CHAPTER XX
Up and Down
"All ready? Stand clear."
With a deafening clatter the powerful little motor of the Cormorant sea-plane fired, and the aluminium propeller revolved until it merged into a dazzling circle of light.
Slowly, but with increasing momentum, the compact air-craft began to skim along the placid surface of the lagoon, leaving a long and ever-widening wake.
It was the Cormorant's first ascent since the trial flight at the works. The sea-plane's tanks were but half full in order that the single seater might accommodate a passenger.
Claverhouse, leather-helmeted and goggled, was at the joy-stick. Behind him on a somewhat precarious perch strapped to one of the struts was Trevear, armed with a camera.
Originally it had been Harborough's intention to equip the two sea-planes with a wireless-telephone outfit, but, further consideration ended in the proposal's rejection on the grounds that the practical results would not justify the initial outlay. The application of aerial photography would be of great service in locating the sunken Fusi Yama, and the view thus obtained would be of a more or less permanent value. Reporting by wireless telephone would have been satisfactory up to a certain point. There would not have been the delay entailed in the use of photography with its processes of developing and printing, but on the principle that the camera cannot lie Harborough hoped for definite and important results.
There had been keen competition on the part of the Titania's crew to "go up", but Harborough reminded the applicants that they were not joy-riding at a couple of guineas a flight, and proceeded to whittle down the aspirants for the part of aerial photographer, until Trevear, the reserve pilot, was alone left in the running.
Every available boat carried by the Titania was pressed into service to act in conjunction with the seaplane. Fitted with mark-buoys and sinkers, the boats paddled across the lagoon ready to buoy the wreck if luck enabled the airmen to spot it.
Ascending in wide spirals, the Cormorant rose to a height of two thousand feet. At that altitude the Titania was dwarfed to the size of a dingy, while the boats looked no bigger than pea-pods. The greater part of the lagoon showed clearly through the water—a pale-green unbroken expanse of sand fifteen to twenty fathoms beneath the surface. Here and there were opaque ill-defined patches that required careful investigation.
For twenty minutes the flight continued, Claverhouse swinging the bus to and fro in a succession of short turns, working methodically from the entrance of the lagoon to the part where it almost joined the island itself, while Trevear, with binoculars glued to his eyes, carefully examined the floor of the broad sheet of tranquil water.
Suddenly the observer ejaculated an exclamation of satisfaction and jogged the pilot on the shoulder.
"Got it!" he yelled, and grasped his camera.
"Good enough for a record," he soliloquised, and, drawing a Verey pistol from a rack, he proceeded to fire a green light.
That was the signal for the boats to close. The motor-boat towing the whaler and the gig approached the spot, the crews keeping a sharp look-out for the signal that was to indicate that they were over their unseen objective.
It was a long task. With feelings of exasperation, Trevear watched the boats pass wide of the mark over and over again, only to be recalled and started on a fresh course by means of pre-arranged signals from the Verey pistol.
"There must be a current running round that point," thought Trevear. "Every time they appear to be swept away. Ah! That's better; they've discovered the same thing."
He raised a pistol and waited while the boats approached the dark, ill-defined patch on the edge of which lay something of fairly-symmetrical shape.
"Good enough!" exclaimed the observer, letting fly with three red lights. "Bring her down, Alec!" he shouted.
Claverhouse did so, vol-planing seawards in a steep, exhilarating dive that proved that the master-hand of the ex-R.A.F. bomber had not lost its cunning. Striking the surface with a double bump, the Cormorant taxied in the direction of the boats, from which the mark-buoys had already been dropped. They were now bobbing sedately in an exaggerated curve over the site of the wreck.
"Fifteen fathoms!" announced Harborough, as the sea-plane was taken in tow. "We're in luck, if that is the wreck. I bargained for twenty to twenty-five."
"She's in a big patch of weeds," said Trevear, "and lying well over on her bilge."
"Weeds generally mean mud," remarked Harborough. "Awkward stuff to work in. However, we're lucky to locate the wreck so quickly. By the old-fashioned method of creeping and grappling we might have taken weeks. Stand easy. We'll start diving-operations this afternoon."
Accordingly, when the heat of the day showed signs of abating, the diving-party proceeded to the spot. Swaine, clad in his diving-dress, sat in the stern sheets nursing his copper helmet. As the outfit was self-contained there was no necessity for the cumbersome air-pump and pipe. A wire-rope ladder and a shot-line and distance-rope comprised all the gear necessary for lowering from the boat.
During the week that had elapsed since Dick's adventure, Jack Villiers had been undergoing a diving-course. Already he had made good progress under the experienced Swaine's supervision, and although he had not yet reached a depth of fifteen fathoms he was ready, if need were, to descend to his comrade's assistance should anything go wrong.
"You'll have to watch the current," observed Harborough, as the boat swung to her anchor. "Better to work against it than with it on a job like this."
"Right-o, sir!" replied Swaine, as his assistant prepared to complete the hermetically-sealing process by placing the copper helmet on his head and screwing down the front and side plates.
Encumbered with leaden-soled shoes, slabs of the same metal fixed to his chest and back, and wearing his chemically-created air-reservoir and a diver's electric lamp, Swaine was helped over the gunwale. Awkwardly he descended the rope-ladder, till the water reached the level of his shoulders. Then, raising his bare hand in a gesture of farewell, he disappeared beneath the surface, leaving a trail of air-bubbles to mark his descent.
Swaine had declined to take the portable telephone with him on the preliminary descent, objecting on the grounds that it would hamper his movements. On the other hand, Harborough had strictly enjoined him not to attempt to enter the hull of the wreck, but to content himself with an examination of the hull and report upon its position and condition.
The moment the diver reached the bed of the lagoon all communication with him was cut off. All he could do was to advance as near as possible in a straight line, paying out his distance-rope as he plodded through the ooze until he reached the wreck.
The watchers in the boats could note the trail of air-bubbles as Swaine walked away from the shot-rope. The bubbles were the only indications of his presence and of the fact that the life-sustaining apparatus was still working.
"He's progressing against the current," observed Bobby Beverley.
"Perhaps it's only a surface-current," rejoined Harborough. "If so, so much the better. Sharks? No, I don't fancy they'll dare attack a diver. They'd be more frightened than the man. An octopus is another proposition. They are apt to be found in weed; but they don't grow to any very large size in these parts."
"If that's the wreck, sir," said Claverhouse, who, having seen the Cormorant safely moored, had rejoined the boats, "it would be better to get to her from the land, I think. She's within a hundred yards of the beach, and, although the water deepens pretty quickly, a diver ought to make his way up and down with very little trouble."
"Good scheme, Claverhouse," replied Harborough approvingly. "We might even rig up a semi-permanent guide-rope, and later on an endless line for getting the stuff ashore."
"He's returning, sir," announced Villiers, pointing to the line of bubbles.
"That's splendid," exclaimed Harborough.
He could hardly conceal his impatience, for there were moments when the generally-inscrutable features of the baronet did betray the state of his mind, and this was one of them.
The quivering of the rope-ladder under the influence of the current gave place to a series of violent jerks. Swaine was ascending.
"Trim the boat!" ordered Harborough, as the crew leant over the gunwale from which the rope-ladder hung.
It was a necessary caution, for in their eagerness to witness the return of their comrade the men had put the gunwale dangerously low down.
At length the great copper helmet, showing green in the clear water, came into view. Another twenty rungs and it appeared above the surface.
Waist deep, Swaine waited until the glass observation-discs in his helmet were unscrewed. He was breathing heavily, and his red woollen cap was damp with perspiration.
"Well?" inquired Harborough. "Found it?"
Swaine shook his head.
"Found something," he replied, "but not the Fusi Yama."
His gaze fell upon Claverhouse.
"Say, Alec, dear old thing," he continued. "Weren't you the guy who bombed a P-boat, in mistake for a Fritz submarine?"
"Yes," admitted Claverhouse; "but I missed her, thank Heaven."
"Next time you go up you'd better take me to spot for you," resumed Swaine. "I guess I might be able to distinguish between the Fusi Yama and a wooden two-decker. Fact, sir," he declared, replying to Harborough's unspoken question. "It's the wreck of a frigate or something of the sort. Couple of centuries old, I should imagine. She's lying hard over on her starboard side. Amidships she's practically broken in two. Her foremast is still standing, but the main- and mizen-masts are half buried in the mud; water-logged and held down by the weight of the metal-work, I suppose."
"Didn't go on board?" asked Beverley.
"Not much," replied Swaine emphatically. "Looked too jolly rotten to my liking. I'd tackle it if I had a chum down with me."
"However," broke in Harborough briskly, "since we are looking for the Fusi Yama, investigations on the wooden vessel can wait. When will you feel equal to another ascent, Claverhouse: to-morrow morning?"
Alec looked up and noted the position of the sun. Oblique rays were of little use, but for the next hour operations might be possible.
"I'll go up at once, sir," he replied.