CHAPTER XVIII
The First Day on the Island
The shrill pipe of the bos'n's whistle, adroitly manipulated by big Merridew, brought the working-party out of their bunks with the utmost alacrity. During the stay of the Titania at Nua Leha the system of routine was to be drastically altered. The port and starboard watches, responsible for the care and maintenance of the ship, were reduced to three men each. The remainder were amalgamated into a working-party whose hours—voluntary, and not subjected to the dictates of a Trades Union—were from sunrise to sunset, with intervals for meals and recreation. Thursday afternoons were "make and mend", as in the Royal Navy, while, except on urgent matters to safeguard the vessel, no work was permitted on Sundays. From eleven in the morning till two in the afternoon was "stand easy", since the heat was too great to allow Europeans to work without grave risk.
For the first time since the Titania left Southampton the twenty-eight-foot cutter, stowed amidships, was hoisted out. Her gunwales were protected with rope fenders; she was made fast alongside, and the work of sending stores and gear to the beach proceeded immediately after breakfast.
By the time "stand easy" arrived the two sea-planes had been hoisted out and were in advanced stages of reassembly, under the supervision of Trevear.
Claverhouse had, in accordance with instructions, gone ashore early to fix upon a likely site for a sea-plane station. With him went Dick Beverley, proudly grasping a .303 rifle, and with his pockets bulging with an assortment of treasures, including sandwiches and half a dozen ball cartridges.
The ex-R.A.F. officer and his young companion made their way along the glistening coral beach, on which the limpid water lapped gently under the influence of a light on-shore wind.
A walk of a quarter of a mile brought them to the bold headland on the northern side of the little bay in which the Titania lay at anchor. Here the dark, volcanic rocks ended in a ledge that projected about fifty yards from the general shore-line. At the extremity of the natural breakwater the bed of the lagoon dropped abruptly to a depth of five fathoms, although the bottom could be clearly discerned.
"Topping place for a bathe," suggested Dick.
"Quite," agreed Claverhouse, "that is, if it's all right. You'd better hang on till you know there's no danger."
"There are no sharks about," declared the lad.
"Take your word for it, old man," replied Claverhouse. "All the same, I wouldn't dangle my feet in the water if I were you. There may be ground sharks, and I believe they don't hesitate to snap at a pair of paddling trilbies."
"What's a fellow to do if he can't have a swim?" inquired Dick. "If——"
His words ended in a shout of horrified surprise as a long tapering tentacle shot out from under a projecting rock and securely fastened itself to the lad's bare ankle. Then another and yet another dark, slimy tentacle obtained a grip upon his leg.
Vainly young Beverley strove to free himself from the horrible embraces of a healthy young octopus. The creature's protruding eyes and parrot-like beak were plainly visible. Although its body was only about the size of a soup plate, the eight tentacles averaged a yard in length. Each of the legs that had obtained a grip were bringing into play the dozens of suckers with which they were provided, and the net result was that Dick was a prisoner. So precarious was his position, and so strong the tractive powers of the cuttle-fish, that he had to hold on with both hands to prevent himself being drawn off the slippery rock into the sea.
Claverhouse's first instinct was to grasp Dick's rifle and fire at the head of the hideous creature; but, thinking that he might possibly put a bullet through the lad's foot—which, owing to the refractive qualities of the water, was quite feasible—he whipped out his knife.
Leaning over the edge, he struck hard and deep. The keen steel sunk to the hilt with hardly any perceptible resistance, fairly between the vicious-looking eyes. Then, even as Claverhouse was in the act of withdrawing the blade, two tentacles attached themselves firmly to his hand, at the same time binding it to the foot of the now thoroughly-scared Dick.
The unexpected jerk wellnigh capsized Claverhouse. Resisting the impulse to hack blindly, he withdrew the knife with his left hand and prepared to sever the tentacles one by one. It was no easy matter. Not only was there a danger that the sharp steel might cut either his hand or Dick's foot, but the octopus, upon receiving the stab, had liberated a quantity of black fluid that, quickly spreading, made it almost impossible to locate the slimy quivering arms.
But the octopus had already received more than it bargained for. The discharge of the inky fluid—nature's counterpart to a smoke-screen—was a preliminary move to making a strategic retreat. Almost as suddenly as the attack developed, the suckers relaxed their grip, and the cuttle-fish withdrew to render first aid to a deep but by no means vital injury to its anatomy.
The two victims to the tremendous suction exercised by the octopus's tentacles regained their feet, somewhat ruefully contemplating the livid marks left by their late antagonist.
"Thanks, awfully, Claverhouse," exclaimed Dick. "I owe you one for that."
"Enter it in the book, then," rejoined the ex-R.A.F. officer, with grim jocularity. "Hope the occasion won't arise for you to call quits."
He quizzically regarded his youthful companion, gauging his physical inconveniences by his own.
"S'pect you've had enough of the beach to-day," he continued. "If I were you, I'd go on board and get something for that ankle of yours. A real Futurist picture, I call it."
Dick decided otherwise.
"I'm not going to spoil a day's sport for the sake of a smarting ankle," he protested. "It's roast pork for to-morrow's dinner, and pork I mean to get. I'm all right; I am really."
Claverhouse did not press the point, and the two comrades pursued their way.
In the bay beyond, Claverhouse found exactly what he wanted. The ground shelved gradually to the water's edge. The beach was sandy and free from jagged lumps of coral. There was a good depth of water close to the shore, while the reef was not only within two hundred yards of the island, but was in several places a good six feet above high-water mark.
"I thought coral insects always died when they'd worked their way to the surface," remarked Dick. "How is it that this part of the reef sticks up so?"
"I think if we landed there we'd find volcanic rocks," replied Claverhouse. "Small islands each with a ring of coral round them; subsiding reefs, as it were. 'Tany rate, this is an ideal sea-plane base. I'll get some hands to work as soon as possible, so I'll get back to the landing place. You'll carry on?"
Dick slapped the "small" of his rifle.
"I've got to work for my living," he rejoined facetiously, "so I'll get a move on. See you later."
Claverhouse made his way to the beach opposite the Titania's berth, where already a light pier was in course of construction, and crates and boxes were piled high awaiting a place for storage.
"You're handy fellows with an axe," he exclaimed, addressing Griffiths and Bell.
"Never handled an axe in my life," declared Griffiths.
"And when I did I cut a slice out of my boot," Bell hastened to assure the director of the day's destiny.
"Call yourselves ex-Royal Engineers?" remarked Claverhouse, with assumed scorn. "You've seen Tommies wielding axes, so come and do likewise."
He mustered his party, including Vivian and Fontayne in the number, and the five repaired to the site Claverhouse had selected.
It was grand work plying those glittering axes in the yet cool air of the early morning, and bringing the tall palms crashing to the ground; but when it came to "grubbing up" the roots, that was quite a different story.
"Thought we were diving for treasure, not digging for it," remarked Vivian, pausing to wipe the perspiration from his brow. "By Jove, I haven't done so much digging since I was in the Naval Brigade at Lierre. Say, Claverhouse, do crabs climb trees out here?"
He pointed to a felled palm. Out of the crushed foliage a large crab ambled awkwardly.
"Looks like it," replied Claverhouse. "Wonder what a fellow would do if one of those beauties climbed into the fuselage of a bus and began nibbling the bloke's toes. He'd wonder what was wrong with the rudder-bar."
"There's another, making off with a coco-nut," said Griffiths. "And I volunteered to sleep ashore," he added, with the air of a man who had made a bad bargain.
"Nemesis, my son," exclaimed Vivian, "you didn't half chuck your weight about when yours was the only cabin that wasn't infested by those flying cockroaches in the Red Sea. I'd advise you to surround your tent with barbed-wire entanglements, and keep a Lewis gun under your pillow. Come on. This won't get the work done, and we've an hour to 'stand easy'."
The five set to work with redoubled efforts, and when the time for the midday rest came round the ground was cleared and levelled sufficiently to commence the erection of hangars.
"Dick's busy," observed Claverhouse, as the faint report of a rifle-shot rang out. "That's the fifth. Suppose it means pork for the rest of the week."
"Or possibly none at all," added Bell. "I was chipping him last night, and said he wouldn't fire a single shot."
"He's fired five, anyway," said Fontayne. "If you'd anything on you've lost, my festive. You said 'fire', didn't you?"
Upon returning to the landing-place, Claverhouse found Villiers and Beverley resting after their labours, which consisted principally of digging a deep hole and sinking three large barrels in it. These were connected by a pipe, and a small stream of pure water was diverted into them. Trevear and O'Loghlin had practically completed the reassembly of the two dwarf sea-planes, while the rest of the landing-party, under Harborough's supervision, had made great strides with the shore base. Tents were already erected, and a large storehouse, fashioned after the manner of a Canadian lumberman's hut, had grown to a height of five feet.
"What have you done to your hand, Claverhouse?" asked Harborough, when the party sat down to an alfresco lunch.
"Octopus took a fancy to it," replied the ex-R.A.F. officer. "We'll have to be careful bathing off the rocks. No, it's nothing much, thanks."
"We saw a couple of sharks as we rowed ashore," announced Merridew. "They followed the boat into quite shallow water."
"We'll have to take precautions when we bathe," remarked Harborough. "No isolated swimming. Keep together, and have a boat ready. Pete, what's the bill of fare?"
"All propah, sah," replied the cook, with a terrific smile. "Same as in ole Bahamas."
There were roast fowl, taro bread, omelets with bananas and slices of melon—the whole feast provided out of the natural resources of the island. Everyone agreed that it was a fortunate chance that brought Pete on board the Titania, for he alone of all the ship's company was well versed in the vegetable products of the tropics.
Upon the resumption of work, after a long and enjoyable spell in which pipes and yarns held full sway, strong moorings were laid in the narrow part of the lagoon for the two sea-planes. There seemed every indication of the glorious weather holding, otherwise Claverhouse would not have run the risk of leaving his precious charges afloat. Nevertheless, he was determined to push on with the construction of the hangars, which were to be made so strongly that they would successfully resist the tropical gales.
Before nightfall the big store was ready for the roof of palm-leaf thatch. The shore-party made themselves at home, and the men told off to sleep on board prepared to return.
"Where's your young brother?" asked Villiers.
"With Claverhouse, I think," replied Beverley.
"Well, he isn't," corrected Jack. "Alec's just gone down to the boat."
Bobby ran down to the beach and hailed the airman.
"Not a sign of him," replied Claverhouse. "I thought he'd return straight to the camp. We'll have to send out a search-party. The island isn't so very big, but he may have lost his way."
There was no lack of volunteers. Every man ashore, from Harborough to Pete, expressed his willingness to look for the missing Dick.
The fall of night hampered their task, and at the end of a couple of hours' strenuous search the party reassembled on the beach with their aim unattained.
"The moon will be up in another twenty minutes," announced Harborough, who felt himself responsible for having dispatched the young huntsman on his shooting expedition. "Who'll have another shot?"
"We'll carry on till we find him, sir," was the unanimous response.