by John Blaine
Tony called, “How is it?”
“Great!” Rick called back. “But well need lots more line. It was shallow on the way down, but if we try to go any deeper the angle of the line will make the boards come up.”
“You should try it,” Scotty said. “Honestly, Tony, it’s wonderful!”
“I’ll try it a little later,” Tony promised. “I’m giving you all the line we have, about three hundred feet each. If you can’t make it, surface. We’ll have to splice the two lines together and use just one board.”
Zircon came to the stern and bellowed, “You forgot these!”
He tossed in two fishing floats and coils of line. Those were in case they found the
wreck. Whoever spotted it was to drop off his board, secure the line to the wreck, and let the float rise to the surface. In that way, they would have a guide.
Each boy took one of the units and fastened it to his weight belt.
“We’re off!” Zircon called. “Ready?”
The boys yelled that they were. Rick fitted his mouthpiece and checked the seal of his mask. Scotty did the same, then both tilted their boards and slid under.
On the northbound leg they had trouble keeping the boards down because of the tendency of the lead rope to pull the front of the boards up, but by crawling far forward, they managed.
They were deeper than they had ever gone before, but Rick felt no sensation of fright or strangeness. It was a green world, not dark but yet not bright. The light was subdued, filtered by the fathoms of water. The bottom was mostly clear sand, dotted now and then by patches of growth. There did not seem to be many fish, or perhaps their eyes were not adjusted to the subdued light. Scotty was close to the reef on the northbound leg, while Rick was about twenty feet farther out.
For long moments there was only the sensation of rushing through the water, the distant throb of the engines, and the sound of their own bubbles. Then, ahead, Rick saw a mass of growth and tilted his board upward just in time to clear it.
Scotty hooted once, then again. Rick turned in time to see his pal’s board leap ahead, free of Scotty’s weight. Sudden fear gripped him. Had Scotty been caught? Instantly he released his own board and saw it scoot for the surface. He reversed his course and swam rapidly back.
The obstruction he had cleared was dead ahead. And there were fish! So many that they seemed like a swarm of flies around it. The biggest was not more than five inches long.
Then he saw Scotty. His friend was fastening the float line to a projection!
Rick’s heart leaped. What he thought was a rock formation on the sea floor was the wreck of a ship! Scotty had recognized it and dropped off.The Maiden Hand? He hooted and Scotty looked up. The other boy shook his head.
It wasn’t the Maiden Hand, then. But how did Scotty know? In a moment, when he joined the other boy, he saw the curling edges of steel plate. This was a steel ship, then, and not a very large one at that. He estimated its length as not more than a hundred feet.
Still, it was a wreck-their first. There, at twenty fathoms, he and Scotty shook hands
solemnly while the tiny fish swam around them like curious gnats.
Scotty finished tying his line and unwound it from the wooden spool. The float rose upward and vanished far overhead. They heard the throb of the returning boat, and Rick hooted twice, the signal to surface. Scotty nodded, and they went up, slowly, careful to breathe naturally and not to overtake their small bubbles, as doctrine dictated. In a moment Rick saw the hull of the boat, propellers barely turning, and knew that Zircon was holding position overhead.
They broke water off the side of the Water Witch, and Rick waited until Scotty hailed the scientists. “We found a wreck, but it’s a steel ship.”
“Come aboard!” Tony called, and helped them up the ladder when they complied. The tanks were cumbersome when out of the water.
“It’s a fish paradise!” Rick said excitedly. “I’m going to get my camera working and take some pictures. You’ve got to go down and look, both of you.”
“How did you spot it?” Zircon asked.
“Scotty did. I thought it was a rock formation and went over it, but Scotty dropped off.”
“I saw curled plate,” Scotty answered. “I knew it wasn’t the Maiden Hand, with steel sides, but I didn’t think we’d want to pass up a wreck.”
“You were so right,” Rick agreed, grinning.
A check of their tanks with the gauge showed that only about five minutes diving time remained at the twenty-fathom depth, so the regulators were transferred to spare tanks.
Tony and Zircon, already in trunks, donned diving gear and followed Scotty’s line to the bottom. The boys waited impatiently, Scotty taking the helm to hold the boat in place.
Ten minutes later the scientists surfaced, and Rick helped them aboard. Tony removed his mask and grinned. “It’s as wonderful as you said it was.”
“What kind of ship was it?” Rick asked.
Tony had been a destroyer skipper during the war and he knew ships.
“Probably aninterisland cargo carrier of some kind.At any rate, it appears to be a small cargo ship.
It’s so overgrown with marine growth that the shape is cluttered. It might have been a small tanker.”
“We can explore it from stem to stern,” Rick suggested excitedly.
Scotty joined them and commented, “But not right now. We’ll have to go ashore and charge the tanks. There may be time for one more dive this afternoon if we hurry.”
“Besides,” Hobart Zircon said with a smile, “I’m hungry. As you say, Rick, diving certainly develops the appetite!”
They docked, and Tony and Zircon went off to see about preparing sandwiches. The boys decided that rather than carry the tanks back and forth from the pier to the shed, it would be more sensible to bring their small, portable gas-driven compressor to the pier.
Scotty went after it while Rick tied the tanks to the after rail of the Water Witch, in position for filling.
A yell from Scotty stopped him. He looked up and saw his friend beckon, and ran down the pier to the house. The scientists joined him and Scotty at the shed where the compressor had been stored.
“We’ve been sabotaged again,” Scotty told them flatly. “There’s oil in the compressor!”
“Are you certain?” Zircon pressed close to examine the machine.
“Yes. I stumbled over my own feet and tipped the compressor on its side. And oil ran out through the air fitting. Look!” Scotty held up his hand, and it was smeared with glistening oil.
A cold shiver traced its way down Rick’s spine. Oil in a compressor was blown into fine particles, too small to be seen. If they got into an air tank they would be breathed in, leaving a thin coating on a diver’s lungs. The result was a condition almost exactly like pneumonia, called “lipoid pneumonia.” Their special filter, designed by Zircon, probably would have taken all the oil particles out of the air before it got into the tanks, but that didn’t alter the fact that faced them. Someone had deliberately put oil in the compressor.
Someone just didn’t want them around!
CHAPTER VIII
The Fancy Frogmen
“The question is,” Rick stated, “when was the oil put in?While we were atCharlotte Amalie? Or while we were out hunting the wreck just now?”
“InCharlotte Amalie , of course,” Tony said. “Why do you think it might have been done just a little while ago?”
Rick shrugged. He had no answer to that. The question had popped into his mind unbidden.
“We didn’t take the compressor apart,” Scotty reminded him.
That was true. But Rick had started it inCharlotte Amalie to be sure it was functioning.
There was no oil in it then. He said as much.
“You started the compressor at the same time you checked the tanks,” Zircon reminded him. “I believe the oil was put in at the same time the valves were loosened.”
That seemed reasonable. Rick put aside
his hunch.
“Well, we found it in time, anyway. Now Scotty and I will have to tear the compressor down and clean it before we can recharge the tanks.”
“After lunch,” Tony said. “Don’t you remember? A diver is supposed to rest after each dive. Relax, and I’ll have some sandwiches ready in a few minutes.”
All hands were hungry. Scotty stowed away four sandwiches and Rick did nearly as well. Then they started work on the compressor. It wasn’t a hard job, but it was tedious, and nearly two hours elapsed before they finished. Each part had to be washed in soap and water,then carefully dried. Finally, the compressor was ready. They carried it to the boat, started the gas engine, and connected the tanks. But before the air started to flow, Rick carefully inspected the filter system to be sure that hadn’t been tampered with too.
“You know,” he observed, “these enemies Steve is hunting know a lot about sport diving.”
Scotty considered. “They knew that tanks could be dangerous, and they knew that oil in a compressor is dangerous. You’re right, Rick. They know plenty about it.”
“But it doesn’t do us much good to know that they know,” Rick concluded. “Well, now what? It will be a few hours before all the tanks are charged.”
“Where are Zircon and Tony?”
“Napping.We probably should join them.”
“Not me. There’s nothing to do after sundown but sleep. I’d like to take a walk and look the island over.”
Rick sighed.“Always an eager beaver. I’ll go with you, if you don’t walk fast.”
They turned north and walked up the beach. Somewhere off this stretch of beach was the Maiden Hand. But where? They strolled along leisurely, stopping now and then to examine some bit of beach flotsam. There were shells, but most of them were small and water worn.
“We’ll have to collect a few shells on the reef,” Rick said. “Barby will be disappointed if we don’t.”
“That’s easy enough to do,” Scotty replied. “I saw half a dozen different varieties this morning.”
They passed a beach house, obviously empty. Rick gestured toward it. “Funny how few people there arehere. If I owned a place on this island I’d be here all the time.”
“Unless you had to make a living,” Scotty added practically. “This isn’t the season for vacations. I expect vacation time finds plenty of activity here. There’s one cabin occupied to the south of us. I saw people there this morning. They’re probably the same ones who waved at us from a boat when we flew over day before yesterday.”
“The boat isn’t there now,” Rick observed. “At least, I haven’t seen it.”
“They may have gone toSt. Thomas for supplies. Or they may have gone home.” Scotty pointed to what seemed to be the largest house on the island, near the northern tip.
“That’s quite a place. Let’s go have a look.”
There was a long pier in front of the house, and, unlike the others on the island, this house had a second story. There was no sign of life. They walked around it and found a barbecue pit. Scotty examined it. “This has been used recently, probably in the past few days.”
Rick bent down and peered at a scrap of meat. “You’re right. They had steak. And this piece hasn’t dried out yet.”
“Maybe they’re still here.” Scotty walked to the back of the house. “They might be out fishing or something.” He looked in a window and called urgently, “Rick! Look!”
Rick hurried to his side and peered in. The room was evidently used for storing diving equipment. Hung along one wall were three full diving suits of expensive make. Next to them, neatly racked, was an assortment of spear guns, all of the spring type, and all of Italian make.
On another wall were three Scuba regulators, not aqualung types such as the boys used, but the variety that carries a full face mask through which the diver breathes. In a rack on the floor were nine spare tanks and a compressor much larger and more expensive than theirs.
Swim fins, also of Italian make, were lying on a table. They were the shoe type, put on like a pair of slippers. Rick identified an underwater camera, complete with steering fins and outside controls, and a number of face masks with built-in snorkels. Boxes stacked on the floor carried labels that identified them as midseason suits of French make.
“We’ve found some real fancy frogmen,” Scotty observed. “This place looks like a high-priced showroom for diving gear.”
“Pretty plush,” Rick agreed.
They wandered back down to the beach and found that this area of the island was apparently more open to the sea. There were bits of flotsam, including coconuts that had washed in. The sea shells were larger, and they found a few worth picking up.
Scotty beckoned and pointed to a piece of wood, nearly buried in the sand. “What do you make of this?”
Rick examined it. It was curved, and a shred of green metal still clung to the rusty remains of an ancient hand-fashioned nail. He looked up with sudden excitement. “It’s a section of a ship rib.And a pretty old one, too.” His finger indicated the shred of metal.“Copper.Or used to be.” He broke it off.“Completely oxidized. It’s been in the water a long time, perhaps even centuries.”
The boys stared out at the reef, both half afraid to put their thoughts into words. Finally Scotty asked, “Do you remember reading about any earthquakes or big tidal waves down here recently?”
Rick tried to recall. “No. Why?”
“Well, the Maiden Hand has been under the water out here for a couple of centuries-and in pretty deep water, too. It would take some disturbance that could reach down a hundred and twenty feet to break off a chunk.”
Rick grinned. “You’re right. But we haven’t anything to lose by taking a look, have we?”
They trotted down the beach toward their own house at a half run. Rick looked at his watch. “At least one pair of tanks should be full by now, and there’s plenty of time for a dive. Come on!”
They paused at the pier, put the pressure gauge on the first two tanks in series, and found them charged, as Rick had predicted. Then they ran for the house.
Zircon and Tony were gone and there was a note on the living-room table. “We’re exploring the southern end. Be back in an hour or two.”
“Shall we wait?” Scotty asked.
“No need. We can take our floats. Let’s get going.”
They changed to trunks. Then, since they would not have anyone on the surface to keep track of time or depth, strapped on wrist watches, compasses, and wrist depth gauges.
Floats and weight belts were put on,then the boys added small plastic slates and pencils for writing underwater. Knives, masks, snorkels, their favorite guns, fins, and lungs completed their equipment.
“Shall we walk up the beach, or swim?”
“Swim,” Rick said promptly. “This stuff is too heavy to carry comfortably.”
They launched floats, placed aqualung mouthpieces on top of their masks, and swam parallel to the beach. By using snorkels they avoided the effort of lifting their faces out of water to breathe and conserved the air in the tanks. With effective but effortless leg strokes they moved along rapidly.
As they approached the ship rib that Scotty had found they turned and swam straight out toward the reef, crossed it,then came to a halt.
“Let’s tie our floats to something,” Rick suggested, and Scotty nodded.
Aqualung mouthpieces replaced the snorkels, and each boy tested his flow of air, checked to be sure his mask was connected to the lung by a safety line, charged his gun, and set his watch. The watches, designed especially for underwater swimming, had an outer dial that could be set to show elapsed diving time.
Rick hooted and pointed down. Scotty nodded and they submerged. Because of their belt weights, and the weight of air in their tanks, they were just heavy enough to sink slowly. After the dive, when the air in the tanks was nearly exhausted, they would weigh about five pounds less and havea slight positive buoyancy that would help them to rise.
They found coral outcroppings and tied their float lines, being careful not to cut their hands. Rick suddenly wished they had brought canvas gloves. Scotty still wore a single rubber one.
Then, with a few strong kicks to overcome their inertia, they started down the face of the reef. It fell off sharply for about forty feet, then more gradually until sand bottom was reached at about ninety feet.
Rick felt the sensation of thrusting his face into a wedge as the pressure increased. He swallowed a couple of times and felt his ears equalize, but his mask was beginning to hurt. He exhaled through his nose and equalized the pressure inside the mask.
There were plenty of fish around now. A grouper saw them coming and ducked into his hole in the coral. A fairly large moray eel, only his head visible, watched their progress.
Tiny demoiselles fluttered around them, and a pair of red squirrelfish watched from the shelter of a purple coral fan.
The coral growth was spectacular, with fantastic shapes and colors. Then, as they went deeper, the colors gradually faded to a uniform green. Rick knew from underwater flash photographs that the appearance was deceptive. The colors remained, but the quality of light changed.
Scotty hooted four times, the signal for danger! Rick looked and saw a barracuda hovering near by. He gulped. The fish was easily five feet long. Both boys lifted their spear guns just in case the ‘cudaattacked, but the motion alarmed him and he was gone with one powerful flick of his tail.
Rick consulted his wrist depth gauge, holding it close to his face plate. They were at bottom at ninety feet, and the clean sand dropped away at an angle of about thirty degrees. The boys planed downward, a few feet above the sand until Rick’s gauge read 120 feet. This was the limit of their dive. Going deeper would mean stopping for decompression on the way up.
He recalled that the waves came into the beach from a slightly northerly direction and motioned to Scotty that they should turn north. Scotty moved out to the limit of visibility, and they swam on a compass heading of north, watching for any sign of a wreck. Now and then a coral shelf extended out from the reef, but they saw nothing that could have been a wreck. Once they swam over a patch of marine growth perhaps twenty feet long and ten wide, and a huge eagle ray lifted from it and glided off like a weird futuristic airplane.
