CHAPTER VII
Sand-bagged
During the next three weeks there was plenty of work for all hands. It was hard work, too; but everyone stuck to it grimly and determinedly in spite of aching muscles, blistered hands, and a variety of small ailments consequent upon unaccustomed handling of white-lead, paint, tar, pitch, and sooji-mooji.
The latter was unanimously voted a tough proposition. Composed principally of caustic soda, it is the shell-back's sheet anchor where old paint has to be removed. The amateur crew of the Titania found that it removed other things as well—for it burnt into their fingers, had a decided tendency towards destroying their clothes, and not infrequently spoiled their foot-gear.
There were other minor casualties. Griffiths, an ex-R.E. officer, and one of the two representatives of the British Army amongst the Titania's ship's company, found by practical experience that a marline-spike has a sharp point, and that even when dropped from a height of a couple of feet can rightly claim to be best man in an encounter with a human toe. Merridew, too, discovered, to his extreme physical inconvenience, that there are two ways of using an adze—the right and the wrong. Subsequent reflection on the part of the victim resulted in a decision that there was even a better way of dealing with adzes—to leave them severely alone.
Also the amount of brain-work required to equip and provision the ship was not small. Nothing superfluous was to be taken—only the absolute essentials. In the old days, "when there was a war on", procuring stores for M.L.'s was a comparatively simple matter. The officer in charge signed a "demand note" for a quantity in excess of what he actually required, taking this step to safeguard himself against the parsimony of an official known as a Naval Stores Officer, who had a nasty habit of cutting down the demands. In the case of the Titania's equipment this would have been a financial disaster. Each man knew in effect it was his own money that he was laying out and acted accordingly.
Within eight days of the purchase the Titania was docked, cleaned, and "compoed", undocked and berthed alongside a wharf. This had been done by the yacht-yard hands, but Harborough and his "merry buccaneers", as he generally referred to them, were toiling like galley-slaves.
The grey, rust-stained sides had been scraped and had been given two out of a final three coats of white paint, and white paint at the present time costs money. But it was money well laid out. The health and comfort of the ship's company, as the yacht sweltered in the Tropics, depended largely upon the almost non-absorbing properties of white paint to the terrific glare of the sun.
The grimy decks were scraped and then scrubbed with wet sand; the dull varnish on the teak-work was removed and the bare wood given three coats of copal. The masts were rubbed down and painted a pale-buff colour, and the whole of the standing and running rigging renewed. Fortunately, the sails were in excellent condition.
"What arms are we taking?" asked Villiers.
"Nothing very formidable," replied Harborough, who, at his own request, was no longer addressed as Sir Hugh by his fellow adventurers. "I don't anticipate any scrapping. Bloodthirsty cannibals are back numbers in the part of the Pacific we are making for, and I don't suppose that our rival treasure-hunters will go to the extent of armed aggression."
"Still, we ought to be prepared for emergencies," rejoined Villiers. "There's virtue in the barrel of a Maxim gun."
Harborough shook his head.
"Not always," he replied. "When there's a hot-headed fellow fingering the firing-button, for instance. No, no; we'll dispense with a Maxim or a Lewis. A couple of rifles will be useful, perhaps, and half a dozen automatic pistols. I'll take a dozen 12-bore shot guns. It's remarkable what a deterrent a charge of small shot can be. Verey Lights and rockets we'll take. You might see to the ship's armoury. Most of the guns, the rifles, and two automatic pistols are already at Thalassa Towers. Bring them down next time you have room in the car. Oh, by the by, you might read this."
He handed Villiers a long blue envelope. Within was a communication from the underwriters of s.s. Fusi Yama agreeing to grant Sir Hugh Harborough the sole rights of salvage subject to a 5-per-cent royalty.
"Five per cent," exclaimed Harborough. "Evidently they think we're on a fool's errand. However, now everything is fair and above board. We are the legitimate firm; Borgen & Co. are mere interlopers."
"Talking about Borgen," observed Villiers, "just step aft a minute. See that tramp lying alongside Anstruther's Wharf? The one with the black, yellow, and blue funnel."
"Ay," assented Harborough. "Is she our rival?"
"I don't know—yet," replied Jack. "We haven't our intelligence Department in full working order at present. All I know—on the authority of the Yard Foreman—is that she's the Geier, one of Germany's surrendered mercantile fleet, and she's just been sold to a Swedish firm."
"And thence back to Germany," commented Harborough. "Verily the ways of our politicians passeth understanding. However, if Kristian Borgen has a finger in that pie we'll have to watch the Geier."
Villiers laughed.
[Illustration: SANDBAGGED]
"Shouldn't be surprised if the Geier's people haven't been watching us pretty carefully for the last few days," he remarked. "Don't you think it would be as well if a couple of us slept on board in future? Several of the cabins are quite habitable."
"There's a night watchman," observed Harborough.
"Yes, for the whole of this yard," added Jack. "He can't be everywhere at once."
"Very good," agreed Harborough. "Pick out two of the crowd and warn 'em for sleeping aboard."
"I'll take the first week," volunteered Villiers. "Beverley will, too. And we may as well have Tommy on board."
Tommy was an Aberdeen terrier belonging to Sir Hugh—a sharp-faced, long-nosed little animal who seemed to be perpetually asleep with one eye open all the time.
"Good enough," agreed Harborough. "Seen O'Loghlin about? I want to speak to him about those diving-dresses."
Four more days passed—the days in strenuous activity, the nights in utter tranquillity. Villiers and Beverley found the new arrangement quite comfortable. They were afloat once more, even though the Titania was berthed alongside a wharf in a sheltered tidal river. During working-hours a "brow" or gangway gave access to the vessel, but when the working-party packed up, the brow was removed, and the only means of direct communication with the shore was a wire "Jacob's Ladder" that led to a long raft moored between the Titania and the jetty, whence a wooden ladder, its lower rungs slippery with weed as the tide fell, enabled access to the wharf.
It was Saturday evening. Manual work on board had been set aside to be resumed early on Monday morning. Beverley, who was beginning to feel the strain of long hours and hard toil, had turned in early. Villiers, with the small table of his cabin covered with technical books, was deep in Norrie's Epitome and The Nautical Almanac for 1920.
"Yacht, ahoy!"
Jack heard the hail but did not stir. Calls of that sort were common, considering that there were half a dozen yachts, with hands living on board, lying in the tier out in the stream.
"Titania, ahoy!"
"For goodness sake why didn't you say so before?" exclaimed Villiers to himself. "Where's Tommy? Why didn't he bark, I wonder?"
Getting into his pilot-coat, for the night air blew coldly down the river and contrasted forcibly with the warm cabin, Villiers went on deck.
"Ahoy, there!" he exclaimed.
On the edge of the wharf stood a man with his back to the feeble gleam of a gas-lamp.
"Telegram for Harborough, yacht Titania," he announced. "Prepaid wire."
"Come aboard," said Jack.
"Sorry, sir," was the reply. "I'm a stranger to this sort of game. No hand at ladders, I'm not."
Considering the awkward means of gaining the Titania's deck, the man's objection was reasonable enough, so Villiers descended the wire-rope ladder, crossed the raft, and ascended the vertical steps. The tide had almost finished on the flood, and there were only a few rungs to scale.
"Prepaid, eh?" remarked Villiers. "All right. I have a pencil. Let's go under the gas-lamp."
The next instant a multitude of dazzling lights flashed before his eyes, and without a cry he pitched head-long on his face.
* * * * *
"Jack, old thing!" shouted Beverley, throwing back his blankets and jumping from his cot. "What's the time? Why, it's eight bells! Who's turn is it to light the stove this morning?"
Receiving no reply from the adjoining cabin, Bobby laid hold of a sponge, dipped it in the water-jug, and made his way softly to Villiers' berth. He opened the door and looked in.
"What's he doing?" he thought in wonderment, for the cot had not been slept in. The lamp was still alight, but on the point of burning itself out. It was an oil-lamp, for the electric-lighting arrangements were not yet in working order. The table was littered with books, two of them open, while a pipe, with a small heap of white ash, lay upon the open page of the Nautical Almanac.
"I believe he's been swotting all night, the mouldy old book-worm," thought Beverley. "Now he's gone to the bathroom to shove his heated brow in cold water."
But the bathroom was empty. A hurried search brought no sign of his chum—nor of the dog.
Fearful of his own surmises, Bobby looked over the side. Almost the first thing he noticed was the dead body of Tommy left stranded on the mud by the falling tide, but of Villiers not a trace.
Even as he looked at the unfortunate Aberdeen, a swell threshed sullenly against the evil-smelling mud and lifted the dog's body a couple of feet or so nearer the weed-covered piles. A steamer had just passed—a tramp, outward bound, with the name Zug—Malmo, on her stumpy counter.