03 Underwater Adventure (13 page)

Roger was bursting with a long-suppressed question.

‘Why didn’t we find any men on that ship, except those three?’

‘We didn’t find any men,’ Blake answered.

‘But the three in the cabin …’

‘Those were just empty suits of armour.’

‘But there must have been bodies inside, or at least skeletons.’

‘When we open those suits I don’t expect to find a human fragment as big as the knuckle on your little finger. The flesh was probably eaten within a few hours by fish and starfish and crustaceans. And within a few weeks the worms and bacteria did away with the bones. Metal and stone and some kinds of wood will last, but not bone.’

It seemed a grim thought to Roger that men, who think themselves so wonderful, should vanish so quickly while metal, stone and wood last for centuries.

‘We’re not so very important, are we?’ he said, a little mournfully.

Blake laughed. ‘Are you just finding that out? Now, let’s get to work. We’re not going to take a thing from that wreck until we have photographed it from stem to stern, inside and outside. Then we’ll begin removing the cargo.’

‘Do we have to get a permit from the Trusteeship?’ Hal inquired.

That’s all arranged. There won’t be any government tax on the property so long as it goes to the museum. And that’s where it’s all going to go.’

Blake heard a snort behind him and turned to see Skink. Skink at once wiped the smirk off his face and said nothing.

‘We want pictures of everything,’ Blake went on, ‘just as it is - the armed men, the chests, the cargo - in black and white, colour, and movies.’ ‘How about a few paintings?’ Skink suggested. ‘That would be very interesting. Why don’t you try it?’ The aqualungs were refilled, the cameras, flash equipment, and painting material assembled, and Blake, Hal, and Skink descended to the wreck.

Blake went inside and proceeded to photograph, with the help of flash, the cargo and the dramatic scene in the upper cabin. He also made notes on what he saw -and just as he had been astonished at the sight of the man in the big chair, the man in the chair should have been surprised to see this curious creature with a mask on his face and a tank on his back, calmly seated on a chest and writing on a slate with a slate pencil.

The water dimmed the effect, but when the slate dried off the writing would stand out clear and white. Blake had learned this method, as well as the trick of writing on a zinc pad with a lead pencil, from William Beebe. A third method was to write with a graphite stick on sheets of sandpapered xylonite, a waterproof substance rather like celluloid. Such notes made on the spot were necessary to an accurate and scientific record, because after rising to the surface it was so easy to forget exact details.

Hal, outside the ship, was taking general views of the wreck as it lay in the sand, the gun deck and bulwarks, and the two picturesque castles. He was especially interested in the long beakhead of the ship, heavily carved with animals, monograms, crowns, serpents, and floral ornaments, and terminating in a splendid bronze figurehead of Neptune rising from the sea. He could already see that striking work of art in an alcove of its own in the Metropolitan Museum. Perhaps below it there would be a caption referring to the expedition of the Lively Lady and naming the scientists who had discovered the Santa Cruz’

He saw that someone else was much interested in the figurehead. Skink was painting a picture of it Seated on a coral block, with a board-backed canvas on his knees, he was having unexpected troubles. The board wanted constantly to jump away from him and soar to the surface. In trying to keep it down he lost hold of his brush and it immediately ‘fell up’ out of sight. Considerably annoyed, he pulled another brush from his belt. He squeezed colour from tubes on to his palette and was astonished when a tube labelled red gave out green paint and one marked yellow emitted grey. He knew from experience that red blood looks green at a depth of sixty feet, but had not realized that his paint would be affected in the same way.

Small fish swarmed between him and his canvas so that he could hardly see what he was doing. They were very curious to know what was going on and while some of them nosed their way over the picture, smearing the lines, others pressed their noses against the glass of his mask.

He was disconcerted to find that as fast as he put colours on his palette, they disappeared, and he had to squeeze out more. Then he observed that the fish were eating his colours. They evidently had a good appetite for oil paints.

Nevertheless he kept at it and made a picture. It took many colours to paint the rainbow tints of the corals and seaweeds and sponges and gorgeous tropical fish that surrounded the old figurehead which was itself covered with marine growth of every tint and shade.

At last he put his head on one side, inspected the finished work, and told himself that he had created a masterpiece.

Blake appeared on the gun deck and signalled the others to come up. They did so and he led them into the stern castle. There a surprise awaited them. The table had been set for lunch.

Blake had brought down with him a tin lunch box in which he had placed three small cans of sausages and three bottles of Coca-Cola. These he had now placed on the table and gestured his companions to sit down on the long bench. This they did, but waited in some bewilderment to see how Blake proposed to eat and drink under water.

As a matter of fact, Blake himself had never tried it before, but he had seen the divers at Weekiwachee Springs, Florida, calmly chew celery and drink pop at a depth of thirty feet. He had no celery, but sausages ought to serve instead.

With the point of his knife he cut open his can and extracted a sausage. He removed the aqualung mouthpiece from his mouth. For as long as it would take to eat this sausage, he would have to do without air.

He puckered his lips, pressed the end of the sausage against them and forced it slowly in, taking care not to leave any opening on either side of the sausage where water could enter. He pushed the sausage all the way in and the lips closed over it. Then he munched contentedly while the smile of a Cheshire cat came over his face. He replaced his mouthpiece and breathed.

Hal and Skink followed his example, and the process was repeated until all the sausages were gone. But there still remained the puzzling problem of how to drink a bottle of Coca-Cola ten fathoms beneath the sea.

When Dr Bake prised off the cap of his bottle a strange thing happened. Since the pressure outside was so much greater than that inside the bottle, sea water immediately entered and compressed the contents. But a little sea water did no harm, and Dr Blake pressed the mouth of the bottle to his lips.

By breathing out into the bottle he displaced the contents which thereupon flowed into his mouth. He drained the bottle. When he took it from his lips the sea water filled it with a sudden thud. Hal and Skink faithfully followed the same procedure.

After a little more work they surfaced and boarded the Lively Lady.

‘You’re just in time for lunch,’ cried Roger.

‘Thanks,’ Blake answered. ‘We’ve had lunch!’

But it took very little pressure to persuade them to sit down to some of Omo’s good cooking. However, before they could eat, Skink must show them his masterpiece.

With a flourish, he uncovered his canvas.

Everyone tried to be polite, but it was very difficult not to laugh. Roger turned red and nearly choked. The captain suddenly remembered something he had to do on deck.

It was really .a terrible mess. Every colour swore at all the rest. Not one of the colours was what it had seemed to be at the bottom of the sea. Because of the peculiar way in which water absorbs light, nothing was now what it had been under the filter of ten fathoms of blue water.

All Skink could do was to say dolefully ‘Well, if you’ll just come down to the bottom and look at it, you’ll see it’s pretty good.’

But since no one was particularly interested in a picture that had to be viewed at the bottom of the sea, his offer was not accepted.

After the second lunch everyone took a siesta - everyone but Skink, He excused himself with ‘I want to go down and make another try at that picture.’

When he came back an hour later with a blank canvas, Hal asked him what had gone wrong.

‘Oh, I had bad luck,’ Skink said. ‘I had the picture almost finished when a school of about a hundred parrotfish came along and ate every bit of paint off the canvas.’

Hal studied Skink’s sly face. It just might be true, but it was a pretty big story.

Could it be that Skink had not been painting at all?

But what else could he have been doing? He surely could not steal anything from the wreck. He had no place to hide it. He wore nothing but brief bathing trunks that certainly afforded no hiding-place for a suit of armour or a chest of bullion.

Hal dismissed his suspicions and turned to his laboratory work. But he was still uneasy and finally decided to go down and take another look at the wreck.

As he sank slowly towards the bottom he thought he saw at a considerable distance a roundish black object hovering in the blue. It looked like a small submarine, but of course it couldn’t be that. It must be a large fish, perhaps a black manta.

He thought no more of it and landed on the deck of the Santa Cruz. Entering the stern castle, he was surprised to see the doors of several of the wall cabinets hanging open. Inside, there was nothing. The fine platters, plates, goblets and all had disappeared.

His heart pounding with excitement, he half-walked, half-swam up the stairs to the upper cabin. The armoured man had risen from the chair and departed. The two men who had been lying on the floor had vanished.

He went down into the hold. Here everything seemed to be as it had been. The thief, or thieves, had not had time to make away with all the cargo. But they had certainly made a good beginning.

Had they taken the splendid bronze figurehead? He rose through the hatch and swam to the bow. The figurehead was gone.

Some instinct told him that the stolen treasures must be near by. He descended to the sand and circled the ship. There were large trees of elkhorn coral and much small growth, but no hiding-place for loot.

He systematically made another circle, twenty feet farther out. Then another. And another.

At last, about three hundred feet to port of the vessel, he came upon bottom of a different character. Here there were huge igneous rocks left by some ancient volcanic upheaval. Between the great boulders were cracks and caves and these he explored carefully, watching out for the moray eel and the octopus which love such retreats.

In the heart of the labyrinth he came upon a grotto penetrating so far back under the rocks that he had to use his torch. He had a sudden shock when the beam of light picked out a man standing quietly near the back wall of the cave. Then he saw that it was the life-size Neptune, the figurehead of the Santa Cruz.

Around it were all the other stolen articles, including the silver and gold tableware and the three suits of armour.

There was only one person who could have done this -Skink. Hal felt the blood boiling in his veins. He would go up and have it out with Skink. He would show him up for die scoundrel he really was.

First he would take these things back to the wreck. On second thoughts - no - he would leave them right here. He would bring Skink down into this cave, face to face with the stolen goods. Then the fellow could not deny his guilt. He would stand convicted as a thief and they would deal with him as a thief.

Full of grim resolve, Hal carefully noted the position of the cave and then returned to the Lively Lady. As he climbed on board Blake said:

‘How’s everything down below?’

‘The ship is still there,’ Hal muttered.

‘Good,’ laughed Blake. ‘That’s one comfort. Nobody is likely to carry off the Santa Cruz’

‘Not all in one piece,’ Hal said.

Blake looked puzzled. ‘Now what do you mean by that?’ ‘Just that we have a crook on board and he’s been stealing stuff from the wreck.’

Skink, lying on the deck writing his notes, looked up questioningly.

‘That’s a serious charge,’ Blake said. ‘What is missing from the wreck?’

‘Gold and silver plate, the three suits of armour, and the figurehead.’

Blake studied Hal. ‘You must have made some mistake. Are you sure you feel all right? Rapture of the depths sometimes does funny things.’

‘I’m not depth-drunk,’ Hal insisted. ‘The things are gone from the ship. And I know where they are.’

Skink looked up again, his jaw dropping open.

‘I found them in a cave where Skink put them.’

Skink leaped to his feet and advanced upon Hal. ‘Do I understand that you’re accusing me?’

‘I hope you understand it,’ Hal said, ‘because that’s just what I’m doing.’

Skink prepared to swing on his enemy, but Blake pushed him aside. ‘There’s an easy way to check on all this,’ he said. ‘We’ll go down and take a look in that cave.’

‘Good idea!’ growled Skink. ‘Nothing would suit me better. Let’s go - as soon as I fill my tank.’

It was true that all the tanks needed to be filled. Hal chafed at the delay - yet he supposed it didn’t really matter whether they went at once or a bit later.

The compressor was started, and the work of recharging the cylinders began. Skink succeeded in giving the impression that he could not wait to get below the surface and disprove the accusation made by Hal against him. He was impatient with the machine.

‘I think it has some worn bearings and piston slap,’ he said. ‘Let me at it - I think I can speed it up a bit.’

Hal did not trust his sincerity and was not surprised when instead of speeding up the compressor Skink took the thing apart and kept it dismantled for more than half an hour. When the machine was reassembled it worked no faster than before. The better part of another hour passed before the tanks were filled.

In the meantime Skink’s eyes kept searching the sea. Hal, suspicious, followed his gaze, but there was nothing to look at - the sea for miles around was a perfect blank. He did finally detect a black object projecting above the surface and moving in the direction of the island, but it appeared to be only the fin of a large fish. It rounded a bend of the island and disappeared behind the coconut palms.