CHAPTER XXI
A Good Night's Work
The Cormorant sea-plane flew for the best part of an hour, covering practically every square yard of the lagoon, and it was not until the sandy bottom began to grow dim in the increasingly-slanting rays of the sun that Claverhouse and Trevear came down.
"Not a sign, sir," replied Trevear. "We could see the wreck of the frigate plainly enough. There are a couple of foul patches, one a little to the south-west of the entrance to the lagoon, and another off the south-eastern point of the island. The Fusi Yama might be lying on the weeds on one of them."
"I don't think so," replied Harborough. "In his yarn Williams mentioned that the German cruiser towed her prize into the lagoon and ported helm when she got inside. So I take it that the object of our search lies northward of a line drawn between the entrance and our shore-station."
"We'll tackle it again to-morrow morning," said Claverhouse. "A little after eleven o'clock is the best time."
"Very good," agreed Harborough. "We'll rig awnings on the boats, and that will give us a chance during the heat of the day."
Dick Beverley was tremendously excited over the news of the discovery of the frigate. It appealed to him almost as much as if the Fusi Yama had been located.
"Think my ankle will be well enough for me to go afloat, Bob?" he asked that evening, just as Bobby was "turning in".
"That's for you to say," replied his brother. "It's your ankle, not mine."
"I felt fit to get about yesterday," declared Dick, "only the skipper wouldn't let me get out of my bunk. Do you think Swaine will let me have a diving-dress and go down? It must be frightfully exciting."
"You'd better ask him," replied Bobby diplomatically.
"What was she like?" asked Dick. "The frigate, I mean."
"Smothered in seaweed, and as rotten as a ripe pear."
"And yet Trevear saw her lying on the mud and weed," said Dick thoughtfully. "I suppose the two vessels weren't lying close together?"
"By Jove, Dick!" exclaimed his brother. "That looks like business. Well, good-night. I'll speak to Harborough to-morrow, and see if he'll let you go in one of the boats."
Bobby altered his plans. Instead of "turning in"—he had been sleeping on board the Titania since his brother's accident—he went on deck and dropped into the skiff dinghy, which was lying at the lower boom. Then, taking to the oars, he rowed silently towards the shore.
It was a calm, moonless night. Overhead the stars blazed like points of fire, their reflections scintillating on the smooth surface of the lagoon.
He landed on the coral beach, dug the fluke of the boat's anchor firmly into the ground, and made his way toward the encampment. A hurricane-lamp was still burning in the tent shared by Claverhouse, Trevear, and Swaine.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the former in some surprise. "What brings you ashore this time o' night?"
"Shop, old bird," replied Bobby.
"Let rip, then," rejoined Alec, in mock tones of resignation. "Thought, perhaps, you came to borrow my safety-razor."
"You two fellows both saw the wreck, I suppose," said Beverley, addressing the airmen. "What shape did it appear like?"
"Where's a pencil?" inquired Trevear, fumbling in the breast-pocket of his white drill tunic. "Right-o. Paper's scarce in this part of the world, so I'll sketch it on the table. There you are."
"Yes; that's like it," agreed Alec.
"You've drawn the plan of a boat," continued Bobby. "Swaine swears she's lying on her beam ends."
"So she is," declared the diving-expert.
"You didn't go round her, did you?" asked Beverley.
"Not much use," he answered. "I could see she wasn't the Fusi Yama, and there was a pretty stiff current setting round the bows and stern. I was glad to use her as a sort of breakwater."
"Pity you hadn't carried on round," resumed Bobby; "lying on her beam ends with a broken back, she wouldn't present such a profile as Trevear has drawn. I believe—and Dick put me on to the wheeze—that the Fusi Yama is lying fairly close alongside and nearer inshore."
"By Jove, Beverley!" exclaimed the three men in chorus.
"Hope you're right," added Trevear, anxious to restore his lost prestige as an aerial observer.
"Game to have another shot at it to-night?" inquired Swaine, beginning to pull on his rubber boots.
"Surely you're not going to dive again to-night?" asked Claverhouse.
"If it comes to that," said Swaine, "it makes very little difference whether it's night or day at that depth and in muddy water. But what I propose doing is putting off in a boat and taking soundings. Is there a lead-line in the dinghy, old thing?"
"What are you fellows doing kicking up such a deuce of a row at this time of night?" inquired a gruff voice. "Go to bed, and get your beauty sleep, you noisy blighters."
Griffiths, blinking in the light, had shoved his head and shoulders through the tent-flap.
"Just the man we want, soldier!" exclaimed Beverley. "A little practice at rowing a dinghy, you know."
"Not in these trousers," protested the ex-Engineer officer, displaying a leg clad in pyjamas of variegated hues. "What's the move? Are you fellows trying to camouflage a nocturnal bridge-party?"
"At him, lads!" exclaimed Swaine, and the four hurled themselves upon the interloper. In spite of his desperate resistance Griffiths was dragged into the tent, and while Beverley sat on his chest the others rammed a pair of rubber boots on his feet and a sou'-wester on his head.
"Kamerad!" exclaimed Griffiths. "Chuck it! I'll fall in with your rotten scheme, whatever it is."
By this time the commotion had aroused the remainder of the shore-party, and to them the nature of the proposed expedition was explained.
"Right-o!" said Vivian. "We'll launch the cutter and have a moonlight trip, only there isn't any moon."
Eleven men put off from the beach, four in the skiff-dinghy, the rest in the cutter. Expectations ran high, and everyone was in good spirits.
"Not so much noise there," cautioned Beverley, "or you'll wake the Old Man."
"We'll wake him right enough, if we find the ship," rejoined Swaine. "Port helm a bit, Bobby; I can see the mark-buoys."
The first cast of the lead gave fifteen and a half fathoms. Working shorewards, they found, contrary to their expectations, that the lagoon grew deeper, the soundings increasing to seventeen. Then, without warning, the depth decreased to eight.
"Lower a small grapnel," suggested Swaine. "Bend a stout line to it, and we may drag up something."
This they did, and very soon the barbed point of the grapnel engaged.
"Something pretty tough," declared Bobby, as the transom of the dinghy was drawn almost level with the water under the efforts of her crew of four, "We've lost that grapnel."
"In a good cause," added Claverhouse.
"We'll get the cutter to bear a hand at hauling it up," continued Bobby.
For some minutes it seemed as if the united strength of eleven strong men was of no avail. The cutter, in spite of her relatively greater buoyancy, was well down aft under the terrific strain.
"Belay and go for'ard," ordered Beverley.
The eleven men were crowded uncomfortably in the fore part of the cutter when suddenly the strain on the grapnel relaxed. The boats' bows dipped. Volumes of water poured in over her bows and under she went, leaving her crew struggling to clear each other.
Almost before the men in the dinghy could grasp the situation properly, there was a terrific swirl in the water and a large greenish-white object shot up to the surface.
It was a ship's boat, green with weed. Its copper air-tanks still retained their buoyancy, and the additional strain imparted by the grapnel had wrenched the boat from the lashings that secured it to the chocks. Fortunately, in its violent ascent to the surface the boat missed the evicted crew of the cutter.
The water was warm and there were no sharks about, or if there were the unusual splashing had scared them off. The cutter, being provided with air-compartments, floated with her gunwale a couple of inches above the surface, so that with the aid of a brace of buckets and a baler the water was soon thrown out and the men regained their craft.
This done the dinghy and the cutter started in pursuit of the unknown boat, which, in the grip of the current, was drifting towards the entrance to the lagoon.
Holding on to the "horse" of the recovered boat, Beverley scraped the slimy deposit of weed from a portion of the transom. Underneath, in faded letters that were still legible, was painted the name Fusi Yama.
"Good enough!" declared Bobby triumphantly. "Let her go. I don't think she'll drift out of the lagoon. If she does, it is of little consequence. Now, you blighters, pull for the Titania."
The rest of the proceedings savoured of a "glorious rag", for on making fast alongside the yacht the crews began shouting, firing Verey lights, beating suspended brass crutches, banging tin balers with stretchers, and raising pandemonium generally.
In the midst of the hubbub Harborough and Villiers came on deck, just as Swaine, forestalling his comrades, was sounding a terrific tocsin on the Titania's bell.
"What the——" began Harborough.
"We've come off to splice the main-brace, sir," shouted Beverley.
"Have you?" rejoined the baronet. "For what reason?"
The answer, issuing simultaneously from a dozen lusty throats, was unanimous and emphatic:
"We've found the Fusi Yama!"