CHAPTER XXVII
A Submarine Duel
It was not until the morning of the fifth day after the storm that operations upon the wreck of the Fusi Yama were resumed.
Since it was found upon a second examination that the hull of the motor-boat was somewhat strained and required intricate repairs before it could be rendered seaworthy, the motor was taken out and installed on a strong platform supported by the gig and the whaler. It meant devoting two boats to a duty formerly performed by one, but the motor was necessary, since it worked the dynamo that in turn provided light for the divers to work by.
Villiers and Swaine gained the wreck by following the guide-rope from the beach. They found the rope buried deeply in the sand at places, while another result of the gale was the almost entire removal of the bed of mud on which the ship lay, its place being taken by a deposit of sand and lumps of coral that had been detached from the reef under the terrific force of the breakers.
More than once it required the united efforts of both men to lift the rope clear of the sand that covered it, while in one spot an accumulation of seaweed took a quarter of an hour's hard work before the tenacious tendrils could be cut and the rope exposed.
Upon gaining the deck Villiers could see that the damage done by the hurricane was considerable. Most of the deck-houses and the promenade deck, which had stood the effect of four years' submergence without much sign of deterioration, had been swept away, while a vast quantity of sand had found its way below. This was sufficient evidence to prove that the hurricane had been the worst ever experienced at Nua Leha since the time when the Fusi Yama had been scuttled.
Outside the strong-room things were not so bad. There were tons of sand, but most of it had shifted owing to the list of the wreck, and lay five or six feet high against the interior side of the ship.
Adjusting the powerful lamp, so that its rays showed directly into the strong-room, Swaine beckoned to his companion to enter.
If Villiers expected to walk into a treasure-chamber glittering with gold, he was mistaken. The place was piled with wooden boxes, some of which had been wrenched open, displaying their rather dull but heavy contents, but on the shelves, and secured from the motion of the ship by steel grids, were canvas sacks. A few of these, rotted by the action of the salt water or else hurriedly ripped open when the Huns made a hasty examination of their booty, had shed a shower of gold coins upon the boxes and on the floor. There were British and Australian sovereigns, Japanese five-yen pieces, Chinese gold taels, and five-dollar pieces, representing almost every American republic on the Pacific coast, and mixed haphazardly.
With little delay the work of clearing the strong-room commenced. New canvas sacks, weighted with pieces of iron, were lowered from the boats above. Into these were poured the contents of the rotten sacks, then at a prearranged signal the men on the raft hoisted the precious specie to the surface.
It was a slow, laborious but at the same time pleasureable task. Movements that could be quickly executed in air were greatly retarded by the pressure of water, and by the time that the divers' air-supply was showing signs of exhaustion only a quarter of the coin had been salved.
For the next week the operations continued uninterruptedly. Villiers and Swaine each making two descents a day.
Compared with the task of recovering the bullion, the preliminary work of clearing the specie was simple. The bullion, packed tightly in iron-bound boxes, had to be extricated bar by bar, for as originally packed each case was too heavy, even under water, to be manhandled.
There were delays, too, in transporting the recovered treasure to the Titania, owing to the lack of sufficient boats, so that, according to Villiers' estimate, three weeks would elapse before the precious metal would be stowed in the yacht's hold.
Dick Beverley was enjoying himself immensely. He worked quite as hard as anybody, and his one regret was that he had not been allowed to don a diving-dress and make a descent. This Harborough bluntly refused to allow.
"This is a salvage company, not a nursery for amateur divers," he remarked, although his refusal was based upon his compact with Bobby Beverley not to expose Dick to any unnecessary risk.
By common consent a substantial share of the treasure was to be given to Pete. The man had earned it fairly. As a cook he was painstaking and conscientious, and when not engaged in his duties in the galley he was always ready and willing to bear a hand at other work.
"What are you going to do with your little lot when we pay off, Pete?" asked Villiers.
Pete's features were almost hidden by a mouth that stretched practically from ear to ear as he gave a prodigious grin.
"Do, sah? Be coloured gen'lman at Barbadoes, Massa Villiers. Buy top-hole swagger hotel an' get dollars from Yankee visitors. P'r'aps I buy a sail-boat and take people round de islands. If any of you gen'lmen come to Barbadoes, be sure to look up Massa Pete Johnson. He put you up free, gratis, and for nothin'."
"Then you're not sorry that Captain Abe booted you out of the Lucy M. Partington?" asked Bobby.
"No, sah." Pete evidently did not wish to reopen an unpleasant incident, for he turned somewhat abruptly to O'Loghlin. "Say, Massa," he asked anxiously, "you understan' motors. Will I be able to run a swagger car? One that licks creation for goin' tarnation quick?"
"If you handle the steering-wheel of a car as well as you do a frying-pan, you'll be a rattling good driver, Pete," replied O'Loghlin, pushing aside his empty plate with a satisfied sigh.
The salvage operation continued without a hitch in glorious weather and under ideal conditions. The divers' dread of sharks seemed to have been a needless one, for the noise of the motors and the activity of all hands had no doubt scared the tigers of the deep.
One day Villiers was at work below, when he noticed a gaudily-coloured fish dart out from behind a box, and graze his hand. The fish was but a small one, less than six inches in length, but its dorsal fins resembled trailing tendrils and its tail ended in two tapering points.
Hardly paying any attention to the creature, for fishes were continually swimming around the divers, Villiers began prising open the metal-bound box. Before he had completed his task his arm was throbbing frightfully, and his hand seemed to lose the power of gripping things.
He "stuck it" for another ten minutes, then signed to Swaine that he was finishing work. Before he reached dry ground he felt on the point of collapse, and when he did gain the beach he toppled inertly upon the sand, to the astonishment and alarm of Vivian and Merridew, who were standing by to assist the diving-party.
They divested him of his diving-suit. By this time his arm had swollen tremendously, and the flesh was turning a dull-grey colour.
Harborough, hastily summoned ashore, diagnosed the symptoms as being similar to those of snake-bite, There were a couple of minute punctures on the back of Jack's hand, through which the poison had been transmitted to his veins.
For the next twelve hours it was touch and go with Jack Villiers. His comrades plied him with enough raw whisky to make a man in ordinary health helplessly intoxicated. They walked him up and down without giving him the slightest chance of rest. The treatment was drastic, but it was successful, and, although the arm remained swollen and painful, the danger was past.
Much to his disgust, Villiers had to "stand down", and Swaine carried on alone. That meant more delay, but it was unavoidable, and things might have been worse. Further difficulties were met with through the temporary breakdown of the submarine lighting arrangements, and until that was rectified Swaine was perforce obliged to relinquish his visits to the wreck.
"Look here, old man," said Jack, one morning as Swaine was preparing for a descent. "I'm fit again. There is no reason why I shouldn't go with you."
"Better wait till you've seen Harborough," objected Swaine. "You might jolly well think you're all right, but I shouldn't like the responsibility of passing you fit for duty."
"Right-o," agreed Jack, who saw the force of his fellow-diver's argument. "Don't wait. I'll push off afloat and see what Harborough has to say."
Swaine proceeded on the submarine work alone. Although glad of Villier's company, he realized that the latter was far from being fit for the strenuous toil demanded of a diver. He, Swaine, could do sufficient work below to keep the surface-party busy, and the task of recovering the treasure was now within measureable distance of conclusion.
It was yet early. The morning mists had not entirely dispersed when Swaine waded into the water, awkwardly at first, but with more freedom as the leaden-weighted suit dipped beneath the surface.
Swaine wasted no time in getting on board the wreck and setting to work. He had now a fair amount of elbow-room, since most of the metal-lined boxes had been removed, and a thousand pounds worth of gold was being sent up every five minutes.
He felt in fine fettle and, to use his own expression, "full of beans". So intent was he upon his task that the time slipped by rapidly, until a slight buzzing noise in his ears warned him that the self-contained air-reservoir was not far off a state of exhaustion. In fifteen minutes the supply would be "dud", and it usually took him twenty minutes to reach the shore.
He "knocked off" in a hurry; at the same time, he realized that if things came to a pitch he could blow himself to the surface. This he was loth to do, as the sudden ascent generally incapacitated a diver for several hours.
Slipping over the side of the wreck and grasping the guide-rope, Swaine began to make his way ashore as rapidly as the resistance of the water permitted.
"Current's frightfully strong to-day," he soliloquized, as the rush of water almost swept his feet from under him. As it was, he had to hang on like grim death to the rope and haul himself along hand over hand until he had crossed the track of the submarine stream.
Here the lagoon shoaled considerably. There was sufficient depth to allow a pale-green light to penetrate to five or six fathoms of water, while visibility increased a distance of ten or twelve feet.
Happening to turn his head within the immobile helmet and to glance through the side plate-glass window, Swaine came to a sudden halt and gave a gasp of surprise. Within three yards of him, and floundering along on a slightly converging course, was a man in a self-contained diver's suit.
"So Villiers has got into harness after all," he thought. "Wonder how he came to lose touch with the direction-rope?"
He raised one hand in greeting, at the same time holding up the rope that served as a guide between the wreck and the shore.
Then to his utter astonishment he discovered that it was not Jack Villiers, nor indeed any of the Titania's men, indulging in a little submarine expedition. The diving-dress was different in certain details.
Swaine was not left long in doubt as to the stranger's intentions. Apparently the other diver was as surprised as he was, for he halted, swaying slightly in the comparatively feeble current. Then, slowly fumbling, he drew out a knife that showed a pale, dull-greenish glint in the subdued light.
Courageous though he was, Swaine felt his heart beating violently. He was still undecided as to whether the stranger intended sticking the point of the steel into him or whether he meant to cut the guide-rope. In any case, Swaine realized that he would have to act on the defensive.
Drawing his own knife, Swaine, holding on to the rope with his left hand, planted his feet firmly and threw his weight slightly forward. Then he awaited developments. He was handicapped by the fact that his air-supply was now noticeably weak. He might, with discretion, attempt to elude his antagonist, but he realized the disadvantage of showing his back to a man who might possess a greater degree of mobility. Nor did he fancy a knife-thrust as he was in the act of blowing himself to the surface.
No, the issue had to be decided there and then.
Holding his knife dagger-wise across his chest, the unknown assailant advanced. Swaine stood on the defensive. He was in an awkward predicament, for the current that was helping his opponent was against him.
The other feinted. It was a comparatively slow movement compared with the lightning-like thrust of a practised fencer. The pressure of the water was too great for rapidity of action.
Swaine was not prepared for what followed. His antagonist arrested the blow and at the same time hacked ponderously with his leaden-shod boot. The metal rasped on Swaine's bare knuckles grasping the rope, as he stepped backwards to avoid the full force of the blow. The next instant a cut with the keen blade of the other's knife severed the guide-rope.
The sudden release of the tautened rope sent Swaine staggering a good three yards. He found himself sprawling on the sandy bottom, his efforts to regain his feet disturbing the sand to such an extent that it was almost impossible to see anything beyond arm's length.
Not daring to transfer his knife from his right hand to his left, Swaine fumbled for the release-valve of the buoyancy-flask. His fingers, numbed with the glancing blow they had received, were almost useless, and his head was swimming with the effect of the now impure air. Before he could attain his immediate aim he saw the distorted figure of his antagonist through the now clearing water.
Still struggling to regain his feet, the while guarding himself with his knife, Swaine realized that the odds were very much against him. He found himself vaguely wondering what the effect of a thrust would be through the thick rubber and canvas fabric of his diving-suit. All the same, he meant to stick it, and, if needs be, "die game".
The other approached warily, but there was a suggestion of triumph in his movements. He began circling round his prostrate opponent, seeking a favourable opportunity of closing. He hesitated, possibly because he feared a ruse on the part of the Englishman, who, with knife uplifted, kept turning so that he was always face to face with his assailant. Obviously these wearing-out tactics were telling upon Swaine. The longer the other delayed, the worse became his state owing to the poor quality of his air-supply.
At length the unknown diver raised his arm to deal a stroke. He did it dramatically, pausing with the blade held high above his head.
With senses dulled, Swaine steeled himself to meet the deadly stroke, but the stroke never came.
A rush, a swirl of water, and a blurred vision of the other diver sinking slowly on his face told Swaine that deliverance had come from a totally unexpected quarter.
A huge shark, attracted by the glitter of the knife, had bitten off the fellow's hand just above the wrist, at the same time tearing the india-rubber cuff of his diving-dress and allowing a considerable amount of air to escape.
The shark, finding its palate unpleasantly tickled by the sharp steel, and not laying claim to be a sword-swallower, decided that one mouthful was enough and made off for pastures new, leaving the interrupted principals of the submarine duel to settle matters as best they could.