A Submarine Duel
It was not until the morning of the fifth day after the storm that
operations upon the wreck of the _Fusi Yama_ were resumed.
Since it was found upon a second examination that the hull of the
motor-boat was somewhat strained and required intricate repairs
before it could be rendered seaworthy, the motor was taken out and
installed on a strong platform supported by the gig and the whaler.
It meant devoting two boats to a duty formerly performed by one, but
the motor was necessary, since it worked the dynamo that in turn
provided light for the divers to work by.
Villiers and Swaine gained the wreck by following the guide-rope from
the beach. They found the rope buried deeply in the sand at places,
while another result of the gale was the almost entire removal of the
bed of mud on which the ship lay, its place being taken by a deposit
of sand and lumps of coral that had been detached from the reef under
the terrific force of the breakers.
More than once it required the united efforts of both men to lift the
rope clear of the sand that covered it, while in one spot an
accumulation of seaweed took a quarter of an hour's hard work before
the tenacious tendrils could be cut and the rope exposed.
Upon gaining the deck Villiers could see that the damage done by the
hurricane was considerable. Most of the deck-houses and the promenade
deck, which had stood the effect of four years' submergence without
much sign of deterioration, had been swept away, while a vast
quantity of sand had found its way below. This was sufficient
evidence to prove that the hurricane had been the worst ever
experienced at Nua Leha since the time when the _Fusi Yama_ had been
scuttled.
Outside the strong-room things were not so bad. There were tons of
sand, but most of it had shifted owing to the list of the wreck, and
lay five or six feet high against the interior side of the ship.
Adjusting the powerful lamp, so that its rays showed directly into
the strong-room, Swaine beckoned to his companion to enter.
If Villiers expected to walk into a treasure-chamber glittering with
gold, he was mistaken. The place was piled with wooden boxes, some of
which had been wrenched open, displaying their rather dull but heavy
contents, but on the shelves, and secured from the motion of the ship
by steel grids, were canvas sacks. A few of these, rotted by the
action of the salt water or else hurriedly ripped open when the Huns
made a hasty examination of their booty, had shed a shower of gold
coins upon the boxes and on the floor. There were British and
Australian sovereigns, Japanese five-yen pieces, Chinese gold taels,
and five-dollar pieces, representing almost every American republic
on the Pacific coast, and mixed haphazardly.
With little delay the work of clearing the strong-room commenced. New
canvas sacks, weighted with pieces of iron, were lowered from the
boats above. Into these were poured the contents of the rotten sacks,
then at a prearranged signal the men on the raft hoisted the precious
specie to the surface.
It was a slow, laborious but at the same time pleasureable task.
Movements that could be quickly executed in air were greatly retarded
by the pressure of water, and by the time that the divers' air-supply
was showing signs of exhaustion only a quarter of the coin had been
salved.
For the next week the operations continued uninterruptedly. Villiers
and Swaine each making two descents a day.
Compared with the task of recovering the bullion, the preliminary
work of clearing the specie was simple. The bullion, packed tightly
in iron-bound boxes, had to be extricated bar by bar, for as
originally packed each case was too heavy, even under water, to be
manhandled.
There were delays, too, in transporting the recovered treasure to the
_Titania_, owing to the lack of sufficient boats, so that, according
to Villiers' estimate, three weeks would elapse before the precious
metal would be stowed in the yacht's hold.
Dick Beverley was enjoying himself immensely. He worked quite as hard
as anybody, and his one regret was that he had not been allowed to
don a diving-dress and make a descent. This Harborough bluntly
refused to allow.
"This is a salvage company, not a nursery for amateur divers," he
remarked, although his refusal was based upon his compact with Bobby
Beverley not to expose Dick to any unnecessary risk.
By common consent a substantial share of the treasure was to be given
to Pete. The man had earned it fairly. As a cook he was painstaking
and conscientious, and when not engaged in his duties in the galley
he was always ready and willing to bear a hand at other work.
"What are you going to do with your little lot when we pay off,
Pete?" asked Villiers.
Pete's features were almost hidden by a mouth that stretched
practically from ear to ear as he gave a prodigious grin.
"Do, sah? Be coloured gen'lman at Barbadoes, Massa Villiers. Buy
top-hole swagger hotel an' get dollars from Yankee visitors. P'r'aps
I buy a sail-boat and take people round de islands. If any of you
gen'lmen come to Barbadoes, be sure to look up Massa Pete Johnson. He
put you up free, gratis, and for nothin'."
"Then you're not sorry that Captain Abe booted you out of the _Lucy
M. Partington_?" asked Bobby.
"No, sah." Pete evidently did not wish to reopen an unpleasant
incident, for he turned somewhat abruptly to O'Loghlin. "Say, Massa,"
he asked anxiously, "you understan' motors. Will I be able to run a
swagger car? One that licks creation for goin' tarnation quick?"
"If you handle the steering-wheel of a car as well as you do a
frying-pan, you'll be a rattling good driver, Pete," replied
O'Loghlin, pushing aside his empty plate with a satisfied sigh.
The salvage operation continued without a hitch in glorious weather
and under ideal conditions. The divers' dread of sharks seemed to
have been a needless one, for the noise of the motors and the
activity of all hands had no doubt scared the tigers of the deep.
One day Villiers was at work below, when he noticed a
gaudily-coloured fish dart out from behind a box, and graze his hand.
The fish was but a small one, less than six inches in length, but its
dorsal fins resembled trailing tendrils and its tail ended in two
tapering points.
Hardly paying any attention to the creature, for fishes were
continually swimming around the divers, Villiers began prising open
the metal-bound box. Before he had completed his task his arm was
throbbing frightfully, and his hand seemed to lose the power of
gripping things.
He "stuck it" for another ten minutes, then signed to Swaine that he
was finishing work. Before he reached dry ground he felt on the point
of collapse, and when he did gain the beach he toppled inertly upon
the sand, to the astonishment and alarm of Vivian and Merridew, who
were standing by to assist the diving-party.
They divested him of his diving-suit. By this time his arm had
swollen tremendously, and the flesh was turning a dull-grey colour.
Harborough, hastily summoned ashore, diagnosed the symptoms as being
similar to those of snake-bite, There were a couple of minute
punctures on the back of Jack's hand, through which the poison had
been transmitted to his veins.
For the next twelve hours it was touch and go with Jack Villiers. His
comrades plied him with enough raw whisky to make a man in ordinary
health helplessly intoxicated. They walked him up and down without
giving him the slightest chance of rest. The treatment was drastic,
but it was successful, and, although the arm remained swollen and
painful, the danger was past.
Much to his disgust, Villiers had to "stand down", and Swaine carried
on alone. That meant more delay, but it was unavoidable, and things
might have been worse. Further difficulties were met with through the
temporary breakdown of the submarine lighting arrangements, and until
that was rectified Swaine was perforce obliged to relinquish his
visits to the wreck.
"Look here, old man," said Jack, one morning as Swaine was preparing
for a descent. "I'm fit again. There is no reason why I shouldn't go
with you."
"Better wait till you've seen Harborough," objected Swaine. "You
might jolly well think you're all right, but I shouldn't like the
responsibility of passing you fit for duty."
"Right-o," agreed Jack, who saw the force of his fellow-diver's
argument. "Don't wait. I'll push off afloat and see what Harborough
has to say."
Swaine proceeded on the submarine work alone. Although glad of
Villier's company, he realized that the latter was far from being fit
for the strenuous toil demanded of a diver. He, Swaine, could do
sufficient work below to keep the surface-party busy, and the task of
recovering the treasure was now within measureable distance of
conclusion.
It was yet early. The morning mists had not entirely dispersed when
Swaine waded into the water, awkwardly at first, but with more
freedom as the leaden-weighted suit dipped beneath the surface.
Swaine wasted no time in getting on board the wreck and setting to
work. He had now a fair amount of elbow-room, since most of the
metal-lined boxes had been removed, and a thousand pounds worth of
gold was being sent up every five minutes.
He felt in fine fettle and, to use his own expression, "full of
beans". So intent was he upon his task that the time slipped by
rapidly, until a slight buzzing noise in his ears warned him that the
self-contained air-reservoir was not far off a state of exhaustion.
In fifteen minutes the supply would be "dud", and it usually took him
twenty minutes to reach the shore.
He "knocked off" in a hurry; at the same time, he realized that if
things came to a pitch he could blow himself to the surface. This he
was loth to do, as the sudden ascent generally incapacitated a diver
for several hours.
Slipping over the side of the wreck and grasping the guide-rope,
Swaine began to make his way ashore as rapidly as the resistance of
the water permitted.
"Current's frightfully strong to-day," he soliloquized, as the rush
of water almost swept his feet from under him. As it was, he had to
hang on like grim death to the rope and haul himself along hand over
hand until he had crossed the track of the submarine stream.
Here the lagoon shoaled considerably. There was sufficient depth to
allow a pale-green light to penetrate to five or six fathoms of
water, while visibility increased a distance of ten or twelve feet.
Happening to turn his head within the immobile helmet and to glance
through the side plate-glass window, Swaine came to a sudden halt and
gave a gasp of surprise. Within three yards of him, and floundering
along on a slightly converging course, was a man in a self-contained
diver's suit.
"So Villiers has got into harness after all," he thought. "Wonder how
he came to lose touch with the direction-rope?"
He raised one hand in greeting, at the same time holding up the rope
that served as a guide between the wreck and the shore.
Then to his utter astonishment he discovered that it was not Jack
Villiers, nor indeed any of the _Titania's_ men, indulging in a
little submarine expedition. The diving-dress was different in
certain details.
Swaine was not left long in doubt as to the stranger's intentions.
Apparently the other diver was as surprised as he was, for he halted,
swaying slightly in the comparatively feeble current. Then, slowly
fumbling, he drew out a knife that showed a pale, dull-greenish glint
in the subdued light.
Courageous though he was, Swaine felt his heart beating violently. He
was still undecided as to whether the stranger intended sticking the
point of the steel into him or whether he meant to cut the
guide-rope. In any case, Swaine realized that he would have to act on
the defensive.
Drawing his own knife, Swaine, holding on to the rope with his left
hand, planted his feet firmly and threw his weight slightly forward.
Then he awaited developments. He was handicapped by the fact that his
air-supply was now noticeably weak. He might, with discretion,
attempt to elude his antagonist, but he realized the disadvantage of
showing his back to a man who might possess a greater degree of
mobility. Nor did he fancy a knife-thrust as he was in the act of
blowing himself to the surface.
No, the issue had to be decided there and then.
Holding his knife dagger-wise across his chest, the unknown assailant
advanced. Swaine stood on the defensive. He was in an awkward
predicament, for the current that was helping his opponent was
against him.
The other feinted. It was a comparatively slow movement compared with
the lightning-like thrust of a practised fencer. The pressure of the
water was too great for rapidity of action.
Swaine was not prepared for what followed. His antagonist arrested
the blow and at the same time hacked ponderously with his leaden-shod
boot. The metal rasped on Swaine's bare knuckles grasping the rope,
as he stepped backwards to avoid the full force of the blow. The next
instant a cut with the keen blade of the other's knife severed the
guide-rope.
The sudden release of the tautened rope sent Swaine staggering a good
three yards. He found himself sprawling on the sandy bottom, his
efforts to regain his feet disturbing the sand to such an extent that
it was almost impossible to see anything beyond arm's length.
Not daring to transfer his knife from his right hand to his left,
Swaine fumbled for the release-valve of the buoyancy-flask. His
fingers, numbed with the glancing blow they had received, were almost
useless, and his head was swimming with the effect of the now impure
air. Before he could attain his immediate aim he saw the distorted
figure of his antagonist through the now clearing water.
Still struggling to regain his feet, the while guarding himself with
his knife, Swaine realized that the odds were very much against him.
He found himself vaguely wondering what the effect of a thrust would
be through the thick rubber and canvas fabric of his diving-suit. All
the same, he meant to stick it, and, if needs be, "die game".
The other approached warily, but there was a suggestion of triumph in
his movements. He began circling round his prostrate opponent,
seeking a favourable opportunity of closing. He hesitated, possibly
because he feared a ruse on the part of the Englishman, who, with
knife uplifted, kept turning so that he was always face to face with
his assailant. Obviously these wearing-out tactics were telling upon
Swaine. The longer the other delayed, the worse became his state
owing to the poor quality of his air-supply.
At length the unknown diver raised his arm to deal a stroke. He did
it dramatically, pausing with the blade held high above his head.
With senses dulled, Swaine steeled himself to meet the deadly stroke,
but the stroke never came.
A rush, a swirl of water, and a blurred vision of the other diver
sinking slowly on his face told Swaine that deliverance had come from
a totally unexpected quarter.
A huge shark, attracted by the glitter of the knife, had bitten off
the fellow's hand just above the wrist, at the same time tearing the
india-rubber cuff of his diving-dress and allowing a considerable
amount of air to escape.
The shark, finding its palate unpleasantly tickled by the sharp
steel, and not laying claim to be a sword-swallower, decided that one
mouthful was enough and made off for pastures new, leaving the
interrupted principals of the submarine duel to settle matters as
best they could.