All Set To Dive
It was nearly five o’clock when Biff, Derek, and Charlie Keene reached
the dock in the harbor of the Baie du Trésor. They rode a truck five
miles out of La Trinité. The truck was piled high with gear necessary to
their search.
A thirty-foot cabin cruiser was waiting for them. Keene had chartered it
as his first step after arriving in La Trinité. Slung on davits on the
cruiser’s stern was a fourteen-foot dory with an outboard motor. This
was the boat from which they would do the pearl diving.
With all gear stowed, Uncle Charlie started the cruiser’s engine and
backed away. On the dock, natives waved, calling, “_Bonne chance! Bonne
chance!_ Good luck! Good luck!”
“Take the wheel, Biff,” his uncle ordered. “Head straight out while I
confer with the owner.”
“The owner?” Biff and Derek glanced around the cruiser, then looked
curiously at Uncle Charlie.
“That’s you, Derek.” Biff’s uncle grinned. “Since you’re the boss,
you’re the owner. I’m the skipper, and Biff is the crew. And I’m sure
you want a tightly run ship, so look sharp there, Brewster.”
“Aye, aye, skipper,” Biff said with a smile.
“Now, Derek, where do we head?” Uncle Charlie asked. “Did your father
give you any idea where this pearl fishery is?”
“Only a vague one, Captain.” Derek had entered the spirit of the game.
“I know that after leaving Treasure Bay Harbor, we head due south—”
“Bring her around, mate,” Keene called to Biff. “Set your compass
reading for a southerly run.”
They had left the harbor, and Biff spun the wheel. The cruiser’s bow
came around, and Biff held the boat on a due south course.
“He wrote me the spot was about five miles off the main coast of
Martinique,” Derek said, “almost directly west of the town of Le
François.”
“I know the town.” Keene nodded. “It’s a small fishing village. Ten
miles down the coast. Put her at full speed, mate. We’ve got to make a
landing before nightfall.”
“There’s a group of small islands off Le François,” Derek continued.
“We’ve got to locate the right island. The fishery is a mile off one of
them.”
Charlie Keene wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Whew! Not much to go
on. There must be a dozen or more islands in that group. Some of them
aren’t more than a few acres in area. We’ll make camp on one of the
larger ones. Did your father give you any indication of water depth at
the fishery?”
“About forty feet.”
“That will help. We won’t do any diving in water over, say, fifty feet.
But, Derek, there’s lots and lots of water around here.”
And there was. The coast line and pitons of Martinique were plainly
visible, a lush green of wild growth, with fern trees rising as high as
maples. West were the endless waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
“We’ll need all the ‘_bonne chance_’ we can get,” Biff’s uncle
commented.
It took about an hour to make the run from Treasure Bay to the islands
off Le François. Biff was still at the wheel. His uncle took out a pair
of binoculars and swept his gaze over the island group.
“Over there, Biff. That larger one, right between those two smaller
ones. Cut your speed. We don’t know how these waters shoal. Derek, go
forward. Watch for bottom.”
The cruiser approached the shore slowly.
“Plenty of water,” Derek sang out. Then, “Sand. I see sand bottom,” he
called a little later.
“Ease her in, Biff. That small cove. See if you can take her in there.
Give us some protection if a _chabasco_ hits.”
The cruiser inched forward. The sound of the boat’s keel grating on the
sand bottom came to their ears. Biff cut the engine. The cruiser ground
to a stop five feet from shore.
“Perfect, Biff. We’ll get a little damp making the next five feet, but I
kind of feel like a swim. How about it?” Uncle Charlie suggested.
Biff and Derek stripped off their shirts. Shoes and socks followed. The
boys dived over the side. Charlie Keene was right behind them. All three
frolicked in the warm waters of the Caribbean for a while.
“All out,” Uncle Charlie ordered presently. “We’ve got work to do.
Night’s coming on.”
The cruiser was secured. The dory was lowered and pulled up on the
beach. Biff’s uncle remained in the cruiser. Derek took a position waist
deep in the water halfway between the boat’s bow and the shore. Charlie
passed gear to Derek. Derek handed it on to Biff on shore. The unloading
went smoothly and quickly.
Next came the tent. It was set up. Cots were unfolded. A small table and
three captain’s chairs were put into place.
“Scoop out a wide, shallow hole and line it with shells.” That was Uncle
Charlie’s next order. He kept the boys hopping.
“We’ll put our stove in the shell-lined hole.” Charlie ripped open a
carton containing a small two-burner propane stove and set it up.
“String up the lanterns, Biff. It’ll be dark soon.”
The job of setting up camp was completed just as the swift-falling night
blanketed the tiny island with darkness.
“Everything look shipshape to you, skipper?” Biff asked his uncle.
Charlie Keene looked around.
“Can’t log anything against either of you so far. Good job. Now let’s
eat.”
Biff and Derek peeled some potatoes; Uncle Charlie took a small axe and
broke open a canned ham, disdaining to use the key attached to the can.
“Ham and fried potatoes. How does that sound?” Uncle Charlie asked.
“I could eat anything,” Biff replied.
“Might as well open up a can of stewed tomatoes, too.”
The food, although roughly prepared, seemed delicious to all three.
Uncle Charlie was a good cook. The potatoes were crisp and brown. The
tomatoes, well, they were just stewed tomatoes. The Danish ham had a
delicate flavor unlike any Biff had eaten before.
“It’s rather like the hams we have in Holland,” Derek said.
“Only two problems in connection with running this camp,” Uncle Charlie
commented. “Air and water.”
“Air? I’ve never breathed such pure air,” Biff said.
“And how much more water do you want than the Caribbean Sea?” Derek
chimed in.
“Ever tried drinking it?” Biff’s uncle chuckled. “Don’t. Fresh water, my
lad, is what we need. And there are no springs or wells on these
islands.”
“Well, we couldn’t find any fresher air,” Biff said. “You’ve got to
admit that, Uncle Charlie.”
“Sure, Biff, sure. But what we want is compressed air. For the Scubas.
Those air tanks only carry enough for an hour’s diving. I have one extra
tank. We have enough compressed air for about two hours’ diving daily. I
mean two hours for each of you. I don’t think there’s any compressed air
in Le François. I know there is in Trinité.”
“Well, that’s not too far,” Biff said. “We’ll have to go in to Trinité
every day. Air and water.”
“And fresh food, Biff,” Uncle Charlie added.
Derek had been silent during this discussion. Now he spoke:
“Mr. Keene, I have a plan I want to suggest.”
“Fire away, Derek.”
“Since we have to go in to Trinité every day, I think we ought to do our
diving in the morning.”
“Okay by me, Derek. Go on.”
“Then, around noon, we could go into Trinité. You and Biff could see
about supplies. I’d like to spend my afternoons searching for my father.
I’m more anxious to find him than to locate the pearl fishery.”
“We all are, Derek. And I think your plan’s a good one. We could even
spend the night at the Sans Souci if we got any leads that would take
more than one afternoon to follow.”
“That’s what I thought. Martinique’s not too big an island, but there
are many wild, unsettled places on it. I have a feeling that if my
father is still alive, he’s up in the hills somewhere.”
“Now, Derek, there’s no reason to believe your father’s not alive,” Biff
said softly.
Derek didn’t answer at once. When he did, his voice trembled slightly.
“There’s one thing I learned that I didn’t tell you.” He paused. “There
was a storm, a _chabasco_, about the time my father disappeared. I
learned that, three days after the _chabasco_, parts of his boat were
washed ashore south of here. Near Le Vauclin.”
Neither Biff nor his uncle replied. They knew what Derek’s fear was. His
father might have lost his life in the storm.
“No one knows, though,” Derek went on hopefully, “or seems to remember,
whether the _chabasco_ struck before or after my father was last seen in
Trinité.”
“You mean when he mailed us our letters?” Uncle Charlie asked.
“Yes,” was Derek’s one-word reply.
“We can check that, Derek. The postmark will show the date. And the day
of the _chabasco_ will have been recorded somewhere in Trinité.”
“I never thought of that,” Derek said. He sounded much more cheerful.
Charles Keene had restored his hope.
“Big day ahead of us, boys,” Biff’s uncle said now. “I’d say it was
about time to hit the sack. You with me?”
Biff and Derek were. It seemed impossible to Biff that only that
morning, he had been in Curaçao. It also seemed to Biff that he had just
heard his uncle say, “Hit the sack,” when his uncle’s voice came to him
again. This time it was, “Hit the deck!”
Morning had come. In an hour, Biff would be at the bottom of the ocean,
searching for pearls.