Eye of the Tiger Part 26

I had a difficult job getting him interested in a return to the wreck, but once we were in the pa.s.senger deck again, he worked like a giant amongst the shattered wreckage.

We hauled out the panelling and timber baulks that blocked the pa.s.sage by use of the block and tackle and our combined strength, and we dragged it down to the gundeck and stacked it out of the way in the recesses of that gloomy gallery.

We had reached the well of the forward hold by the time our air supplies were almost exhausted. The heavy planking had broken up in the explosion and beyond the opening we could make out what appeared to be a solid dark ma.s.s of material. I guessed that this was a conglomerate formed by the cargo out of its own weight and pressure.

However, it was afternoon the following day before I found that I was correct. We were at last into the hold, but I had not expected such a Herculean task as awaited us there.

The contents of the hold had been impregnated with sea water for over a century. Ninety per cent of the containers had rotted and collapsed, and the perishable contents had coalesced into a friable dark ma.s.s.

Within this solid heap of marine compost, the metal objects, the containers of stronger and impervious material and other imperishable objects, both large and small, were studded like lucky coins in a Christmas pudding. We would have to dig for them.

At this point we encountered our next problem. At the slightest disturbance of this* rotted maw the water was immediately filled with a swirling storm of dark particles that blotted out the beams of the torches and plunged us into clouds of blinding darkness.

We were forced to work by sense of touch alone. it was painfully slow progress. When we encountered some solid body in the softness we had to drag it clear, manoeuvre it down the pa.s.sage, lower it to the gun-deck and there try to identify it. Sometimes we were obliged to break open what remained of the container, to get at the contents.

If they were of little value or interest, we tucked them away in the depths of the gundeck to keep our working field clear.

At the end of the first day's work we had salvaged only one item which we decided was worth raising. It was a st.u.r.dy case of hard wood, covered with what appeared to be leather and with the corners bound in heavy bra.s.s. It was the size of a large cabin trunk.

It was so heavy that Chubby and I could not lift it between us.

The weight alone gave me high hopes. I believed it could very readily contain part of the golden throne. Although the container did not look like one that had been manufactured by an Indian village carpenter and his sons in the middle of the nineteenth century, yet there was a chance that the throne had been repacked before it was s.h.i.+pped from Bombay.

If it did contain part of the throne, then our task would be simplified. We would know what type of container to look for in the future. Using the block and tackle Chubby and I dragged the case down the gun-deck to the gunport and there we shrouded'it in a nylon cargo net to prevent it bursting open or breaking during the ascent. To the eyes spliced into the circ.u.mference of the net we attached the canvas flotation bags and inflated them from our air bottles.

We went up with the case, controlling its ascent by either spilling air from the bags, or adding more from our bottles. We came out beside the whaleboat and Angelo pa.s.sed us half a dozen nylon slings with which we secured the case before climbing aboard.

The weight of the case defeated our efforts to lift it over the side, for the whaleboat heeled dangerously when the three of us made the attempt. We had to step the mast and use it as a derrick, only then did our combined efforts suffice and the case swung on board, spouting water from its seams.

The moment that it sank to the deck Chubby scrambled back to the motors and ran for the channel. The tide pressed closely on our heels as we went.

The case was too weighty and our curiosity too strong to allow us to carry it up to the caves. We opened it on the beach, prising the lid open with a pair of jennny bars. The elaborate locking device in the lid was of bra.s.s and had withstood the ravages of salt sea water. It resisted our efforts bravely, but at last with a rending of woodwork the lid flew back and creaked against the heavily corroded hinges.

My disappointment was immediate, for it was clear that this was no tiger throne. It was only when Sherry lifted out one of the large gleaming discs and turned it curiously in her hands that I began to suspect that we had been awarded an enormous bonus.

It was an entre plate she held, and my first thought was that it was of solid gold. However, when I s.n.a.t.c.hed a mate from its slot in the cunningly designed rack and turned it to examine the hallmarks, I realized that it was silver and gold gilt.

The gold plating had protected it from the sea so that it was perfectly preserved, a masterpiece of the silversmith's art with a raised coat of arms in the centre and the rim wondrously chased with scenes of woods and deer, of huntsmen and birds.

The plate I held weighed almost two pounds and as I set it aside and examined the rest of the set I saw the weight of the chest fully accounted for.

There were servings for thirty-six guests in the set; soup bowls, fish plates, entre plates, dessert bowls, side plates and all the cutlery to go with it. There were serving dishes, a magnificent chafing dish, wine coolers, dish covers and a carving dish almost the size of a baby's bath.

Every piece was wrought with the same coat of arms, and the ornamental scenes of wild animals and huntsmen, and the case had been designed to hold this array of plate.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, "as your chairman, it behaves me to a.s.sure you, one and all, that our little venture is now in profit."

"It's just plates and things," said Angelo, and I winced theatrically.

"My dear Angelo, this is probably one of the few COMPlete sets of Georgian banquet silverware remaining "anywhere in the world - it's priceless." "How much?" asked Chubby, doubtfully.

"Good Lord, I don't know. It would depend of course on the maker and the original owner. - this coat of arms ":,probably belongs to some n.o.ble house. A wealthy n.o.bleman on service in India, an earl, a duke perhaps, even a viceroy." Chubby looked at me as though I was trying to sell him a spavined horse.

"How much?"he repeated.

"At Messrs Sothebys on a good day," I hesitated, "I don't know, say, a hundred thousand pounds."

Chubby spat into the sand and shook his head. You couldn't fool old Chubby.

"This fellow Sotheby, does he run a loony house?"

"It's true, Chubby," Sherry cut in. "this stuff is worth a fortune.

It could be more than that."

Chubby was now torn between natural scepticism and chivalry. It would be an un-gentlemanly act to call Sherry a liar. He compromised by lifting his hat and rubbing his head, spitting once more and saying nothing.

However, he handled the case with new respect when we dragged it up through the palms to the caves. We stored it behind the stack of jerrycans, and I went to fetch a new bottle of whisky.

"Even if there is no tiger throne in the wreck, we aren't going to do too badly out of this," I told them.

Chubby sipped at his whisky mug and muttered, "A hundred thousand they've got to be crazy."

"We've got to go through that hold and the cabins more carefally.

We are going to leave a fortune down there if we don't."

"Even the little items, less spectacular than the silver plate, they have enormous antique value," Sherry agreed. "Trouble is when you touch anything down there it stirs up such a fog you can't see the tip of your nose," gloomed Chubby, and I refilled his mug with good cheer.

"Listen, Chubby, you know the centrifugal water pump that Arnie Andrews has got out at Monkey Bay?" I asked, and Chubby nodded.

"Will he lend it to us?" Arnie was Chubby's uncle. He owned a small market garden on the southern side of St. Mary's island.

"He might," Chubby answered warily. "Why?"

"I want to try and rig a dredge pump," I explained and sketched it for them in the sand between my feet. "We set the pump up in the whaleboat, and we use a length of steam hose to reach the wreck - like this." I roughed it out with my finger. "Then we use it like a vacuum cleaner in the hold, suck out all that muck and pump it to the surface,"

"Hey, that's right," Angelo burst out enthusiastically. "When it spills out of the pump we run it through a sieve, and we will be able to pick up all the small stuff."

"That's right. Only muck and small light items will go up the spout anything large or heavy will be left behind."

We discussed it for an hour working out details and refinements on the basic idea. During that time Chubby tried manfully to show no signs of enthusiasm, but finally he could contain himself no longer.

"It might work," he muttered, which from him was a high accolade.

"Well, you better go fetch that pump then, hadn't you?" I asked.

"I think I will have one more drink," he procrastinated, and I handed him the bottle.

"Take it with you," I suggested. "It will save time." He grunted, and went to fetch his overcoat.

Sherry and I slept late, gloating on the lazy day ahead and at the feeling of having the island entirely to ourselves. We did not expect Chubby and Angelo to return before noon.

After breakfast we crossed the saddle between the hills and went down to the beach. We were playing in the shallows, and the rumble of the surf on the outer reef and our own splas.h.i.+ng and laughter blanketed any other sounds. It was only by chance that I looked UP and saw the light aircraft sweeping in from the landward channel.

"Run!" I shouted at Sherry, and she thought I was joking until I pointed urgently at the approaching aircraft "Run! Don't let him see us," and this time she responded quickly. We floundered naked from the water, and went up the beach at top speed.

Now I could hear the buzz of the aircraft engines and I glanced over my shoulder. it was banking low over the southernmost peak of the island and levelling over the long straight beach towards us.

"Faster!" I yelled at Sherry, as she ran long-legged and fullbottomed ahead of me with the wet tresses of her sable hair dangling down her darkly tanned back.

I looked back and the aircraft was headed directly at us, SItill about a mile distant, but I could see that it was twinengined. As I watched, it sank lower towards the snowy expanse of coral sands.

We s.n.a.t.c.hed up our discarded clothing at full run, and sprinted the last few yards into the palm grove. There was a mound formed by a fallen palm tree and the fronds torn off the trees by the storm. It was a convenient shelter and I grabbed sherrys arm and dragged her down.

We rolled under the shelter of the dead fronds and lay side by side, panting wildly from the run up the beach, I saw now that it was a twin-engined Cessna. It came down the beach and swept past our hideaway only twenty feet above the water's edge.

The fuselage was painted a distinctive daisy yellow and was blazoned with the name "Africair'. I recognized the aircraft. I had seen it before at St. Mary's Airport on half a dozen occasions, usually discharging or picking up groups of wealthy tourists. I knew that Afticair was a charter company based on the mainland, and that its aircraft were for hire on a mileage tariff. I wondered who was paying for the hire on this trip.

There were two persons in the forward seats of the aircraft, the pilot and a pa.s.senger, and their faces were turned towards us as it roared past. However, they were too far from us to make out the features and I could not be sure if I knew either of them. They were both white men, that was all that was certain.

The Cessna turned steeply out over the lagoon and, one wing pointed directly down into the crystal water, it swept around and then levelled for another run down the beach.

This time it pa.s.sed so closely that for an instant I looked up into the face of the pa.s.senger as he peered down into the palm grove. I thought I recognized him, but I could not be certain.

The Cessna then turned away, rising slowly, and set a new course for the mainland. There was something about her going that was complacent, the air of someone having achieved his purpose, a job well done.

Sherry and I crawled from our hiding-place and stood up to brush the sand from our damp bodies.

"Do you think they saw us?" she asked timidly.

"With that bottom of yours flas.h.i.+ng like a mirror in the sunlight, they could hardly miss."

"They might have mistaken us for a couple of native fishermen."

"Fishermen?" I looked at her, not at her face, and I grinned. With those great beautiful b.o.o.bs?"

"Harry Fletcher, you are a disgusting beast," she said. "But seriously, Harry, what is going to happen now?"

"I wish I knew, my sweeting, I wish I knew," I answered, but I was glad that Chubby had taken the case of silverware back to St. Mary's with him. By now it was probably buried behind the shack at Turtle Bay. We were still in profit even if we had to run for it soon.

The visit by the aircraft instilled in us all a new sense of urgency. We knew now that our time was strictly rationed. Chubby brought news with him when he returned that was equally disturbing.

"The Mandrake cruised for five days in the south islands. They saw her nearly every day from Coolie Peak, and she was messing about like she didn't know what she was doing he reported. "Then on Monday she anch.o.r.ed again in Grand Harbour. Wallys says that the owner and his wife went up to the hotel for lunch, then afterwards they took a taxi and went down to Frobisher Street. They spent an hour with Fred c.o.ker in his office, then he drove them down to Admiralty Wharf and they went back on board Mandrake. She weighed and sailed almost immediately."

"Is that all?"

"Yes," Chubby nodded, "except that Fred c.o.ker went straight up to the bank afterwards and put fifteen hundred dollars into his savings account."

"How do you know that?"

"My sister's third daughter works at the bank."

I tried to show a cheerful face, although I felt ugly little insects crawling around in my stomach. "Well," I said, "no use moping around. Let's try and get the pump a.s.sembled so we can catch tomorrow's tide."

Later, after we had carried the water pump up to the caves, Chubby returned alone to the whaleboat and when he came back he carried a long canvas-wrapped bundle.

"What have you got there, Chubby?" I demanded, and shyly he opened the canvas cover. It was my FN carbine and a dozen spare magazines of ammunition packed into a small haversack.

"Thought it might come in useful,"he muttered.

I took the weapon down into the grove and buried it beside the cases of gelignite in a shallow grave. Its proximity gave me a little comfort when I returned to a.s.sist in a.s.sembling the water pump.

We worked on into the night by the light of the gas lanterns, and it was after midnight when we carried the pump and its engine down to the whaleboat and bolted it to a makes.h.i.+ft mounting of heavy timber which we placed squarely amids.h.i.+p. Angelo and I were still working on the pump when we ran out towards the reef in the morning. We had been on station for half an hour before we had it a.s.sembled and ready to test.

Three of us dived on the wreck - Chubby, Sherry and myself - and we manhandled the stiff black snake of the hose through the gunport and up into the breach through the well of the hold.

Once it was in position, I slapped Chubby on the shoulder and pointed to the surface. He replied with a high sign and finned away, leaving Sherry and me in the pa.s.senger deck.

We had planned this part of the operation carefully and we waited impatiently while Chubby went up, decompressing on his way, and climbed into the whaleboat to prime the pump and start the motor.

We knew he had done so by the faint hum and vibration that was transmitted to us down the hose.

I braced myself in the ragged entrance to the hold, and grasped the end of the hose with both hands. Sherry trained the torchbeam on to the dark heap of cargo, and I swung the open end of the hose slowly over the rotted cargo.

I saw immediately that it was going to work, small pieces of debris vanished miraculously into the hose, and it caused a small whirlpool as it sucked in water and floating motes of rubbish.

At this depth and with the RPM provided by the petrol engine, the pump was rated to move thirty thousand gallons of water an hour, which was a considerable volume. Within seconds I had cleared the working area and we still had good visibility. I could start probing into the heap with a jemmy bar, breaking out larger pieces and pus.h.i.+ng them back into the pa.s.sage behind us.

Once or twice I had to resort to the block and tackle to clear some bulky case or object, but mostly I was able to advance with only the hose and the jemmy bar.

We had moved almost fifty cubic foot of cargo before it was time to ascend for a change of air bottle. We left the end of the hose firmly anch.o.r.ed in the pa.s.senger deck, and went up to a hero's welcome. Angelo was *in transports of delight and even Chubby was smiling.

The water around the whaleboat was clouded and filthy with the thick soup of rubbish we had pumped out of the hold, and Angelo had retrieved almost a bucketful of small items that had come through the outlet of the pump and rfallen into the sieve. - it was a collection of b.u.t.tons, nails, small ornaments from women's dresses, bra.s.s military insignia, some small copper and silver coins of the period, and odds and ends of metal and gla.s.s and bone.

Even I was impatient to return to the task, and Sherry was so insistent that I had to donate my halfsmoked cheroot to Chubby and we went down again.

We had been working for fifteen minutes when I came upon the corner of an up-ended crate similar to others that we had already cleared. Although the wood was soft as cork, the seams had been reinforced with strips of hoop iron and iron nails so I struggled with it for some time before I prised out a plank and pushed it back between us. The next plank came free more readily, and the contents seemed to be a mattress of decomposed and matted vegetable fibre.

I pulled out a large hunk of this and it almost jammed the opening of the hose, but eventually disappeared on its way to the surface. I almost lost interest in this box and was about to begin working in another area - but Sherry showed strong signs of disapproval, shaking her head, thumping my shoulder and refusing to direct the beam of the torch anywhere but at the unappetizing mess of fibre.

Afterwards I asked her why she had insisted and she fluttered her eyelashes and looked important.

"Female intuition, my dear. You wouldn't understand."

At her urging, I once more attacked the opening in the case, but scratching smaller chunks of the fibre loose so as not to block the hose opening.

I had removed about six inches of this material when I saw the gleam of metal in the depths of the excavation. I felt the first deep throb of certainty in my belly then, and I tore out another plank with furious impatience. It enlarged the opening so I could work in it more easily.