No Man's Island/Chapter 10

ANNING had been down for an hour and a half. It was the morning on which he expected to retrieve the pearls and Hooper was anxious, not for the gems, but for the man he had come to know as his friend, to give some of that whole-souled affection peculiar between man and man, a bond, that, once given, out lasts all wear and tear.

He crouched at the head of the ladder inside the canvas screen, peering down at the wreck. He could see nothing of Manning, hidden by the ragged upper deck, but a stream of bubbles came up constantly from the azure transparency and showed the pump was working.

Beside him were two of the diver’s assistants. One held the signal-cord, the other tended life-line and air-tube, careful that the latter should not kink or chafe against the side of the pontoon. Outside the screen, in plain view of the wondering ring of natives in their canoes beyond the tabu flags, the third man toiled steadily at the compressing-wheel of the pump.

The hose had been disconnected. Manning had declared the way clear but he seemed to have struck trouble.

Hooper fidgeted with his watch. Fong had come on deck on the schooner and was standing by the rail, watching the pontoon.

“An hour and thirty-eight minutes,” said Hooper. “Pretty long spell, isn’t it?”

“I’ve known him stay down two hours when he wanted to finish something,” answered the man with the signal-cord. “That’s Manning’s way. He’s all right. He’ll be done up when he comes out but I’ll bet my bonus he’s got what he’s after. If it’s there.”

“I guess it’s there all right,” answered Hooper, a little nervously.

“Tides play strange tricks,” said the man.

“Hey, Bill, you got a bite,” cried the second helper.

The signal-cord jerked.

“He’s coming up,” said the man excitedly.

Hooper lent a hand to the stout life-line. Leaning over, they could see Manning coming into view through the broken planks. There was a swirl of water about him and his figure was distorted. If he carried anything they could not see it. He clung to the life-line and swayed up through the ten fathoms, Bill coiling the signal-line as it slacked, the third man doing the same with the air-pipe.

Manning caught the ladder, got his feet on the lower rounds and rested to adjust the pressure. Then he came up heavily as the pontoon tilted slightly. His helmeted head appeared and Hooper and one of the men got hands under his shoulders and hoisted him on to the float, where he sat limply. His hands were chafed raw, the ends of his fingers bloody. And he carried no package.

But Hooper did not think of that as he helped to unscrew the helmet and held to Manning’s lips a tot of gin. The diver swallowed the stuff and smiled.

“Got ’em,” he said. “Touch and go. Another month and we’d never have found ’em.

“In my kit-bag,” he continued as one man unlaced his heavy shoes and the third helped him wriggle out of his suit. Belt and its knife, pendent crowbar and water-proof pocket were already off. Hooper picked them up and felt in the bag. His eyes brightened as he touched several cylindrical objects and drew one out, the wax paper broken but the foil intact.

“Tarpaulin washed away, rubber rotted,” said Manning, getting to his feet a trifle groggily, sweat matting his thick crop of hair and streaming down his face. “The sand had packed up from below, as I thought it would. Worked in through the chinks in the hatchway framing. But the pearls were there. Found one or two packages as I clawed the stuff out. Regular sandstone. Count ’em, Hooper, I think I got them all.”

“They’re all here, Manning,” said Hooper, clapping the other on the shoulder and gripping in affectionately. “We’ll start back tomorrow. Edwards says Steiner’s crowd has livened up considerably. Not that I’m considering them.” He weighed the little packages in both his hands, his face aglow. “That third divvy doesn’t go between us, Manning,” he went on. “It’s halves, partner.”

The two shook hands.

“A third was the agreement,” said Manning. Then, as he read the other’s eyes, “Except on one condition.”

“Granted.”

“We go shares in everything from now on. I’m sick of diving. Let’s get a schooner and go into something together. Cruising or trading. Unless you’re tied up?”

The thought of some woman in connection with Hooper crossed his mind for the first time.

“Not me,” replied Hooper. “No strings, petticoat or otherwise, if that’s what you’re thinking, old man. So, let’s go aboard, boys. We’ll break the prohibition rules for once. Outside the three-mile limit, any way.”

They all laughed at the light quip, exhilarated at the ending to the trip. Manning put on his clothes, they set the suit in the boat and rowed off to the schooner where Fong was waiting them.

“Heap sabby you get all same,” he said, his yellow face beaming.

The men crowded up, scenting the excitement. Hooper sent Edwards for the liquor.

“A drink for success, men,” he said. “Home tomorrow.”

They gave three hearty cheers, led by the steward.

It was Andersen’s shift aboard, his relief almost up. He came on deck at the cheering, followed by Thompson. Manning took Hooper aside.

“Where does Thompson come in?” he asked. “Just on the bonus?”

“I’m looking out for him,” said Hooper.

“You mean we are, partner,” answered Manning.

As they started for the cabin, the packages still unbroken, Andersen asked about the tabu flags.

“They heard the cheering, sir,” he said. “Getting worked up.”

“Keep them flying until after chow,” said Hooper. “Then you can chuck the things away. We’re through. Come on, Manning. I’ve got something to open your eyes.”

And he hooked his arm familiarly through that of the diver.

Manning had seen pearls before but never so many, so symmetrical, so full of fire. The foil had preserved their luster, kept them from the grinding grit of the sand. They were fuzzy with delicate bloom. Hooper separated them and placed some in pairs.

“Worth fifty per cent. more when they match up,” he said. “I’ve worked hard to get this bunch together.” He fondled them, holding them in the cup of his hand, but there was no greed in his voice.

“Miracles to come out of a sick shellfish, aren’t they?” he said. “Look at those two pairs, Manning. Worth ten thousand dollars in Tahiti this minute. We’ll take ’em to better markets.

“Hang it, man,” he broke off, “we haven’t fixed your fingers. They are raw.”

“Feel as if they’d been sandpapered,” admitted Manning as Hooper gathered up the pearls and put them away in a chamois poke. “But my main trouble is my stomach. It’s buckling. Two hours down uses up all your fuel. What are you going to do with them?”

“Split ’em,” said Hooper. “I bought two belts. You’ll wear half and so will I. Come into my cabin and we’ll fix them while Fong’s bringing chow.”

Edwards had come in and started to lay the table. He glanced at the leather bag but said nothing.

“As soon as I’ve stowed away my outfit,” said Manning. “Got any adhesive in the medicine kit?”

“I’ll get it, sir,” said Edwards and disappeared. Manning and Hooper put away the suit, which had been carried down earlier by Fong. The steward came back with tape and scissors and Hooper cut out the pieces with which Manning patched his torn fingers. Then, in Hooper’s cabin, they put away the pearls and adjusted the belts. The meal was ready when they came out. Andersen and Thompson joined them.

“You can tell Steiner to get ready to move tomorrow,” Hooper said to the mate. “On the ebb, about noon. We’ll come for them at six bells. And, as you go off, take up those tabu buoys and stakes.”

“What are you going to do this afternoon, Manning?” he asked when the mate and Thompson had left, after discussing the find a little. “Turn in?”

“Got to dismantle the pontoon and get the pump aboard.”

“Your men can do that. I imagine you’re tired out.”

“But not sleepy. And I usually am, after a long spell under. Why?”

“I feel like a holiday. Let’s go out and get a mess of mullet. We’ll give Tiburi another exhibition of fire and water. And it’s a heap of fun.”

He spoke like a boy and Manning entered into his mood. The job was done, the reaction strong.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, “if it’s only to see you don’t blow off an arm. I’ve seen several cripples in the islands from that game.”

“No danger, if you’re careful. Cut the fuse right, ruffle it up a bit, stick a match in it, light the match, count two and heave the half a stick. Toss it fairly high. Better to have it explode too soon than wet the primer and sink. Don’t take much to stun the fish if we find a school. Tiburi hasn’t ever brought us any mullet. They’re rare eating.”

S THEY rowed off, with two sailors at the oars, a box of the dynamite in the stern, they passed Manning’s assistants working on the pontoon. The pump had already been sent off to the schooner and the men were taking apart the decks preparatory to turning over the canoes to the natives. A dozen canoes drifted at a respectful distance, the savages looking on at the white men or gazing into the water.

“There’ll be twenty of them diving down presently to see what they can in the wreck,” said Hooper. “Soon as they feel sure the Hims are gone. They know we’ve got something worth while out of it.”

“How about Tiburi?” asked Manning. “If he comes off to the schooner? I don’t see his canoe.”

“There it is.” Hooper pointed to the crater-entrance with the big canoe coming out of it. “I left strict orders with Edwards. No men to come aboard but the chief and only one bottle of gin. We’ll gift him up tomorrow before we leave. He can have everything that’s in the traderoom.”

“Fong’ll keep an eye on him,” said Manning. “I don’t trust that steward, Hooper. He happened along too handily in Honolulu with his four men.”

“They’ve behaved themselves all right, except Holabird, and he took his lesson well enough. And we’ve got the pearls,” he added as he slapped his belt, hidden beneath his clothes. “That looks like a school of mullet.”

They rowed down the lagoon inside the reef in the direction of a ripple that showed just above the surface. But the fish broke water before they reached throwing-distance. And they were not mullet.

Manning helped Hooper prepare their grenades and they rowed about the reef. But luck, with them in the big adventure, was niggardly with smaller gifts.

“Fish-sharks inside,” said Hooper at length. “Won’t go out till the tide turns. Mullet are all inside the crater lagoon. Get some tomorrow before we leave. Better go back and see what Tiburi is up to. His canoe is still alongside.”

The pontoon was broken up by the time they reached the schooner. Hooper gave an order for hoisting the boat to the falls and climbed the gangway ladder, followed by Manning. Tiburi was not on deck. Fong came out of his galley and pointed to the cabin. Hooper frowned and moved quickly to the open skylight, looking down, Manning beside him.

Tiburi sat on the red-plush seat with Edwards beside him. They seemed to have been deep in conversation and the steward gazed up suddenly with a startled air, duplicated by Tiburi, who rose uneasily. An empty gin-bottle was on the table. The two partners hurried down the ladder and faced them. Hooper’s brow was dark with a frown.

“Who gave you the idea of entertaining Tiburi in the cabin?” he demanded sharply.

For once Edwards seemed nonplussed. He licked his lips before he answered.

“I didn’t suppose there was any harm in it, sir. I didn’t mean it as a liberty. No men came aboard and there’s only been the one bottle. The chief is crazy about the furnishings, sir. He wants this settee as a gift.”

“Did you give it to him?” Manning’s voice was sarcastic and the steward gave him an ugly glance.

“I did not, sir.”

“All right, Edwards,” said Hooper dryly. “You may go for’ard.”

The steward left with a quick look passing between him and the chief. Tiburi had gathered himself together. It was plain to both the white men that Edwards had lied about the liquor, though there was only the one bottle in evidence. Tiburi was inclined to swagger. His eyes met Hooper’s almost defiantly.

“I am a big chief! A great chief,” he said, pounding his chest so that the mock jewel danced. “Many men obey me.” He worked his fingers rapidly. “Edduadi, he big chief, too.”

“Not so big as I am. Not so big as my friend here,” said Hooper quietly but with meaning emphasis. “Suppose you are so big a chief, do you want to drink some of that firewater?”

Tiburi winced but recovered, swaying a little as the fumes of the gin vapored in his brain.

“Not so big as Him Who Walks Under the Water, Tiburi,” went on Hooper, observing him carefully.

He fiddled in his pocket for a gasoline cigar-lighter he had filled and carried along to ignite the dynamite-fuses. Suddenly he brought it out and snapped it under Tiburi’s nose. The flame sprang up, almost singeing the chief’s skin, upsetting his drunken show of belligerency.

“Eyah!” he cried, jumping back and retreating backward up the companionway. “I am great chief! With many men. You give me many gifts for me, for my men. I am not afraid!”

His effect was spoiled a trifle by the haste with which he mounted, still facing them, got into his canoe and paddled swiftly off, calling to the other canoes and gathering them in his trail as he sped for the crater.

“Now what’s got into his fool head?” said Hooper. “Just gin?”

“Edwards,” said Manning.

“I agree with you. He’s gone a bit far this trip. But what is he up to?”

“We may find out tomorrow when we go into the crater,” suggested Manning.

“I don’t think Tiburi’ll make trouble,” said Hooper slowly. “He’s drunk. Aside from the Hims, who won’t appear again, he knows we’ve got fire-sticks. Just as well we didn’t find any mullet. If he starts anything we’ll make him think the island’s going up. We’ll take along the dynamite when we go for Steiner. And we’ll go in with the relief tonight, you and I, ready for pranks. He’ll cool down when he’s sober. It wouldn’t do any good to cross-examine Edwards.”

“He’d lie, anyway,” said Manning.

“Probably. I think with him it’s a case of swelled head. Good thing all round we’re through.”

But Tiburi made no demonstration, hostile or otherwise, when they changed the guard that night. Coming and going, they saw the natives seated peaceably round two fires on the little beach, the low sound of chanting sounding across the water.

“Peace meles (chants),” said Hooper. “Better than a drum, and dancing. Tiburi will be aboard tomorrow before we sail, for his gifts. May as well leave him happy. He’s served his turn.”

“Going to give him the plush settee?” asked Manning.

“I’ve a good mind to. And make Edwards pay for a new one,” laughed Hooper.