it, hardly able to believe his eyes or make up his mind what to do. First of all he awakened Shell-Breaker by striking him on the leg, which happened to be the only part of his body within reach. 'Shell-Breaker, wake up!' he said tersely. Àtanelli is here.'
Shell-Breaker sat up, wide awake on the instant. He gazed out across the lagoon. Aue!
Plenty bad,' he said.
`Don't move, they may not have seen us,' said Ginger. `Let me think. What is the best thing to do? If he doesn't know we are here he may soon go.'
Shell-Breaker shook his head. 'No go,' he said. Avarata been in a hurricane. Plenty damage. He stay long time, maybe.'
'In which case they'll come ashore for water and nuts,' reflected Ginger. He thought swiftly, looking about for some place of concealment. 'Let us get over the other side of the ridge,' he said at last, in desperation, and began squirming through the debris towards the far beach. Every moment he expected to hear a shout announcing that they were discovered, but if they were, no sign of it was given, and they crawled over the ridge where, of course, they could not be seen from the lagoon. As soon as they were out of view of the schooner Ginger got up and ran to the farthest end of the island and, finding a hiding-place among the coral, turned to watch the schooner. It was just dropping anchor in the lagoon. The tattered sails lay about the deck. Over them walked the Solomon Island boys, in a listless fashion, as though they were exhausted. Castanelli was leaning against the wheel.
Having nothing else to do Ginger lay still, his eyes on the schooner, anxious to know what Castanelli would do next. There was just a chance, he thought, that the Corsican might depart after a short rest, for the sea outside the lagoon was going down fast. But this hope was soon squashed. Having got the deck of the schooner more or less shipshape Castanelli ordered a dinghy to be lowered—his voice reached the watchers clearly—and he was soon being rowed to the island by two members of his crew.
Ginger bit his lip. 'I'm afraid we're in for a bit of bad luck,' he said. `Castanelli must know that this is the island near the pearl-bed; even if he doesn't recognize it he must 105
know that it is somewhere in this district. He may have got the taint of rotting oysters either before or after the hurricane blew up; maybe it brought him here.'
Neither Full Moon nor Shell-Breaker had anything to say about this, so, continuing watching, they saw Castanelli step ashore and commence a systematic search along the lagoon side of the island. He soon found the wrecked camp, and stood smoking a cigar while his boys dragged the debris aside to disclose the remains of the stores. Suddenly he stopped and picked something up, something that flashed in the sunlight. Ginger knew what it was. The shell that had been stacked on that side of the island had been strewn all over the place; he remembered seeing several among the seaweed. Castanelli had found one, and Ginger realized that it would settle any doubts in his mind about the last occupants of the island. Mortified, but helpless to prevent it, Ginger watched Castanelli show the shell to his boys before tossing it on one side. Fortunately, it did not occur to Ginger that the pearls might still be in the cache, or his depression would have been worse, for the Corsican was standing within a yard of the spot where they had been buried.
Castanelli stayed on the island for about an hour, at the end of which time he got back into the dinghy and was rowed to the schooner, which lay about a hundred yards from the shore. Again Ginger hoped fervently that he would go, for now that the island was devastated there appeared to be no reason why he should stay; but no move was made to suggest that Castanelli had any such intention.
All the day the schooner remained at anchor, its captain sometimes on deck supervising the repair of gear and sails, and sometimes out of sight below. As the day wore on Ginger became more and more worried. But he was still convinced that Biggles and the others had departed as soon as the hurricane had announced its approach, in which case they would be certain to return. He knew that they would be anxious about him. For some reason or other it did not enter his head that he had been given up as lost. What alarmed him most was the thought that Biggles might return at any moment. Apart from the presence of the schooner, the surface of the lagoon was strewn with obstacles, palm-trunks and the like, which Biggles might
not see, and if he struck one in landing the aircraft would unquestionably be wrecked.
But when the sun began to sink into the western ocean and there was still no sign of the '
Scud' Ginger knew that there was little likelihood of his returning that day, and for the first time serious doubts entered his mind about the flying-boat's survival of the hurricane. It might easily have been blown out to sea, he thought miserably. On the other hand, it might have reached Rutuona safely, and Biggles was only waiting to make sure that the weather had cleared before he returned, in which case he ought to try to stop him. He turned to Shell-Breaker. 'How long would it take us to get from here to Rutuona in a small boat?' he asked.
Shell-Breaker thought for a moment. 'One day—two day, maybe. Depend on sea and wind.'
Ginger pointed to the dinghy, now moored under the schooner's counter. 'How long in that boat?' he asked.
Shell-Breaker, by words and actions, indicated that if they started at nightfall it might be possible to reach Rutuona by the morning of the following day. In reply to another question by Ginger he declared that he would be able to find his way across the intervening ocean.
`Then if Atanelli no go by night, we steal boat,' announced Ginger.
The others agreed that they were ready to put the plan into execution, so Ginger told Shell-Breaker to gather some nuts together, which they would pick up after they had succeeded in getting the dinghy. It looked simple enough, he thought, as he gazed across the lagoon at the schooner. Castanelli would hardly consider it necessary to set a watch in such a place. The swim was only a short one, and under cover of darkness the removal of the dinghy ought to present neither difficulty nor danger. Ginger's only fear, although he did not mention this to the others, was that the shark might still be in the lagoon. The idea of swimming in water that harboured such horrors as he had already seen became more and more repugnant to him; however, he was prepared to take the risk.
The short twilight faded and darkness fell; only a single light showed where the schooner lay at anchor. Ginger did not move at once; he was anxious to put the plan into execution as quickly as possible because the sooner they
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started the earlier they would reach Rutuona, but he decided that it would be wise to give the schooner time to settle down for the night. He could tell by the diminishing noise of the breakers on the reef that the sea was still going down, for which he was thankful. He was fond of the water, but not so much as to make him look forward with pleasure to a trip in an open boat across a stretch of ocean during the hurricane season.
At last he rose to his feet. The moon had not yet risen, but the stars were like lamps hanging from the blue dome of heaven, and provided ample light for their purpose.
Indeed, more would be dangerous. At the last moment he turned to Full Moon. 'There is no need for us all to go,' he said quietly. 'You gather all the nuts you can carry and take them out to the place where the reef joins the island.' He pointed to the spot. 'As soon as we've got the boat we'll come round and pick you up.'
Shell-Breaker agreed that this was a good idea, so they set off, leaving Full Moon to make her own way to the rendezvous. They reached the edge of the lagoon and waded quietly out into deep water, where they began to swim, using a steady breast-stroke that made the least noise. In a few minutes the dark silhouette of the schooner could be seen, and it was possible to make out that the solitary light came from a porthole—probably Castanelli's cabin, thought Ginger. As they drew nearer their strokes became slower and their approach more cautious. Shell-Breaker found a piece of driftwood, and resting his hands on it pushed it slowly in front of him, paddling with his feet only. Ginger looked for a similar piece, but unable to find it had to go on with
out any cover. His toes curled with shock when he saw a long black object on the water in front of him, but to his unspeakable relief he discovered it was only the bole of a floating palm.
They were now only a few yards from the schooner's side, and from the dinghy. All remained quiet. Not a soul was in sight. Ginger swam quietly to the boat, rested his hands on the stern for a moment, listening; then, hearing nothing, he pulled himself into it. It lurched under his weight, so in order to balance himself he dropped forward on his hands and knees. He landed on something soft, something that moved violently as soon as his hands
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touched it, and too late he knew what it was. A man had been lying in the dinghy all the time, probably asleep. He awoke with a wild yell. Ginger tried desperately to get back into the water, but a pair of vice-like hands gripped his throat and he was forced down under a hot, reeking body. What happened after that he did not know, for he was too near to suffocation. Subconsciously he was aware of shouts and a general uproar; then something crashed against his jaw and the world exploded in a flash of blinding light.
He could not have been unconscious for many minutes, for when he came round he was lying on the deck of the-schooner, in an area of light cast by a lantern, the centre of several spectators. Blinking, he raised himself on his right hand, and looking up saw Castanelli grinning down at him. The others were his crew of shock-haired native boys.
`Get up,' ordered Castanelli, in his soft, purring voice.
Ginger did as he was told. He was still somewhat dazed and his brain was whirling with shock, but the thought uppermost in his mind was: What had happened to Shell-Breaker?
He could not see him, so he assumed that he had escaped, in which case he could only hope that he had not been seen, otherwise his capture was only a matter of time when daylight came.
`So we meet again—yes?' sneered Castanelli.
Ginger did not answer.
`Where are your pals?' asked Castanelli coldly. 'I wish I knew,' returned Ginger bitterly.
`You speak lies wiz me, eh?'
Ginger shook his head. 'No,' he said wearily. 'They disappeared in the hurricane. That's all I know. I was trapped in a cave by a shark at the other end of the island so I don't know what happened. I only just had time to climb into a palm before the seas swept everything.'
Castanelli was silent for a moment. The obvious sincerity of Ginger's words, and the tone of voice in which he said them, evidently made an impression on the Corsican. `Get plenty pearls?' he asked smoothly.
`We got a few,' admitted Ginger, who saw no reason to
lie. 'We might have got more but a swordfish holed our
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ship and we had to jettison the diving-gear to save it from sinking.'
`Where are ze pearls?'
Òn the ship, wherever that is.'
`You know where ze bed is, eh?' leered Castanelli. `Yes, roughly,' admitted Ginger.
`You show me in ze morning—yes?'
Ì'll think about it,' promised Ginger, who was anxious to gain time to think, for his brain was still in a whirl and there were now so many factors to be taken into consideration.
Castanelli drew his knife and fingered the point significantly. 'You tink hard about it,' he suggested softly. 'And when you tink, remember zis. My boys Solomon Island boys. You know what zey eat in ze Solomon? Zey eat men—yes. And my boys are very, very hungry for fresh meat, You tink hard about zat.' He said something to his crew in a language which Ginger did not understand. Rough hands seized him and dragged him to the companion. Down the stairway he was bundled, and along a corridor. A door was opened, and he was pushed into the same evil-smelling compartment from which he had once rescued Shell-Breaker. It was pitch dark. The door closed and a bolt was shot. For a moment he stood listening to the soft pad of retreating bare feet; then he sat down on the damp board floor to think.
I N spite of his insalubrious quarters Ginger eventually fell asleep. His head ached from thinking and from the blow he had received. It was not unnatural, too, that he was depressed, for the whole expedition, which had started so well, had suddenly gone to pieces. Its members were scattered, he knew not where. The island was a wreck. The shell had been lost. Full Moon was presumably still on the island, where she might escape harm as long as Castanelli did not find her. As for Shell-Breaker, anything could have happened to him. He, too, might have been captured. On the other hand, he might still be in the water near the schooner, although it was more likely that he had swum back to the island and rejoined Full Moon. There was always a chance that he might have been seized by the shark which was probably still in the lagoon. With one thing and another, in a few hours disaster had overtaken the party at the moment when success seemed assured. Ginger was not accustomed to look on the black side of things, but it is not to be wondered at that as he stretched himself out on the damp, evil-smelling boards, he was a prey to melancholy. He felt that he could do nothing. He was not even armed, for his automatic had been taken from his pocket. But so weary was he that not even his dismal thoughts, and the innumerable cockroaches that swarmed over him, could prevent him from sinking into a sleep of exhaustion.
He was awakened by an uproar on the deck above him. He could hear the Solomon Island boys jabbering in their own language, and Castanelli cursing like a maniac; but what it was all about he had no means of knowing. Getting on his feet he was relieved to find that his cubby hole of a prison was at least provided with a light, a small circle of thick glass let into the deck, and the fact that it was now dull grey suggested that the hour was dawn.
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Hardly had he made this observation when there was a patter of bare feet in the passage outside; the door was thrown open; without any preamble two of the Solomon Island boys entered, seized him, and hurried him up on deck, where Castanelli was standing, white with rage, spitting like an angry cat. The Corsican eyed his prisoner malevolently through half-closed eyes as he advanced slowly towards him. His fingers were opening and closing like claws. 'Who else was on island wiz you?' he grated.
Ginger did not answer.
Castanelli flew into a fury. Indeed, he lost control of himself. 'Who take my dinghy?' he screamed.
Ginger drew a deep breath. So that was it. The dinghy had gone. Then Shell-Breaker and Full Moon, or one of them, must have returned to the schooner after he had been captured, and succeeded where he had failed. The knowledge gave him new hope and he allowed a smile of satisfaction to cross his face. Which, in the circumstances, was a mistake. Castanelli noted the smile. Already beside himself, he snarled like a wolf as he struck Ginger a blow across the face that sent him reeling into the scuppers: Ginger picked himself up slowly, wiping blood from his lips.
Castanelli stood watching him, panting with suppressed rage. 'Who was wiz you last night?' he purred, advancing towards Ginger again.
To attempt to conceal the truth was futile, and Ginger realized it. Obviously, some one had been with him or the dinghy could not have been stolen. 'Shell-Breaker,' he said quietly, hoping by this time that he was far away.
The Corsican eyed Ginger with such an expression of hatred that he fully expected to be murdered on the spot. `Zat sneaking little kanaka,' breathed Castanelli. 'Where he go?' he screamed, with such violence that Ginger took a pace backwards.
`To Rutuona, I hope,' he replied. 'If he started early he should be nearly there by now.'
Castanelli caught his breath and looked round the sky. Ginger could read what was passing in his mind. He was trying to work out if it would be possible to overtake the din ghy before it reached the larger island. And Ginger could have answered the question for him. It was not, for
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there was not a breath of wind; the open sea, as well as the lagoon, was as flat as a millpond. Not a cat's-paw ruffled the water; there was not a cloud in the sky, nor anything else to suggest that a breeze was on the way.
Castanelli was not slow to realize this, and the knowledge did nothing to improve h
is temper. On the contrary he flew into a fresh paroxysm of passion. Taking Ginger by the throat he force him back against the mainmast and drew his knife. 'I show you my way wiz puppies,' he ground out through his teeth.
Ginger knew that he was within an ace of death, but he did not lose his head. He knew that in his present state of mind the Corsican was capable of anything. 'Kill me and you will never find the pearl-bed,' he said.
Castanelli hesitated, and nodded slowly as the truth of this statement penetrated into his frenzied brain. He lowered his arm. Àh,' he breathed. `Ze pearls—yes. I tink I keep you alive for a leetle while.' He released Ginger suddenly and rapped out an order at the -
boys who were standing round, watching the 'proceedings with amused j
interest. The way they jumped to obey their bullying skipper revealed their fear of him.
They ran to the longboat, and in a few minutes it was on the water by the schooner's side.
Six of them got into it and picked up the oars. 'You come wiz me,' Castanelli told Ginger, and they got into the boat, which was quickly rowed ashore.
Ginger wondered what the man was going to do, but he was not left in doubt for very long, for as soon as they were ashore the boys started collecting the shell that lay strewn along the beach at high-water mark. Now that the sea had gone down Ginger saw that there was quite a lot of it lying high and dry, and still more in the shallow water. That which had been on the far side of the island had apparently been thrown right over the ridge when the waves swept across. So Ginger thought, idly, for he was not particularly interested. He watched four of the boys throwing the shell into a pile; another was carrying it to the longboat, and a sixth was collecting nuts.
Castanelli, taking Ginger with him, began rummaging about on the site of the camp, putting together anything worth saving, the remains of stores and a few odd pieces 113
of tackle. Occasionally he asked a question, but there was little Ginger could, or would, tell him. From the speed at which the Corsican was working he judged that he was anxious to get the work finished, in which case it was not unreasonable to suppose that he had no intention of remaining in the lagoon. Perhaps he had Shell-Breaker in mind, and was anxious to get away in case he returned with assistance. Thus ran Ginger's thoughts as he watched Castanelli delving about among the seaweed and other rubbish.
21 Biggles In the South Seas Page 12
