"Then act up to it," said Harborough, with his whimsical smile. "You'll be on ration fatigue, which means that whenever Pete wishes to give us pork for dinner, you've got to shoot a pig. No indiscriminate slaughter, mind. That I most strongly object to. We want enough for our needs and no more."
It was quite a long time before Dick got to sleep that night. He imagined himself a mighty hunter, on whom his fellow-adventurers depended for the filling of the flesh-pot. The one fly in the ointment was the size of the game. Pity there weren't lions, tigers, and orang-outangs on Nua Leha. But he was jolly lucky, he decided. It was not the lot of most lads to have the run of a real coral island.
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.