`We've got enough,' said Biggles, at last, regarding the pile. 'I'm not sure that we haven't got too much.' `Too much?' queried Ginger.
Ìf it started to blow we might find ourselves in a mess. I don't think we could get the machine off the water with this load, and that, to my way of thinking, is going a bit too far beyond the margin of safety. However, the weather
59
looks settled enough,' he added, glancing round the sky.
`Sandy will be up any minute now,' said Ginger, feeling the life-line as though he were fishing, hoping to receive the expected signal.
Several minutes passed, but there was no signal.
Ìt's a long time since we had any shell up,' observed Ginger at last.
Nobody answered. The minutes passed slowly. Biggles glanced at the watch on the instrument-board. 'He's been down over an hour,' he said, presently.
`He seems to be moving about; 1 can feel the line twitching,' said Ginger. 'He isn't caught by one of those confounded clams, anyway, or he wouldn't be able to move.'
Full Moon was lying on the hull, staring down into the water. She had not spoken for some time. Suddenly she drew the knife which she carried inside her pareu, and putting it between her teeth, slipped over the side. Her head dipped downwards, and she began to swim.
Ginger looked at Biggles.
Biggles shrugged his shoulders. 'I suppose she knows what she's doing,' he said.
`By gosh! she's coming back in a hurry,' said Ginger, sharply.
Full Moon literally flung herself out of the water on to the flying-boat. Feke! she cried shrilly. 'Big feke!'
Feke! My God! She means an octopus!' cried Ginger aghast. His face blanched. 'What can we do? Shall we pull him up?'
`He said don't pull unless we got a signal,' said Biggles in a hard voice.
Àndie fight feke,' said Full Moon simply. 'Me no fight —get caught in life-line.'
`You keep on pumping, Algy,' said Ginger, and started to haul on the line. But there was no slack to be taken up. The line was taut, vibrating slightly.
`This is dreadful. Can't we do something?' Algy panted, for he had been pumping steadily for some time.
-
'We'd better give him a minute. He may be able to fight it off,' said Biggles, whose face was colourless. 'If he wanted us to pull he'd send a signal.'
`Maybe the thing's got his arms pinned to his sides,' suggested Ginger.
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`Wait!' ordered Biggles.
After that nobody spoke for a full minute. Ginger stood like a statue, holding the rope.
`Shell-Breaker, can you go down and see what's happening?' asked Biggles.
Without a word Shell-Breaker dropped the rope that controlled the basket and drew his knife. He was about to dive into the water when a yell from Ginger stopped him. 'He's pulling!' he shouted. 'One—two—three . .
four. That means pull till the rope breaks.' He bent his back and pulled, but he might have been trying to lift a mountain for all the effect it had. 'Biggles! Shell-Breaker —help! ' he cried.
They all rushed to his assistance, but not even their united efforts could make the line give an inch.
`My God! We shall tear the air-pipe if we pull any harder,' cried Biggles, in a hoarse voice. 'Keep pumping, Algy. Now, altogether—pull.'
They threw their weight on the rope until it twisted and oozed water under the strain. But it did not move. Ìt's no use. It's holding him down,' muttered Biggles through set teeth. '
We'll try once more. Full Moon—come and pull!'
With four of them now on the rope they pulled until the perspiration dripped from their faces and the machine tilted right over on her side under the one-sided pressure. But the rope might have been tied to the bottom of the sea. It did not give an inch.
Biggles straightened his back and moistened his lips. `He signalled that we were to pull until the rope breaks,' he said in a curious voice. 'Well, he's coming up or I'm going to break the rope. It's his only chance now.' He seized the life-line and reefed it round the two steel centre-section bracing struts. 'You hold the rope where you are, Ginger,' he said tersely. 'Cover your face in case it breaks and snaps back. Don't go overboard. Hang on, everybody.' He jumped into the pilot's seat. His hand closed over the throttle. The gentle ticking of the engines became a roar. The machine surged forward, the life-line tautening like a bowstring. The flying-boat went right over on her side with her wing-tip in the water under the terrific pressure, and then began to move in a slow circle.
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`What are you giving her?' yelled Ginger. `Half-throttle.'
`The rope doesn't move. Go on.'
`We'll capsize the ship.'
`No—go on.'
The roar of the engines became a bellow.
Ìt's coming—it's coming! ' screamed Ginger.
Biggles gave the throttle a moment of full power. The engines roared, and the aircraft jibbed like a young horse that feels the spurs for the first time. The sea was a churning whirlpool of foam.
Ìt's coming! ' yelled Ginger again, hanging on to the rope. His eyes were bulging out of his head with strain as he heaved and pulled.
Biggles suddenly cut the throttle and dashed to his assistance. Shell-Breaker also seized the rope. 'All together!' cried Biggles. 'Heave!'
The dripping line began to come in, a foot at a time. `We've got more than Sandy at the end of this rope,' declared Biggles grimly. 'Thank God it's a brand-new one. Stand by with that chopper, Shell-Breaker.'
Foot by foot the rbpe came in, the flying-boat lying on her beam ends under the one-sided weight.
Full Moon had been kneeling, staring down into the water. Suddeny she sprang to her feet. Àndie, he come,' she shrilled. 'He come with feke!' Knife in hand, her lips parted, showing her teeth, she looked what she was, a savage, but ready to fight against something she knew and understood only too well.
A long tentacle broke the surface and coiled menacingly. Ginger ducked as it swished over his head.
`Never mind that; keep pulling! ' yelled Biggles. Ìt's dragging us under,' screamed Ginger.
`Keep pulling! ' shouted Biggles again. 'Here he comes. The beast is hanging on him.
Hold the line.' Biggles dropped the rope and, snatching up Shell-Breaker's hatchet, began slashing at something just under the water.
_
`Mind you don't cut the line! ' cried Ginger.
Biggles did not answer. A severed tentacle floated up, still coiling and uncoiling like a lasso. Another writhed up and curled itself over the fuselage so that the machine nearly went right over. Biggles severed it with a blow, the blade sinking into the plywood. He snatched it out. Both
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Shell-Breaker and Full Moon were slashing with their knives; nearly in the water, they were taking the most desperate risks. Ginger hung on the rope. Bending forward to take fresh purchase he had a fleeting glimpse of two great lustreless eyes, as large as saucers.
He saw Biggles whip out his automatic and blaze between them, firing shot after shot until the weapon was empty.
Ginger went over backwards at the recoil of the boat as the weight suddenly fell from the line. He saw a mass of grey-coloured flesh floating away amid pieces of severed tentacles. For a frightful moment he thought that Sandy had gone, too. Then he saw the diving-helmet appear above the water as Biggles and Full Moon reached down and dragged Sandy up. He fell motionless across the hull.
`Get his helmet off!' shouted Biggles, and dashed to the cockpit. The engines roared and the 'Scud' surged forward.
'Mako finish feke!' cried Full Moon delightedly, pointing to the water in which several sharks had suddenly appeared; they were fighting for the remains of the octopus. But Gin ger was no longer concerned with it. With trembling fingers he removed the helmet from the motionless figure, to disclose Sandy's face, ashen and streaked with blood. 'He's dead!' he cried.
Algy dashed into the cabin and returned with the emergency brandy-flask. He poured a little
of the spirit between Sandy's pallid lips.
By this time the 'Scud' was racing towards the entrance to the lagoon at a speed only just short of flying speed. She did, in fact, leave the water an inch or two more than once.
Without slackening speed Biggles tore through the opening of the reef on to the still water of the lagoon, and brought the machine to a standstill at her anchorage. Then he switched off and helped the others to carry Sandy ashore.
As they laid him gently on the sloping beach of powdered coral and shell he opened his eyes and gazed at the blue sky above with an expression on his face which Ginger never forgot. 'Ye saved the shell all right, I hope?' he said, weakly.
`Why, you old skinflint, of course we did,' answered Biggles, with a catch in his voice. '
We've got you, that's all that really matters. All right, boys; let's get this diving-63
gear off him. Do you feel well enough for us to take it off, Sandy?'
Àye, I'm a wee bit bruised, nothing more.'
Which was, the others soon discovered, an understatement of fact, for he was bruised from head to foot. Vivid red bands showed where the creature had gripped him with its tentacles. However, he was not seriously injured, and he was soon sitting up, sipping a drop of 'whusky'—just to pull him together.
`Well, I suppose this means the end of the show?' said Biggles.
`Why?' demanded Sandy. 'Nothing of the sort. That's all part of the day's work in a diver'
s life.'
Ginger stared incredulously. 'Do you mean—you'd go down there again?' he asked unbelievingly.
`Certainly. I'd feel safer now than I did before.'
`How on earth do you make that out?' asked Algy.
Because there won't be any more big fellows like that one. He would be king of the roost over a big area. If you have killed him, as I expect you must have done, it will be as safe down there as it is here. These devil fish are the real kings of the ocean; other fish know that and keep out of the way.'
`The sharks finished off the pieces,' Ginger told him.
`They would,' grinned Sandy, rising stiffly to his feet. `The truth is, I was a fool. There was a deep sort of dell-hole in the coral. I didn't much like the look of it, particularly as there were no small fish about, or young octopus. You can usually see plenty of the little fellows, but they don't trouble you; they scramble about the rocks like big spiders. I thought it was odd that they had all disappeared. But there were some big shells in the hole, so I took a chance. In a way I was lucky, because the first feeler settled round my helmet. I guessed what it was, so knowing the tricks of the trade I put my arms straight up to prevent them from being pinned to my sides. A good thing I did, for the next tentacle went round my waist. If my arms hadn't been free I should have been finished, but as they were, I could fight. The scrap must have lasted twenty minutes. It seemed like hours. I could see the thing staring at me from a cave. He was only using four arms on me, so I guessed he was anchoring himself with the others.
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It was no use my signalling to be pulled up while he was holding on to the coral with four arms; it would have needed a battleship to shift him. But I reckoned that if _could slash one or two of his arms he would bring the others into play, and so weaken his hold on the bottom. My greatest fear was that the line or air-tube would get tangled up with the tentacles—that would have been the end. Luckily, you had kept them taut, as I suggested. It was a rare fight between the two of us down there on the 'sea floor. I cut the ends off two of his arms, and I saw him bring out two more. I was tempted to signal to you to pull me up, but I wanted to make sure. But I was weakening, and he knew it.
He was trying to drag me towards him all the time. I could see his eyes. You don't know what a temptation it was to go forward and plunge my knife between them; it became a sort of obsession, but it would have been fatal. Every now and then the brute squirted out a lot of sepia so that I couldn't see his arms—or anything else, for that matter. He beat me in the end. I was whacked, My arms were like lead from holding them up. Then he got my left arm pinned to my side, and I knew that it was only a question of time before he got the other. By then he had managed to drag me to within a couple of yards of him, so I gave the four tugs. And that's all I remember.'
Biggles drew a deep breath. 'It was a grim business,' he said. 'I don't like the idea of your going down there again.'
À day's rest and I shall be as right as rain,' declared Sandy. 'Why, mon, there's a fortune down there on the bottom, and a fortune is always worth a bit of risk. '
`Well, we'll wash out for to-day, at any rate, and see how you feel to-morrow,' decided Biggles. 'What shall we do with all this shell?'
`Haul it across to the west side of the island and spread it about on the beach above high-water mark. Ina day or two we shall be able to see what the luck is like. There isn't a more exciting game in the world than opening shell, knowing that any one might hold a small fortune.'
Right-ho,' agreed Biggles. 'We'll have a bite of lunch and then, while you take things easy, we'll shift the shell.'
S ANDY was bruised rather more than he had at first pretended, and it was two days before he felt able to con-' tinue diving. The others were so alarmed at his terrible experience that they were half-inclined to abandon the project; but Sandy would not hear of it, insisting that now the big octopus was no longer there, there was nothing more to fear; and as he was the one most concerned the others gave way. So on the third day they again taxied out to the diving-ground, where Sandy made several descents, but by lunchtime he was showing signs of strain, and Biggles decided to suspend operations until the following day, as time was no object. Sandy admitted that he had nearly cleared the shallow area, and in future it would be necessary for him gradually to work deeper as he descended the slopes of the under-water mountain. Not that he ever intended to go really deep. He admitted frankly that deep-sea work was beyond his strength, ability, or inclination; at the same time he pointed out that it would not be necessary, for if the shell they had already gathered yielded the harvest which might reasonably be expected, it would be both easier and safer to spend part of the proceeds in fitting out a schooner with an experienced crew, and hiring expert Japanese divers from Thursday Island, near the north Australian coast, the headquarters of some of the finest divers in the world. They themselves could superintend operations from the flying-boat, which would at the same time enable them to keep in touch with Tahiti. The work they were engaged on would then no longer be a secret, but as they would have reaped the cream of the bed this would not matter. There would be no need for any of them to take further risks. And this was so obviously sound, common-sense reasoning, that the others agreed without demur.
As they taxied back towards the island after abandoning 66
work for the day, Sandy suddenly looked up with a smile. `Here, I'll tell you what! ' he cried. 'Let's spend the afternoon examining our first day's catch. The oysters will be dead by now, so apart from the stink, which will not be pleasant, the job should be easy.'
A cheer from Ginger greeted this proposal. "That sounds a fine idea,' he declared.
`We'll stack the shell on the beach as we clean it and get a schooner to pick it up later on,
' continued Sandy. Ìt's worth real money, so we might as well have it. In fact, if the pearls don't turn out too well we may be glad of it.'
And so it was agreed, and after a picnic lunch the whole party went over to the west side of the island, no very great distance, where the shell had been spread out to rot.
Sandy and the two Polynesians laughed at the expressions of disgust on the faces of the others as they approached the now dead oysters. It's a good thing the wind is blowing the stink straight out to sea; if it dropped altogether, or blew the other way, you'd know the meaning of the word "fug",' said Sandy, smiling. Then, suddenly, his smile faded, to be replaced by a thoughtful frown.
`What's the matter?' asked Biggles, who was watching him.
À
thought just struck me,' returned Sandy, shaking his head doubtfully. 'I'm not sure that we were altogether wise to rot the shell, after all. This stink will be noticeable twenty miles out to sea, and any one who has ever smelt it never forgets what it is.'
`You mean—Castanelli might get a whiff of it?' Sandy nodded. 'Yes,' he said.
Ìn which case all he would have to do would be to follow it up in order to discover the place where it starts from.'
`You bet he would.'
Hm, that's rather a pity, but it can't be helped now. We won't do it again. In future we'll open the shell and bury the refuse as soon as we have finished with it.' Àye, that's the best way.'
Sandy was carrying a pail and an empty biscuit-tin, and
on reaching the shell he filled the bucket with sea-water 67
and, watched with absorbed interest by the others, he commenced operations. He picked up the shells one by one, and holding them over the bucket explored the interior with his fingers before tipping the remains of the dead oyster into the pail. The empty shells he tossed on one side for Shell-Breaker to stack into a neat pile. In this way he had opened nearly forty shells, tossing each one aside with a grunt of disappointment, before he let out a wild whoop and held up a small white object that appeared to glow with inward fire. It was the size of a small pebble.' `Well, there's number one,' he declared, as the pearl passed quickly from hand to hand. 'Now we've broken our luck we shall probably get on better.'
`What's that one worth?' asked Ginger.
Ì'll hit the buyer on the nose if he offers me less than five hundred pounds for it,' swore Sandy.
`You're going to be a long time getting a hatful at this rate,' put in Biggles, smiling.
`Don't you be in a hurry,' answered Sandy seriously. `You never know how things are going to pan out at this game. You can open a thousand oysters without finding a seed pearl, and then find six in succession. We're bound to find one or two real big 'uns in all this shell, or I'm going to be very surprised.'
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As if to confirm his statement the very next shell yielded five small pearls—not very valuable, Sandy admitted, but they all added to the harvest. And so the work went on.
21 Biggles In the South Seas Page 7