The Salving of the Fusi Yama: A Post-War Story of the Sea Read online

  Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen. Thank you, Iain Somerville!

  cover]

  THE SALVING OFTHE "FUSI YAMA"

  BYPERCY F. WESTERMANLIEUT. R.A.F.

  ------

  "No boy alive will be able to peruse Mr. Westerman's pageswithout a quickening of his pulses."--Outlook.

  ------

  The Salving of the "Fusi Yama": A Post-WarStory of the Sea.

  Sea Scouts All: How the _Olivette_ was won.

  Winning his Wings: A Story of the R.A.F.

  The Thick of the Fray at Zeebrugge: April, 1918.

  With Beatty off Jutland: A Romance of the Great SeaFight.

  The Submarine Hunters: A Story of Naval Patrol Work.

  A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New ZealandRifles on the Western Front.

  A Sub and a Submarine: The Story of H.M. SubmarineR19 in the Great War.

  Under the White Ensign: A Naval Story of the GreatWar.

  The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two BritishMotor-cyclists with the Belgian Forces.

  The Sea-girt Fortress: A Story of Heligoland.

  Rounding up the Raider: A Naval Story of the GreatWar.

  The Fight for Constantinople: A Tale of the GallipoliPeninsula.

  Captured at Tripoli: A Tale of Adventure.

  The Quest of the "Golden Hope": A Seventeenth-centuryStory of Adventure.

  A Lad of Grit: A Story of Restoration Times.

  LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.

  A SUBMARINE DUEL _Frontispiece_(missing from book)]

  THE SALVING OFTHE "FUSI YAMA"A Post-War Story of the Sea

  BY

  PERCY F. WESTERMAN

  _Illustrated by E. S. Hodgson_

  BLACKIE AND SON LIMITEDLONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

  Contents

  CHAP. I. ROCKS AHEAD II. TO THE RESCUE III. SIGNING ON IV. COMRADES ALL V. THE "FUSI YAMA" VI. THE YACHT "TITANIA" VII. SAND-BAGGED VIII. THE "TITANIA" SAILS IX. "WHERE AM I?" X. A CHOICE OF TWO EVILS XI. VILLIERS' RETURN XII. PETE AND THE MUTINY XIII. ADVICE AND BLUFF XIV. SUNK IN COLLISION XV. WHAT DID DICK DO? XVI. THE WRONG ISLAND XVII. NUA LEHA XVIII. THE FIRST DAY ON THE ISLAND XIX. MISSING XX. UP AND DOWN XXI. A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK XXII. VON GIESPERT HEARS NEWS XXIII. EUREKA! XXIV. THE HURRICANE XXV. "KONKED OUT" XXVI. HARBOROUGH'S RUSE XXVII. A SUBMARINE DUEL XXVIII. THE EXPLOSION XXIX. A FRUSTRATED ESCAPE XXX. VON GIESPERT'S RESOLVE XXXI. EXIT THE "ZUG" XXXII. SETTLING ACCOUNTS

  Illustrations

  ------

  A SUBMARINE DUEL _Frontispiece_ (missing from book) SAND-BAGGED UNMASKED HE WAS NO LONGER AN AMIABLE SWEDE (missing from book) THE GERMANS WERE DUMFOUNDED JACK WAS PINNED PRETTY FIRMLY AGAINST THE CEILING CLAVERHOUSE STEERS THE SEAPLANE INTO THE LAGOON

  THE SALVING OF THE "FUSI YAMA"

  CHAPTER I

  Rocks Ahead

  "And how do you like being out of harness, old top?" inquired JackVilliers.

  The "old top", otherwise Bobby Beverley, late Sub-Lieutenant of theMotor Boat Reserve, squared his shoulders and thrust his hands deeplyinto the pockets of a well-worn salt-stained monkey-jacket.

  "Candidly, dear old thing, I don't like it one little bit," hereplied. "A fish out of water isn't in it."

  "I believe that's an undisputed fact," interrupted the other.

  "And I jolly well begin to realize it," continued Beverley withconviction. "There are thousands in the same boat, but that doesn'talter my position. Fact remains, I see rocks ahead."

  "Is that so?" inquired Villiers seriously. "What is it? Short of theready?"

  Beverley shook his head.

  "Not that," he replied, with the confidence that a Service man willdisplay when discussing financial matters with a brother-officer."I've been careful, after a fashion, and there's my gratuity, and abit of prize-money when that comes along. Enough to carry on with fora bit; but, hang it all, what's a fellow to do? I don't like the ideaof taking on a job in an office. When you've been in charge of a crewfor the last three years, you don't like knuckling under and beingbossed; you know what I mean."

  "Precisely, old bird," agreed Villiers. "Same here. I'd go off toRhodesia like a shot, only I don't know a blessed thing aboutfarming. I'd go to sea again, but the Mercantile Marine ischock-a-block with demobbed Royal Naval Reserve men with Board ofTrade certificates and deep-sea experience. That's where we'rebunkered, old boy. But never mind. Something'll turn up. It's a caseof grasping Dame Fortune by the forelock, whatever that is. 'Fraidthe only forelock I'm acquainted with is the forelock of an anchor,and that's apt to let you down badly if you don't watch it."

  The two chums had encountered each other just outside the docks atSouthampton. Both had recently been demobilized from the parent ship_Hermione,_ Villiers' "M.L." having been paid off a fortnight beforeBeverley's craft had gone to lay up indefinitely in the Hamble River.

  Jack Villiers was a tall, sparely-built fellow, bronzed, athletic,and moving with a typically nautical roll that one is bound toacquire by three years' acquaintance with the open sea. The only sonof a formerly well-to-do Devonshire man, Jack found himself "out of aberth" with precious few prospects of obtaining employment ofanything approaching a congenial nature. He had gone straight from apublic school into the R.N.V.R and for three years he had risked hislife for his country and had had enough experiences of warfare afloatto last a lifetime. He knew how to handle men, to take overresponsibility in a tight corner, and generally to steel his nervesand act promptly in emergencies. He had a roof over his head, albeitthe enamelled roof of the M.L.'s ward-room; good and ample food, agenial superior officer, and a crew with whom he was undoubtedlypopular. His salary was sufficient for his needs, although itcompared unfavourably with the wages of the average munition-workerashore, and generally speaking he had, to quote his own words, "atop-hole time".

  But at the end of the three years it was quite another story. Theprospect of completing his education at a university had vanished.His second string--a course at an Engineering Training College--hadsnapped, His father, hard hit by the war, was no longer in a positionto render financial aid, and it became apparent that Jack Villierswould have to cut out a line for himself.

  The burning question was how? The prospect of a commercial lifeappalled him. His utter inexperience of the world was against him,and it was doubtful whether, during that period of unrest that almostinvariably besets the demobilized man, he could settle to sedentarywork. The call of the sea, the craving for spirited and healthyadventure, militated against the prospect of a hum-drum life.

  Bobby Beverley was in much the same state--possibly worse. He wasadditionally hampered by having to provide for his fifteen-year-oldbrother Dick, who was at present a boarder in a well-known schoolnear Salisbury. Bobby's parents were both dead. Mr. Beverley, takingup a commission in the Army Service Corps, at the age of forty, hadbeen killed in action somewhere in France. His widow survived him bybut a few months, while Dick had to be maintained out of a scanty"compassionate allowance ", largely augmented by a considerableportion of his elder brother's Sub-Lieutenant's pay. And now BobbyBeverley was faced with two problems: his own future and that of Dickwhen the latter left school, which would be at no distant date.

  "Let's trot along and have lunch," suggested Villiers. "I know of adecent little show in the High Street. Dash it all! I remembered intime," he added, as he replaced his cap after saluting a lady. "Onlyjust beginning to remember I'm in mufti. Passed Barry's missus thismorning
, and, by Jove! I was going to salute Navy fashion when Irecollected I was out of it. Good old times those, George."

  "They were," admitted "George" fervently, accepting without demur thename that for some unaccountable reason is indiscriminately bestowedupon members of the Senior Service. "We had our sticky times, ofcourse. Then we groused like the rest of 'em. But that's a backnumber. Looking at it retrospectively, it wasn't a bad sort of stunt.And now there's the future."

  "There won't be one for you on this old planet if you aren't morecareful," interrupted Villiers, as he gripped his chum by the arm andhiked him on to the pavement just in time to escape being run down bya motor-cyclist. "Bless my soul! It's Alec Claverhouse; and on abrand-new 1919 jigger, too."

  The recognition was mutual, for the motor-cyclist slowed down andcame to a standstill with one foot on the kerb within twenty yards ofthe spot where he had all but collided with Bobby Beverley.

  From what could be seen of him Alec Claverhouse appeared to be atall, burly fellow. Tall he certainly was, but the burliness waslargely deceptive, since he was wearing thick clothing and heavymotor mackintosh overalls. His forehead was concealed by a golf-cappulled well down, while resting upon the peak were a pair of gogglesthat were evidently considered by their owner to be necessaryadjuncts to the "doggy" appearance of a "speed merchant".

  Claverhouse was an ex-lieutenant of the Royal Air Force--orFlying-Officer according to the revised and much criticized style ofrank. He had been demobilized for more than five months, and after along and wearisome search for a job had taken up a not too lucrativepost at a motor-engineering works, part of his duty being to risk hisneck and those of others of His Majesty's lieges by testing cars andmotor-cycles on the King's highway. Up to the present he had beenfairly fortunate in having his licence endorsed but twice, althoughit was a wonder that the fatal third endorsement had not beenrecorded. Like a good many other air-pilots Claverhouse, used totravelling at 120 miles an hour, found that a paltry twenty over theground was a mere crawl.

  "Cheerio, Beverley, old bird!" he exclaimed boisterously. "Hardlyexpected to run up against you. Still in it, I see. And, Villiers,you dear old thing! so they've chucked you out."

  "Both of us," corrected Beverley. "We were discussing the prospectsof hacking our way to fame and prosperity when you nearly settled theproblem for us."

  "Always ready to be of assistance," rejoined Claverhouse. "By the by,seen any of the old Abermurchan crowd lately?"

  "Not since last July," replied Beverley. "Villiers and I came southtogether when the M.L. base packed up. The Air Station was due toclose down almost immediately, I remember. What are you doing here?"

  "Trying to find my feet," was the reply. "In other words, potteringabout in a glorified garage waiting for a snip. I'm thinking of goingabroad."

  "That's about as far as we've got," said Villiers.

  "But at present we're thinking of having lunch. Come along with us."

  "My 'bus," protested Alec.

  "Shove it round the back of the show," suggested Villiers. "Get onwith it and then you can reserve a table. We'll be there in less thanfive minutes."

  Claverhouse fell in with the suggestion and rode off. Arriving at therestaurant he was fortunate in securing a corner table. Five minutespassed, but there were no signs of Villiers and Beverley. Ten minutespassed.

  "Wonder if they're acting the giddy goat with me?" he soliloquized ashe carelessly picked up a copy of _The Times_ and began to scan thePersonal Column.

  Why he did so he hardly knew. There was little of interest to him inthe long list of appeals for work by demobilized men, though itroused his sympathy. Somehow it didn't seem right that fellows whohad fought for the country should have to eat out of the hands of thestay-at-homes who for a dead certainty would have had no home had theHun been top-dog.

  Half-way down the column he came across an advertisement of a lengthand novelty unusual even to the unique Agony Column of _The Times_.Its audacity held him until he became aware of the arrival ofVilliers and Beverley by receiving a vigorous thump on his shoulder.

  "Sorry we're late, old son," exclaimed the former apologetically."Ran across old Hammersley just under the Bargate. You remember him?"

  Claverhouse nodded, then put the paper on the table.

  "Cast your eye on this, old thing," he said. "A bit tall, eh, what?"

  "What, Rio del Oro shares? Thanks, I'm not having any," said Villiersdecidedly.

  "No, next column," explained Claverhouse. "There, where my thumb is."

  "What's the wheeze?" inquired Beverley, craning his neck and lookingover Villier's shoulder.

  "That's what I want to know," replied Alec. "If there's anything init, I'm on."

  The announcement was as follows:--

  "To Demobilized Officers. Those wishing for further excitement andadventure overseas and who are physically and mentally capable oftaking care of themselves are invited to communicate with theunder-signed. An enterprise involving the risking of two hundred andfifty pounds per head is in contemplation. The capital may be lost;on the other hand, there is a possibility of a gain of one thousandper cent upwards. Applications are especially invited from ex-membersof the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, and Royal Air Force, but thosepersons formerly serving in other branches of H.M. Services will begiven consideration. Full particulars of the scheme, which willrequire twelve months' personal service, will be supplied to _bonafide_ applicants.--Address, 'Joystick', c/o Messrs. Steady andStrong, Richborough Chambers, Southampton."

  "Claptrap!" declared Villiers, taking up the menu-card, whichrepresented something rather more concrete, and consequently rathermore digestible, than the newspaper announcement.

  "P'raps," admitted Claverhouse, with his characteristic drawl. "'Tanyrate the bloke's straightforward enough to tell you that you might bechucking your money away."

  "That's so," agreed Beverley. "We can investigate. I suppose there'sno obligation to carry on if the thing looks fishy."

  "I don't mind going that far," said Villiers. "And if it looks asound scheme I'll plank down three hundred. After all three hundredis only worth about a hundred and eighty pounds, and if we are keptemployed for a twelvemonth and get a bit of excitement chucked in,well--we might just as soon spend our gratuities that way as beingrooked and rushed at home."

  Beverley made no audible comment. He was of a cautious nature, andhis cautiousness was heightened by the fact that he was responsiblefor the maintenance of a young brother for at least a couple ofyears.

  While the waiter was taking orders the subject was dropped, but assoon as the man had departed Claverhouse returned to the matter.

  "Wonder if it's a filibustering stunt?" he hazarded.

  "Or piracy," added Villiers. "I heard a yarn floating around onlyyesterday about a merchant skipper whose crew were killed in coldblood by a U-boat. The old man was taken prisoner, but managed toescape, and now he's vowed to get his own back. How I don't know,unless he turns pirate and goes for every Fritz he falls in with onthe high seas."

  "Thanks, I'm not having any there," declared Beverley. "I don't wantto find myself hanging in the modern equivalent to Execution Dock."

  "Nor I," added Villiers. "Apparently this stunt has something to dowith the sea, since it's R.N.V.R. fellows who are wanted."

  "And Air Force blokes," said Claverhouse gently.

  "Nothing like sticking up for your own crush, old bird," remarkedVilliers. "Yes, that part puzzles me a bit. Look here, let's takeBeverley's advice and make inquiries. If it isn't all jonnick we canpipe down."

  "When?" asked Claverhouse. "Now? At once?"

  Villiers laughed.

  "Hardly," he replied. "Pretty guys we'd look trotting round toRichborough Chambers and asking for 'Joystick'. It's too much likeasking for trouble to my mind. No, the best thing we can do withoutcompromising ourselves is to write and ask for an interview. Then wecan resolve ourselves into a Committee of Ways and Means."

  "Joint letter?" asked Beverley.


  "No, individual, briefly stating our qualifications," repliedVilliers.

  "But, in that case, you or I might be sent for and the othersignored," objected Claverhouse. "I vote we stick together--united westand sort of touch."

  "That's the stuff to give 'em," was Villiers' rejoinder.