CHAPTER XXIV
The Hurricane
"Hanged if I like the look of things," commented Beverley. "The glass has fallen six-tenths in the last two hours, and the sunset looks like a blurr of pea-soup. We're in for something before morning."
It was the evening of Villier's unpleasant experience and the discovery of the Fusi Yama gold. Work on the wreck had been suspended for the rest of the day, although Jack pluckily volunteered to make another descent with Swaine, and to begin the actual salvage of the treasure. This proposal Harborough had negatived. He believed in moderation.
"No use putting in one and a half working days in one if it takes two days to get over it," he remarked. "I don't believe in making spurts until I'm on the last lap."
Merridew, who was officer of the watch on shore, agreed with Beverley's observations about the sunset.
"I think we'll have the tents struck," he added. "We can sleep in the store-house. That ought to stick it out. How will your buses get on, Alec?"
"Badly, if we don't do something," replied Claverhouse. "Come along, Trevear, old son; we've a job in front of-us before we go to roost."
"I'll bear a hand," volunteered Bell, and Griffiths, who was rarely separated from his particular chum, also offered his assistance.
Directly the four had gone to prepare the sea-planes for the expected blow, Merridew levelled his telescope on the Titania.
"The Old Man knows his job," he remarked to Beverley. "They're furling awnings and veering out additional cable. But I'm hanged if I like the look of things."
Just as the sun sank, leaving behind it an ill-defined blurr of indigo-coloured clouds tinged with vivid copper-coloured streaks, the rain began to fall heavily. Not a breath of wind stirred the broad-leaved branches of the palm trees, although the big drops thudded upon the foliage with a noise like the roll of a hundred drums. In less than thirty seconds the Titania was lost to sight in the terrific downpour that obliterated everything beyond a distance of fifty yards from the spot where Beverley stood.
Clad in oilskins and sou'wester, Bobby revelled in the warm rain. He waited until the short twilight had passed into intense darkness, then he rejoined the others in the hut.
"What, not turning in to-night, you fellows?" he inquired. "Perhaps it's as well. Wonder how the old Titania will stand it?"
"Wonder how the old hut'll stick it, you mean," said Fontayne. "A sand-bagged dug-out on the side of the hill would be more the mark, I fancy. By Jove, I don't envy Claverhouse and his breakdown gang."
"Any sign of a leak?" asked Bobby, casting anxious glances at the palm-leaf thatch, on the outside of which the rain was falling down with a noise like that made by a number of peas when violently shaken in a tin can.
"All right, so far," replied Fontayne, "but it looks as if the floor will be flooded. Pity we hadn't dug a trench round outside."
"The ground slopes a bit," observed Swaine, "so the water won't lodge. Hallo! I'm not so sure about it. Look here!"
A steady rivulet was finding its way in at the landward side of the hut. All hands hurriedly set to work to dig a runway to divert and keep under control what promised to be a healthy little mountain torrent.
In the midst of this operation Alec and his three companions arrived, drenched to the skin but nevertheless cheerful.
"Don't care if it rains ink," observed Claverhouse blithely. "We've secured the buses and removed the wings. Hope it doesn't blow too hard."
Even as he spoke there came a weird moaning noise from without, followed by a blow that shook the hut to its foundations. It was the preliminary announcement of a tropical hurricane. For full five minutes it lasted, creating a pandemonium of noises as the supple trees bent and groaned under the furious blasts.
[Illustration: JACK WAS PINNED PRETTY FIRMLY AGAINST THE CEILING]
"Lucky the trees keep off most of the wind," said Bobby, raising his voice to make himself heard above the din. "Suppose we shift some of those heavy cases and pile 'em against the windward side."
All hands, with the exception of the recently-arrived working-party, who were in various stages of deshabille, set to work with a will, until a fairly-solid barricade was constructed on either side of the door up to the level with the eaves.
As suddenly as it had started the wind dropped to a flat calm. The rain, too, was lighter.
"Guess it's all over," remarked Griffiths. "It will be starlight outside."
"No such luck," replied Bobby. "That's only a preliminary canter. While we're about it we may as well rig up a couple of preventer-shrouds to that hurricane-lamp. I didn't like the way it swayed about just now."
The second phase of the storm burst. This time the wind roared. There was no sinister whine in the furious rush of air, but there was no mistaking the strength of the blast. A palm tree, uprooted, came crashing to earth, its leafed crest brushing against the side of the hut before it came to rest a good fifty feet away. Again and again the side of the hut bulged ominously, while eddying gusts found their way into the building, as if seeking a weak spot in the flimsy but stoutly-woven material.
The men stood silently alert. The noise of the elements crushed all desire to talk. Momentarily they expected to see the hut torn from its foundations and flung, like a discarded toy from the hand of a fractious child, into the storm-swept night.
This outburst lasted a good ten minutes. Then followed a period of calm unaccompanied by rain. The eerie silence that succeeded the deafening roar was almost as awe-inspiring as the hurricane.
"How's the old ship sticking it?" remarked Merridew. "I'll go out and have a look round."
He could see nothing save a line of white as the rollers, forced over the reef by the gale, lashed the beach.
Beyond all was in darkness. Whether the Titania's anchors held or whether she had been driven ashore there was no means of telling.
A long-drawn shrill whine warned him that it was high time to beat a retreat. He was not a moment too soon. He regained the hut, but it took the united efforts of four men to close and secure the door.
No one spoke a word, but everyone realized that the third outburst would be the worst, and perhaps the last. It came, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning and ear-splitting peals of thunder that even made the heavy cases reverberate. Mingled with the loud roar of the wind was that shrill, almost unearthly whine that means mischief.
Suddenly the interior of the hut was brightly illuminated by a flash of lightning. The roof, lifted by a particularly vicious squall, had vanished, leaving a trail of violently eddying leaves and bamboo rafters. Then, while the men were still blinded by the dazzling glare, the wind backed a full four points, struck the roofless hut on its weakest side, and the next moment the building was levelled.
Buried beneath a mat-like mass of thatch, Beverley found himself prostrate on the flooded ground. Someone's rubber-shod foot was beating a tattoo on his face as its wearer endeavoured to extricate himself from an unenviable position.
As Bobby was regaining his feet another brilliant flash gave him a brief but vivid glimpse of his immediate surroundings. His comrades were struggling through the debris, looking much like a litter of healthy puppies forcing their way through a covering of hay. The barricade of boxes had been overthrown, some of the cases lodging against the trunks of the palm trees, nearly fifty feet away.
Many of the trees were bending until the tops nearly touched the ground; others, uprooted, were hurled like straws against those still standing, and formed a gigantic lattice-work. A dozen yards away the kerosene-lamp, with its glass completely shattered, lay blazing fiercely, the heavy downpour of rain tending to spread the flames.
Guided by the blaze, Beverley made his way to the blazing pool of oil. Close by he saw a large box with cryptic markings in red paint. It contained a couple of hundred pounds of high explosives—safe to handle since the stuff had to be detonated by means of a primer, but not proof against the attack of fire. Already the flames were licking the box, and only the fact that the woodwork was damp owing to the torrential rain had prevented a disastrous explosion.
Acting almost mechanically, yet conscious to a certain degree of the risk he ran, Beverley literally ploughed his way through the chaos of bamboo and thatch and seized the rope-handle of the explosive-case. Desperation lent him the strength of a giant. With a mighty heave he shifted the heavy case a full yard to windward of the burning oil; then, walking backwards with his body inclined at an acute angle to the slope of the ground, he dragged the deadly explosive well out of harm's way.
Only when he desisted did he notice that the legs of his oilskin trousers were charred and smouldering still.
Aided by the frequent flashes of lightning and the now dying glare of the kerosene, the rest of the late occupants of the store-house extricated themselves and each other from their awkward and dangerous predicament, and in the blinding rain they made for the shelter of the palm groves, never halting till they had placed a full hundred yards between them and the outpost of trees that held out against the hurricane.
Even now the position of the shore-party was far from enviable. Every man was soaked to the skin; most bore cuts or bruises, while Bell and Merridew were both badly knocked about by one of the packing-cases as the barricade gave way before the blast.
"Think the Titania stood it?" asked Merridew.
There was no reply. Every man had his doubts. Bobby was regretting the fact that he had refused to let Dick come ashore the previous afternoon.
For another hour the men sheltered in the palm grove. Here it was comparatively calm, although the trunks were trembling with the effect of the gale upon their verdant tops. To attempt to leave their place of refuge and go down to the beach meant striving to attain the impossible. No one could face the full force of the blast in the open.
At half-past two in the morning the wind died away as suddenly as it had started; the stars shone in an unclouded sky, and only the debris scattered in the glades and the unusually loud roar of the surf remained.
"It's all over," declared Beverley. "Let's make for the beach."
They arrived to find that the breakers were already being subdued by the reef, on which the mountainous rollers were hurling themselves in sullen fury. Pitching heavily as she rode with open hawse to the waves was the Titania, standing out clearly against the starlit sky.
"I don't think she's dragged a yard," declared Bobby. "Jolly lucky——"
"What's that?" interrupted Griffiths, pointing to something rolling in the undertow of the surface at a distance of a hundred yards from the beach.
The men rushed to the spot to find that the Titania's cutter had been torn from the davits and had been dashed ashore.
Watching his opportunity, Claverhouse waded waist-deep into the water and secured the painter. All hands succeeded in hauling the boat beyond the rush of the waves, but the mischief was already done. Her keel, kelson, and garboards smashed, the boat was beyond repair.
"I'm off to have a look at the sea-planes," decided Alec. "Nothing like keeping on the move when you're soaked to the buff. Come along, Trevear, old son."
The airmen departed. The others, unable to communicate with the ship, thought that activity was the best antidote to saturated clothing, and proceeded to set things in order.
It was a big task. Their first objects of attention were the three boats that were kept ashore at night. Fortunately they had been hauled up well above high-water mark and secured by their painters to some stout trees, while a line and grapnel had been laid out from the stern of each. Even then it had been touch and go. Only the heavy downpour preceding the hurricane had prevented the boats from being hurled away, the weight of the water in the bilges being barely sufficient to counterbalance the lifting-force of the wind.
They found the three boats nearly filled to the thwarts with water, sand, and lumps of coral.
Having pulled out the plugs and allowed the water to drain from the boats, the men proceeded to the site of the store-house, and set to work to collect the scattered cases.
"Look!" exclaimed Swaine, pointing to the box of explosives. "We've had a narrow squeak, lads. The wood's charred."
"So it is," agreed Merridew. "How? It's yards from the blaze caused by the lamp. Lightning, perhaps. Don't you think so, Beverley?"
"P'r'aps," replied Bobby. "Anyone got any dry tobacco? Mine's a wash-out."