Rounding up the Raider Part 27

"No, I don't," replied his chum bluntly.

"We must hang on till daybreak, then," said Armstrong. "At dead-low water there may be a trifle less swell."

"Yes," a.s.sented Denbigh. "We'll land on the lee side of the reef.

Gently with her; we don't want to be stove in against a sharp branch of coral."

Without accident the landing was accomplished. The adventurers found themselves on a broad part of the reef that was barely three feet above the surface. Seaweed and driftwood had already acc.u.mulated, showing that the coral was now only occasionally invaded by the sea. Fifty yards away the surf broke heavily, but fortunately they were out of range of the falling spray.

Almost in silence the three chums sat until the sun rose in a grey sky above the horizon. Overhead a few large birds flew seaward--both circ.u.mstances presaging a fine day.

The tide had now fallen, and, although there were several feet of water in the channel, a detached reef about a hundred yards from the main coral ledge, which had uncovered as the tide fell, completely broke the breakers for some distance on either side of its seaward end.

"All aboard!" ordered Denbigh. "With luck we'll fetch Latham Island well before sunset."

Broad on the port bow rose Ras Kimbiji, which Denbigh recognized by a peculiarly-rounded and isolated hill rising two miles beyond the point.

From this cape, he knew, Latham Island bore 23 miles due east.

"Step the mast, Pat!" he exclaimed. "The breeze is well in our favour.

One thing, we are not over-canva.s.sed."

Therein he was mistaken, for the small spread of sail was more than sufficient to endanger the stability of the canoe. Since there were no reef points recourse had to be made to a "Spanish reef", which consists in gathering in a generous amount of one corner of the canvas and tying it into a knot. Even then the little craft literally bounded over the water. Before the S.W. monsoon Denbigh calculated her speed at seven or eight knots.

At the end of three hours the breeze increased, and the sail had to be still further reduced. Not daring to stand upright, the sub's range of vision was considerably limited. He was beginning to think that a slight error in the compa.s.s course had taken them past the low-lying and almost invisible sandbank for which they were steering.

"Breakers ahead!" shouted Armstrong.

For nearly five minutes the gaze of all three men was directed upon a patch of white foam in the midst of the dark-blue waters.

Then Denbigh broke the silence.

"We can finish off that soda-water now," he said. "That's Latham Island."

They drained the bottle. There was now no need to husband their scanty resources. Ahead lay the sandbank on which were hidden provisions in plenty.

"Down rag and out paddles!" ordered Denbigh.

The sail was quickly stowed and the mast uns.h.i.+pped. Under paddles the canoe was urged towards the lee side of the island, where a landing was easily effected.

Dragging the canoe above high-water mark the three chums, wellnigh "baked" by the heat, sat down upon the hard ground. Shelter there was none. The whole of the white surface simmered in the rays, both direct and reflected, of the tropical sun.

"Honestly I don't feel like work," remarked O'Hara. "It's too beastly hot. Besides, we've antic.i.p.ated our time-table considerably. The sun's not crossed the meridian yet."

"It's a toss-up whether we set to at once or wait. In any case we stew," said Armstrong. "I vote we dig for an hour and knock off for the early afternoon."

"Yes," a.s.sented Denbigh. "That will, I think, be the better way. So bestir yourself, Pat."

"Where's the spot?" asked the mate.

"Almost at the other end of the island," replied Denbigh. "I can recognize it from the position of that jagged reef. Bring the paddles, they'll make excellent sand scoops."

Across the glistening sand they made their way until the three men came simultaneously to a dead stop.

Other diggers had preceded them, for where the whaler and the stores had been hidden was a large, partly-silted-up cavity.

The versatile Irishman was the first to break the silence.

Throwing his paddle to the ground he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed:

"Dash it all! Our luck's out this time."

CHAPTER XX

Adrift in the Indian Ocean

"Wish to goodness we hadn't been so prodigal with our provisions," said Denbigh as the three chums ruefully surveyed the excavation. "It will be short commons, unless----"

"Unless what?" asked Armstrong.

"Unless the fellows who have forestalled us have omitted to remove all the stuff."

"It looks as if they've made a clean sweep of most of the gear and burnt what they couldn't move. They've evidently poured petrol over the place and set fire to it. Now, what was the object?"

"Perhaps a landing-party from one of our s.h.i.+ps destroyed the cache,"

suggested O'Hara.

"Possibly," replied his chum. "But, on the other hand, unlikely. It's my opinion that some of the Germans, finding that the _Pelikan_ was held up, have made a dash for the island. In that case it is reasonable to suppose that they have fitted out the whaler, and are either making tracks for some navigable river lower down the coast or else they will attempt to capture the first tramp they fall in with."

"Not much chance of escaping capture themselves," said Armstrong.

"I don't know. Remember the case of the _Ayesha_ with the _Emden's_ landing-party. They managed to fetch home all the way from the Cocos Keeling Islands. These fellows, with luck, might reach Batavia and be interned by the Dutch Colonial Government."

"And here are we stranded on a desolate sandbank, with precious little grub in the locker," remarked Armstrong. "There's one consolation. We have a boat."

"Of sorts," rejoined the Irishman. "Since she brought us here she ought to take us back to the mainland, although it will be dead to windward."

"What's wrong with Zanzibar?" asked the mate. "It's only about fifty miles to the nor'-west. We've a breeze slightly abaft the beam.

She'll do it all right, especially if we take some sand aboard as ballast."

"Right," a.s.sented O'Hara. "Let's make a start. It's a howling pity to lose the breeze, and it's a jolly sight cooler on the water than on this sun-baked sandbank."

Quickly the new plan was put into operation. The canoe was launched, and about three hundred-weights of sand thrown into her. On re-embarking the crew found that their frail craft was considerably "stiffer", and showed no great tendency to capsize when one of their number stood upright. In her ballasted state more sail could be carried, and, what was more, she could be steered a point closer to the wind.

All went well until about three in the afternoon, when, with disconcerting suddenness, the wind died utterly away. The crisp, crested waves subsided into a long, sullen, oily swell. The canoe, without steerage way, floated idly upon the water.

"Out paddles!" ordered Denbigh. "You and I, Pat, will take the first trick. At every thousand strokes one man will be relieved. Ready?"