`What we do? You say?' questioned Full Moon plaintively.
Ginger did not know what to do. To swim out through the cave would probably mean that they would be shot by Castanelli, who was doubtless waiting for their heads to ap-141
pear above the water. To remain where they were would invite the Corsican to fire another charge of dynamite and bury them for all eternity in the ruins of the grotto. The walls were already cracking. One more charge would certainly cause the whole place to fall in. Either way they were doomed, but of the two deaths Ginger preferred to remain where he was, if only to deny Castanelli the satisfaction of shooting him. 'We stay here,'
he told Full Moon, instinctively crouching back against the wall. 'If we go out Atanelli shoot plenty quick.'
`Me stay,' announced Full Moon philosophically.
There was another nerve-racking period of waiting, but Ginger could now visualize fairly clearly what was going on outside. Castanelli would wait for a ,few minutes to see if they came out; when they did not appear, he would fire another stick of dynamite and throw it in the hole made by the first, which was somewhere over their heads. That would be the finish.
Ginger put his arm through Full Moon's and leaned back against the wall to wait for the end. He had not long to wait. There was another violent explosion. The flash of it struck downwards through the grotto into the water, to be followed immediately by the splash of falling rock. Parts of the wall caved in. Then, with a loud crack, a large portion of the roof broke away and crashed down into the grotto. The daylight poured in, and it was blue no longer.
So far no rocks had fallen on the narrow ledge on which Ginger and Full Moon crouched.
Coughing, Ginger looked up through a cloud of smoke and coral dust at a hole nearly as large as a dining-room table that had appeared in the roof. Above it was the blue sky. For a moment or two there was no sign of life; then Castanelli's head appeared over the edge.
A broad smile spread over his face when he saw the two shrinking figures on the ledge. '
You come out,' he ordered.
`We'll say here,' replied Ginger, wondering if he could throw Full Moon's knife accurately enough to hit the man whom he hated most on earth.
The Corsican shrugged his shoulders. Quite calmly, as if it were a cigar, he took from his pocket another stick of dynamite with a short fuse attached, and a box of matches.
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He lit the fuse and raised the dynamite above his head. `You come out,' he ordered again.
`No! ' shouted Ginger.
There came a sound of distant shouting. Castanelli evidently heard it, for he looked round over his shoulder. When he turned his face back to the grotto the smile was no longer on it. Showing his teeth in a snarl of animal rage he hurled the stick of dynamite straight at Ginger. It sped through the air, leaving a trail of pale grey smoke behind it.
Ginger watched it fascinated. He could see that even if it did not actually hit him it would fall on the ledge. His first inclination was to jump into the water, for there was no room to run. Then he saw that the dynamite would hit Full Moon, and his reaction was instinctive. Like a cricketer taking a catch he jumped forward and allowed the stick to fall into his hands. Instantly he hurled it back at the hole whence it came. There was no time to think, for as the dynamite showed for a moment against the blue sky there was a terrific explosion, and the next moment he was on his knees shielding his head from the falling debris. He dragged Full Moon towards him and did his best to protect her with his body. The air was full of smoke, and the noise of falling coral. Brushing the dust from his streaming eyes he tried to see what was happening. It was not easy, for the shape of the whole grotto had altered. Pieces of the wall, and the roof, were still falling, and as they fell into the water, blocking the cave, it rose accordingly, so that their ledge was awash. Ginger only saw these things vaguely, for in the horror of the moment it seemed as if the whole world was crumbling to pieces about them. He could still hear shouts outside, but he could see nobody, so he had no idea what was happening; but presently the smoke began to clear, and he could see more plainly what had happened to the grotto.
Most of the roof had disappeared, so that he and Full Moon were, so to speak, at the bottom of a rough basin, the sides being composed of coral, some of which was cracked, and only needed a touch to bring it down. In fact, the whole place appeared likely to cave in at any moment. Of Castanelli there was no sign.
Ginger caught Full Moon by the hand. 'Let us try to get out,' he said tensely. 'If any more coral falls we shall be buried.'
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But Full Moon only stood like one transfixed, listening, with parted lips and shining eyes.
Then, suddenly, she let out a blood-curdling yell, and thrusting her knife into the fold of her pareu, starting climbing up the wall towards the open air.
`Be careful. You'll bring the whole place down on us,' yelled Ginger, who, in the back of his mind, was wondering what had become of Castanelli.
But for once Full Moon ignored Ginger's frantic appeal. She went on climbing, heedless of falling rocks, from time to time uttering a piercing cry, not unlike those which could at times be heard in the distance. Altogether she gave Ginger the impression of having suddenly gone out of her mind, and he was by no means sure that she had not. That the shock of the explosion had affected her brain was quite possible, he reflected. Prompted by the fear of what Castanelli might do when she reached the top, he again yelled to her to stop, but although she acknowledged his appeal by shouting something in her own language she went on climbing. In the circumstances all he could do was to follow her.
THAT something had happened outside was certain, but apart from the possibility of Castanelli's having been killed or disabled by the stick of dynamite which he had thrown back, Ginger could not imagine what
it was. Full Moon was already more than half-way up the - coral wall, so he exerted every ounce of strength he pos-145
sessed in order to overtake her, or at least get to the top at the same time. And in this he was successful, for he found a comparatively easy way up, whereas Full Moon had rushed at the wall without troubling to ascertain the least difficult course. Nevertheless, the coral often broke under his weight, and more than once he thought he was bound to fall; but somehow he managed to hang on and, heedless of torn fingernails, dragged himself over the rim. Full Moon was still six feet below, looking vainly for a way up, for she had come to an impasse. By lying down he could just reach her hand; this was all the support she needed, and in a few seconds she was lying beside him, gasping for breath and wiping the coral-dust from her eyes with the hem of her pareu.
-
The strain of the last minute had been so intense that Ginger had temporarily forgotten Castanelli and his islanders, but now, remembering them, he looked round to see what was happening. This is what he saw. Near at hand lay two of the Solomon Island boys, terribly mutilated, apparently by the explosion. But it was not this that made him stare unbelievingly. The whole island seemed to be swarming with hideously painted warriors who yelled like madmen as they chased the scattered members of Castanelli's crew. And this was not all. The 'Scud', with her port wing-tip fractured and hanging loose, so that the tip of it trailed in the water, was floating at an alarming angle on the lagoon. More painted warriors were even then jumping out of the cabin doorway into the water. Others were swimming at an incredible speed towards a long, sleek canoe, which was being paddled towards three swimmers who were making for the schooner. Ginger knew from their mops of hair that two of them were members of Castanelli's crew; the other, swimming much more slowly, was Castanelli himself.
Ginger must be forgiven if he ran up and down in hopeless indecision. He was completely bewildered. He could not make out what was happenlng. All he could think was that the 'Scud' had returned, only to be attacked by a swarm of native warriors who had arrived simultaneously in the war canoe. And this, it must be admitted, was a reasonable assumption. He perceived also that if his
reading of the situation was correct he and Full Moon were
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likely to be the next victims, yet even in these alarming circumstances he was distracted by a tremendous hubbub that arose from the lagoon. The position was very much the same as when he had first emerged from the grotto, except that the two islanders had succeeded in reaching the schooner before being overtaken by the canoe, which had swung round to intercept Castanelli. But it was not this that had caused the outcry. The canoe was no longer being paddled; it still had a certain amount of way on it, but all the warriors were standing up, the better to see something that was happening in the water.
It was they who had caused the uproar by their shouting.
Ginger watched, although as yet he could see nothing to justify the commotion. In fact, he wondered why the paddlers had desisted in their efforts to prevent Castanelli from reaching the schooner. But when the water near the swimming man was suddenly broken by the dreadful triangular fin which he knew so well, he understood. There was no need for them to trouble further. The shark would do what they had intended doing, and at the same time relieve them of the responsibility of the Corsican's death.
With his heart stone cold inside him, and his eyes still on that formidable dorsal fin, Ginger began running towards the beach. The fin disappeared, and the swimmer, with a terrible cry, thrashed the water with his legs. If by this means he hoped to frighten the shark he appeared to be successful, for again the huge fish broke the surface, its fin cutting a curving white wake in the water. Again Castanelli struck out for the schooner.
The canoe was only a short distance away, and it was obvious that those in it could save the wretched swimmer if they would; but it was equally obvious that they had no intention of doing so, for they only leaned on their paddles shouting jeers and taunts at the luckless man in the water.
Ginger reached the edge of the lagoon and pulled up dead. He felt that he was going mad, yet he could not tear his eyes from the awful drama that was being enacted before him.
`Mako, he plenty kai-kai Atanelli,' said a voice at his elbow.
He glanced round and saw that it was Full Moon. Her eyes were shining with delight and satisfaction.
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"These kanakas plenty kai-kai us presently,' he replied curtly, but Full Moon's only answer was a ripple of laughter.
Ginger turned back to the lagoon in time to see the finish of the tragedy. Castanelli was now very close to the schooner, swimming fast and making a tremendous splash with his feet. It looked as if he would escape, after all. The warriors in the canoe evidently thought so, too, for they suddenly dropped into their seats and began paddling furiously towards the ship. But the shark also appeared to realize that its prey was about to escape.
The fin disappeared, and the water swirled as it closed over it. Castanelli clutched at a trailing rope and began to pull himself clear; but he was exhausted, and could only hang helplessly, trying to lift his legs above the surface of the water. There came a dark streak near the schooner's side; a terrible scream that was cut off short, and Castanelli disappeared.
Ginger moistened his lips. He was trembling violently and felt sick. Through it all he had an increasing feeling that this was not really happening, that it was all a dream; either that, or he had been killed by the explosion in the grotto. He was prepared to believe anything, however fantastic. He saw the canoe surge up to the schooner and the warriors begin to scramble up her side; a shot rang out, and one of the warriors fell back with a splash. The others went on. Wild yells rent the air.
Ginger turned to Full Moon, who was watching the scene quite unmoved. 'Where these boys come from?' he asked, as a suspicion slowly took shape in his mind.
`Shell-Breaker, he come,' murmured Full Moon briefly.
The sound of running footsteps behind him made Ginger turn quickly. A warrior was racing towards them, brandishing a club. Had Full Moon not warned him who it was he would have thought that the end had really come at last, but as the warrior drew nearer he saw that the girl was right; behind a grinning mask of white clay he recognized the features of Shell-Breaker. He was laughing. `Plenty finish all time,' he shouted joyfully as he ran up.
`Where Andy?' cried Ginger.
Shell-Breaker pointed. Ginger spun round and looked
in the direction indicated, which was towards the 'Scud'.
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So taken up had he been in watching Castanelli's dreadful end that he had forgotten all about the flying-boat. When he had last seen it it was—or he had thought it was—in the hands of the warriors. Somehow it had not occurred to him that Biggles and the others might be there too, but now, to his unspeakable astonishment, he saw Biggles, Algy, and Sandy standing on the centre section. They waved to him when they saw that he was looking in their direction. Had Ginger but known it they had been yelling at him for the last five minutes, but what with the pandemonium made by the warriors, and the drama in the water, he had not heard them.
As soon as he realized that they were really there Ginger dashed along the beach until he was as near as he could get to the flying-boat. Nothing would have induced him to swim out to it, for it was nearly two hundred yards away, so he could only stand on the edge of the lagoon beckoning furiously. He had just remembered the pearls, and was afraid of what the warriors might do. For he had grasped the truth at last; that Biggles and the war canoe had arrived together, and that the warriors were Marquesans from Rutuona.
Biggles was shouting, pointing first towards the schooner and then to the beach, as if he could not make up his mind which way to go. Ginger could not hear what he said, so he beckoned again, frantically, and wiped the perspiration from his bloodstreaked face with relief as the 'Scud's' engines started, and the machine started taxi-ing slowly towards him. Not until it was twenty yards from the beach did Biggles cut the engines, so that at last Ginger could make himself heard. And by that time he knew it was too late, for smoke was pouring from the schooner's portholes and hatches, and the natives jumping clear into the water; the canoe picked them up, and the paddlers backed away from the burning ship.
Biggles was saying something, but Ginger did not listen. `The pearls! The pearls! ' he screamed. 'The pearls are on the schooner. Castanelli found them.'
Too late those on board the flying-boat understood. Ginger dashed into the water and scrambled aboard. `Castanelli found the pearls!' he gasped. 'He took them aboard with him. They must be in his cabin.'
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Biggles said nothing. He jumped into his seat and again the engines roared. The 'Scud'
whirled round, churning the sea into milky foam, and raced towards the doomed vessel.
But long before they got to it all those on the flying-boat knew that the effort was wasted. The schooner was a sheet of flame from stem to stern. It would have been suicide for any one who attempted to board her.
Biggles cut the throttle and the engines died suddenly, so that the 'Scud' floated motionless on the water. Not far away a wild chant rose from the warriors who were packed in the war canoe; they, too, were watching the end of the Avarata with the same glee as they had watched the end of her owner.
`Well, that's that,' muttered Sandy, in a resigned voice. Ì never did have any luck with pearls,' he added, with poignant bitterness.
`Pity you couldn't have got here a bit sooner,' muttered Ginger.
`We should have been here hours ago if we hadn't struck a head wind,' put in Biggles quietly.
Ginger smiled grimly. 'I know all about that wind,' he said, realizing that it must have been the same breeze that had caused Castanelli to change his plan and throw him overboard before taking advantage of it to get away. 'It was nearly the death of me,' he added.
Ìt was nearly the death of us, with an overloaded machine and a blooming canoe in tow,'
remarked Algy. `Well, I did all I could,' declared Ginger.
`You look like it,' observed Biggles, regarding him curiously. 'You look as if you've been dragged round the re
ef at the end of a rope.'
Ìt was worse than that,' Ginger told him. 'I was dragged down to the bottom of the lagoon at the end of a rope. I'll tell you about that later on.'
`You're not seriously hurt, are you?'
Ginger shook his head. 'Only scratches—and shock,' he replied. 'I don't know what happened to you, but when I tell you what we've been through you'll think I'm a prize romancer.'
`You mean—you and Full Moon?'
`Yes.'
`Where is she?'
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Òn the island somewhere. I left her there with Shell-Breaker.'
`Hello, there goes the Avarata,' said Algy, in a hushed voice, as with a hiss the still-burning remains of the doomed schooner slid slowly out of sight under the water. A cloud of steam rose into the air and a few pieces of debris floated to the surface; apart from that there was nothing to show that the schooner had ever existed.
`Yes, and there go our pearls,' remarked Sandy, bitterly.
`Wouldn't they be any good if we fished them up?' asked Algy.
Sandy laughed harshly. 'After being in that fire? They'll just be a handful of white lime, that's all.'
For a minute or two nothing more was said. They all stood staring sombrely at the spot where the Avarata had disappeared, thinking of the risks and labour that had been in vain.
`Well, I suppose it's no use sitting here moping about it,' said Biggles at last. 'We might as well have a spot of something to eat while we're here and then we'll start back for Rutuona.'
`We shall have to find out what has happened to Castanelli's boys, too,' muttered Sandy.
'The whole business will have to be reported to the authorities, of course. As far as Castanelli is concerned—well, he got what he has deserved for a long time, and I don't suppose there'll be many tears shed on his account. I don't know about his crew; they were a bad lot, but the Governor at Tahiti will want to- know what happened to them, so we had better find out—not that I think there is much doubt about it.'
21 Biggles In the South Seas Page 16
