from the sub’s air supply. He enters the chamber and closes the door. Then the air is replaced by water to the same pressure as the sea outside. The man opens the sea door and comes out. He wears an aqualung, so he has no trouble breathing until he can get to the surface. Going back in, the process is reversed.’
‘Wonder what’s keeping Inkham?’ Blake fretted. ‘Booking shouldn’t have taken him more than fifteen minutes.’
When Skink returned he seemed in high spirits. He did not apologize for keeping the ship waiting two hours, but stood by the rail enjoying the cavorting of the submarines while Captain Ike got the ship under way.
‘I hate those things,’ the captain growled. ‘I can’t forget what they did to us at Pearl Harbour.’
‘I don’t hate ‘em,’ Skink said happily. ‘I love ‘em.’
‘They’re no good for anything except mischief,’ insisted the captain.
‘That makes them very good indeed,’ laughed Skink, and strolled off down the deck, leaving the old captain to bite the stem of his pipe and wonder what the devil the fellow had meant.
The Lively Lady flew like a bird all night and before sunrise dropped anchor in nine fathoms off the shore of the lovely atoll of Para.
It was a loop of land encircling a green lagoon only a half-mile long. The people of the island had fled during the war and it was now uninhabited. Its soil was volcanic rather than coralline and so rich that every sort of tropical tree and plant flourished magnificently - great coconut palms and sago palms, fantastic pandanus, stately bamboos, spreading mango and breadfruit trees, fruits and flowers of every description.
Somewhere in the waters round about this atoll lay the wreck of the Spanish galleon, Santa Cruz. Dr Blake and his companions stood at the rail, looking down into the lovely blue-green depths.
‘Are we the first to search for the galleon?’ Roger asked.
‘No. Many divers have tried to locate the wreck. Some of them died trying. Top bad they had to lose their lives - but every man has to check out some time and I can’t imagine a more pleasant cemetery.’
Hal glanced up at the doctor’s grave face. He remembered that the scientist had said something like this before. Evidently he was serious about it. His love of his mistress, the sea, to which he had devoted his life, must be very deep and profound.
‘The reason that previous attempts have failed,’ Blake went on, ‘is that the divers could only go down and come up again. They could not stay down, move along the ocean floor, and inspect every inch of it. Now, with the aqualung, that can be done. But walking on the floor would be too slow. We must have a way to ride over it -and that’s where the undersea sled comes in. Roger, do you and Omo want to bring it up?’
A strange contraption was hoisted out of the hold and laid on deck.
It was more like a surfboard than anything else, but it was narrow at the front end and spread out widely behind. Beneath it were two runners exactly like those on a sled. Roger found himself humming:
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way,
Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh.
But whoever wrote that song had never dreamed of going sleighing under the sea!
Dr Blake was explaining the mechanism. ‘It’s like a glider, except that it’s built to fly under water instead of in the air. It was designed by an airman, Captain Van-laer, an ace pilot in the French army during the last war. It’s made of pressed wood and cork covered with a synthetic tissue. You notice it has twin rudders at the back, and also two ailerons like those of an aeroplane. With these controls the diver can regulate the depth of his glide. He can skim along the surface if he wishes, or descend to various levels, or slide along the ocean floor.
‘The sled is towed by a motorboat. Our dinghy with the outboard motor will do nicely. Even if we go along at a speed of only six knots we can complete the search
‘Wonder what’s keeping Inkham?’ Blake fretted. ‘Booking shouldn’t have taken him more than fifteen minutes.’
When Skink returned he seemed in high spirits. He did not apologize for keeping the ship waiting two hours, but stood by the rail enjoying the cavorting of the submarines while Captain Ike got the ship under way.
‘I hate those things,’ the captain growled. ‘I can’t forget what they did to us at Pearl Harbour.’
‘I don’t hate ‘em,’ Skink said happily. ‘I love ‘em.’
‘They’re no good for anything except mischief,’ insisted the captain.
‘That makes them very good indeed,’ laughed Skink, and strolled off down the deck, leaving the old captain to bite the stem of his pipe and wonder what the devil the fellow had meant.
The Lively Lady flew like a bird all night and before sunrise dropped anchor in nine fathoms off the shore of the lovely atoll of Para.
It was a loop of land encircling a green lagoon only a half-mile long. The people of the island had fled during the war and it was now uninhabited. Its soil was volcanic rather than coralline and so rich that every sort of tropical tree and plant flourished magnificently - great coconut palms and sago palms, fantastic pandanus, stately bamboos, spreading mango and breadfruit trees, fruits and flowers of every description.
Somewhere in the waters round about this atoll lay the wreck of the Spanish galleon, Santa Cruz. Dr Blake and his companions stood at the rail, looking down into the lovely blue-green depths.
‘Are we the first to search for the galleon?’ Roger asked.
‘No. Many divers have tried to locate the wreck. Some of them died trying. Top bad they had to lose their lives - but every man has to check out some time and I can’t imagine a more pleasant cemetery.’
Hal glanced up at the doctor’s grave face. He remembered that the scientist had said something like this before. Evidently he was serious about it. His love of his mistress, the sea, to which he had devoted his life, must be very deep and profound.
‘The reason that previous attempts have failed,’ Blake went on, ‘is that the divers could only go down and come up again. They could not stay down, move along the ocean floor, and inspect every inch of it. Now, with the aqualung, that can be done. But walking on the floor would be too slow. We must have a way to ride over it -and that’s where the undersea sled comes in. Roger, do you and Omo want to bring it up?’
A strange contraption was hoisted out of the hold and laid on deck.
It was more like a surfboard than anything else, but it was narrow at the front end and spread out widely behind. Beneath it were two runners exactly like those on a sled. Roger found himself humming:
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way,
Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh.
But whoever wrote that song had never dreamed of going sleighing under the sea!
Dr Blake was explaining the mechanism. ‘It’s like a glider, except that it’s built to fly under water instead of in the air. It was designed by an airman, Captain Van-laer, an ace pilot in the French army during the last war. It’s made of pressed wood and cork covered with a synthetic tissue. You notice it has twin rudders at the back, and also two ailerons like those of an aeroplane. With these controls the diver can regulate the depth of his glide. He can skim along the surface if he wishes, or descend to various levels, or slide along the ocean floor.
‘The sled is towed by a motorboat. Our dinghy with the outboard motor will do nicely. Even if we go along at a speed of only six knots we can complete the search
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