began shouting, firing
Verey lights, beating suspended brass crutches, banging tin balers
with stretchers, and raising pandemonium generally.
In the midst of the hubbub Harborough and Villiers came on deck, just
as Swaine, forestalling his comrades, was sounding a terrific tocsin
on the _Titania's_ bell.
"What the----" began Harborough.
"We've come off to splice the main-brace, sir," shouted Beverley.
"Have you?" rejoined the baronet. "For what reason?"
The answer, issuing simultaneously from a dozen lusty throats, was
unanimous and emphatic:
"We've found the _Fusi Yama_!"