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Title: The Radio Detectives Under the Sea

Author: A. Hyatt Verrill

Release Date: April 21, 2013 [EBook #42569]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RADIO DETECTIVES UNDER THE SEA ***




Produced by Roger Frank








THE RADIO DETECTIVES UNDER THE SEA

BY

A. HYATT VERRILL

AUTHOR OF “THE RADIO DETECTIVES”,
“THE RADIO DETECTIVES SOUTHWARD BOUND,”
“THE RADIO DETECTIVES IN THE JUNGLE,”
“THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS,” ETC.

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

NEW YORK :: 1922 :: LONDON




COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.




CONTENTS

  I. In the Bahamas
  II. A Mysterious Disappearance
  III. Surprises
  IV. Radio Magic
  V. A Narrow Escape
  VI. On the Trail of the Submarine
  VII. The Fight With the Octopus
  VIII. Lost
  IX. Prisoners
  X. Radio to the Rescue
  XI. The Devil Dancers
  XII. Smernoff Pays His Debt
  XIII. The Tramp




THE RADIO DETECTIVES UNDER THE SEA




CHAPTER I

IN THE BAHAMAS


“Oh, look, Tom! There’s land!” cried Frank Putney as, coming on deck
one beautiful morning, he glanced across the shimmering sea and saw a
low cloud-like speck upon the horizon ahead.

“Hurrah! it must be the Bahamas,” exclaimed Tom Pauling, as he saw the
first bit of land they had sighted since leaving New York three days
previously. “Say, isn’t it bully to see land again? And isn’t this
water wonderful?”

To the two boys, the short sea trip had been a constant source of
interest, for while they had both been on ocean-going steamships
before and Frank had crossed the Atlantic, yet neither had ever
visited the tropics. The glistening flying fish which had skittered
like miniature sea-planes from under the plunging bows of the ship had
filled them with delight; they had fished up bits of the floating
yellow sargassum or Gulf Weed and had examined with fascination the
innumerable strange crabs, fishes and other creatures that made it
their home; they had watched porpoises as they played about the ship
and they had even caught a brief glimpse of a sperm whale.

The wonderfully rich indigo-blue water of the Gulf Stream was a
revelation to them and now that they were rapidly approaching the
outlying cays of the Bahamas, with the surrounding water malachite and
turquoise, emerald and sapphire with patches of dazzling purple and
streaks of azure they could scarcely believe it real.

“It doesn’t look like water at all,” declared Tom, as his father
joined them.

“It looks like—well, like one of those futurist paintings or as if
some one had spilled a lot of the brightest blue and green paint he
could find and had slapped on a lot of purple for good measure:”

Mr. Pauling laughed. “That’s accurate if not poetical,” he replied,
“and you’ll find, when you go ashore, that the imaginary man with the
paint pot did not stop at the water. The land is just as gaudy and
incredibly bright as the sea.”

“Is that Nassau ahead?” asked Tom.

“No, that’s a small cay,” replied one of the officers who had drawn
near the little group, “Egg Cay they call it. We’ll raise Rose Cay
next and should sight New Providence and Nassau about two o’clock.
Pretty, isn’t it?”

So intensely interested and excited were the two boys that they could
scarcely wait to eat their breakfast before they again rushed on deck
to find the little islet close to the ship, its cream-colored beaches
and purplish-gray coral rocks clear and distinct above the marvelously
tinted water edged by a thread of surf and with a few straggling palm
trees nodding above the low, dull-green bush which covered the cay.

But to the boys, there were more reasons for being interested and
excited than the mere fact that they were gazing for the first time at
a tropical island or were about to visit a strange land. They were on
an exciting and strange trip, a remarkable mission for two boys and
one which promised an abundance of adventure.

Like so many boys, they had become interested in radio and during
their experiments with various sets had heard peculiar messages from
some unidentified speaker. With their curiosity aroused, they had
tried, merely for the fun of the thing, to locate the sending station
by means of loop aerials or radio compasses.

Having decided that the voice came from a certain block on the East
Side of New York, they had reported their discovery to Mr. Henderson,
a federal employee and an associate of Tom’s father, for their boyish
imaginations had been fired with the idea that the speaker was a
lawbreaker associated with a gang of rum smugglers whom Mr. Pauling
was endeavoring to run down. But when a search of the block by Mr.
Henderson’s men failed to reveal any trace of a radio outfit the boys
had lost interest in the matter.

Then, when Mr. Pauling had returned from a mission to the Bahamas and
Cuba, he had told the boys of a young man named Rawlins who had
devised a remarkable type of diving suit which required no life line
or air hose, the oxygen for the diver to breathe being produced by
means of certain chemicals. Mr. Pauling had mentioned that the
inventor of the suit had stated that its one fault was that the user
could not communicate with those on a ship or on shore and Tom; his
mind ever on his favorite hobby, had suggested that radio might be
used. Later, when Rawlins met the boys in New York and Tom told him
his ideas, the diver fell in with the scheme and declared that he
believed it would be feasible to make a radio telephone apparatus
which could be used under water.

Fitting up his father’s dock on the East River front as a workshop and
laboratory, Rawlins and the boys worked diligently at Tom’s invention
and at last succeeded in devising a radio set with which the diver
could talk freely and easily with people on shore or with others under
the sea.

While trying out the device Tom and Rawlins discovered two other
divers whose actions were suspicious, and watching them, were amazed
to see the men enter an old disused sewer. Following them into the
sewer Tom and his companion were startled at hearing a conversation in
some foreign tongue and Rawlins insisted it came from the other divers
and that they too possessed undersea radio telephones. Hiding in the
shadows the two saw the strangers standing under a trap-door into
which they disappeared, taking with them a mysterious, cigar-shaped,
metal object like a torpedo.

A little later, as Tom and Rawlins were about to return to their own
dock, they again saw the men and following them were thunderstruck to
discover that they were about to enter a submarine lying at the bottom
of the river. Curious to find out more about the undersea craft,
Rawlins approached it and was suddenly attacked by the two men. Tom
unconsciously screamed and at the sound Frank, who was anxiously
waiting at the receiver on shore, asked what was wrong. Suddenly,
realizing that he was in touch with his friends, Tom called for help
asking Frank to send for the police. At his cries the submarine
quickly got under way, deserting the two strange divers who, seeing
their craft had left, surrendered to Rawlins.

In his excitement one of the men had been careless and as a result the
chemicals in his suit had flamed up at the touch of water and the man
had been seriously injured. With the captured diver, Tom and Rawlins
had made their way to the dock, carrying the wounded man and had
arrived just as Mr. Pauling with Mr. Henderson and the police arrived.
Tom had fainted from strain and excitement and when he recovered
consciousness found that the captive had been recognized as a
dangerous escaped criminal, a Russian “red” and that the other man was
at the point of death.

Mr. Pauling, having heard Rawlins’ tale, suspected a connection
between the deserted sewer, the strange divers, the submarine and the
mysterious messages the boys had heard and at once sent the police to
surround the block and search the buildings. As a result of the raid,
a garage had been found with a secret passage connecting with the
sewer and in which were stored vast quantities of liquor, contraband
goods, Bolshevist propaganda and loot taken from hold-ups and
robberies in New York.

Feeling that they had stumbled upon the key to a wave of crime and
“red” literature which had been sweeping the country, Mr. Henderson
questioned the captive, Smernoff, who confirmed the suspicions and
confessed that the submarine had been used for smuggling liquor and
other contraband into the united States and taking the ill-gotten loot
out and that the contraband had been picked up by the sub-sea boat in
mid ocean at spots where it had been dumped overboard from sailing
vessels by previous arrangements.

He insisted, however, that he knew nothing of the headquarters of the
gang or of their leader whom Henderson and his associates believed was
a master criminal, an unscrupulous, fiendish character who, during the
war, had undertaken to destroy the _Leviathan_, Brooklyn Bridge,
the Navy Yard and many buildings as well as thousands of people in
America and England, but who, failing in this, dared not return to
Germany. The government officials felt confident that this same master
mind was responsible for the wave of crime, the flood of Bolshevist
literature and the threatening letters which had baffled them.

Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson were also most anxious to secure a
statement from the other man, who was still unconscious in the
hospital, and when at last he was able to speak Mr. Pauling hurried to
his side. The dying man, thinking that his comrades had betrayed him,
related an astounding story, admitted the existence of the master
criminal and was on the point of revealing his headquarters when he
died.

At almost the same time word was received that the submarine had been
picked up, drifting at sea, by a destroyer despatched to find her, but
that she was absolutely deserted. When at last she was towed into New
York and was examined by Mr. Pauling, Rawlins and the boys she was
found stripped of everything which would have thrown light upon the
mystery. Questioning the crew of the destroyer, Rawlins discovered
that a fishing schooner had been sighted near the drifting submarine
and from the description he recognized it as a Bahaman vessel and
jumped to the conclusion that the crew of the submarine had
transhipped to it.

Believing that he could locate the headquarters of the plotters,
Rawlins suggested that he and the boys should go to the West Indies
and, after some objections had been overcome, this plan had been
agreed to by Tom’s father. Thus it came about that the two boys were
now upon a steamer’s deck as she churned her way through the intensely
blue sea towards the palm-fringed islands beyond her bows.

“I wonder when Rawlins will get here with that sub,” remarked Mr.
Henderson.

“Not for several days yet, I imagine,” replied Mr. Pauling. “There was
a lot of work to be done upon her and she cannot make much over
fifteen knots on a long cruise. I’m personally more anxious to hear
from the destroyers that are chasing the schooner. I wonder if Rawlins
was right in his surmise regarding her.”

“We should hear from them soon after we reach Nassau,” declared the
other. “We left three days after the destroyers and that schooner
certainly could not beat the destroyers to the islands or evade them.
I don’t think there’s the least question about their overhauling her.”

“Say, won’t it be great if they _do_ catch her,” exclaimed Tom,
“and find the crew of the submarine aboard?”

“Yes, but it’s very evident they have not even sighted her as yet,”
replied his father. “If they had we would have received a radio.”

“Perhaps they’re out of range of communication,” suggested Mr.
Henderson.

“Oh, no,” Tom assured him. “The operator says all those naval vessels
can send for several hundred miles and the weather’s been fine—no
static to speak of. We were talking to a Porto Rico liner this
morning.”

“I hope you haven’t given away any information in your enthusiasm over
radio,” remarked his father. “Remember we don’t want any one—not even
‘Sparks’—to have the least inkling of our purpose or plans Always
bear in mind the famous Spanish proverb that ‘a secret between two is
God’s secret but a secret between three is everybody’s.’”

“You needn’t worry about us, Dad,” Tom assured him, “we haven’t
breathed a word—not even about our under-sea radio, although we were
just wild to tell about it. You know our motto is ‘see everything,
hear everything and say nothing.’”

“Stick to that and you’ll be a credit to the Service,” laughed his
father as he and Mr. Henderson moved away.

Tom and Frank soon forgot all about radio or the chances of the swift
destroyers overtaking the schooner in the many interesting sights
about: the long-tailed graceful tropical birds whose snowy breasts
appeared a delicate sea-green from the sunlight reflected through the
clear water by the white sandy bottom of the sea; the bigger Booby
gannets that kept pace with the ship, seeming to float without effort
just above the rails, and that kept turning their china-blue eyes with
a curious stare upon the boys; the big, clumsy pelicans that, in
single file, flapped along a few inches above the sea, rising and
falling in unison with the waves and now and again plunging suddenly
with a tremendous splash into the water as their sharp eyes spied
schools of small fish. All these were new and strange to the boys and
once they caught a glimpse of a V-shaped line of twinkling red dots
against the blue sky which one of the officers assured them was a
flock of flamingoes.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom suddenly. “Say, just look there, Frank! See,
down there between the waves—I’m dead sure I saw the bottom!”

The officer chuckled. “Of course you did!” he assured Tom. “Why
not? You can see bottom at ten fathoms down here anywheres. Water’s
as clear as glass. Why, when you get to Nassau you can look down
and see the sea-fans and corals and marine growths perfectly
plainly—sea-gardens the Conchs call ’em—regular places for tourists
to go. And you can sit on the dock and fish and watch the fool fishes
nibbling at your bait—red and blue and yellow and every color of the
rainbow. Then, when you see one that suits your fancy you can just
yank him up—great thing this being able to pick your fish!”

The boys looked at him half suspiciously. “Say,” exclaimed Frank, “are
you trying to kid us?”

“Not a bit of it,” replied the purser. “Just wait and see. Why, if I
told you half the truth about such things you’d swear I was lying.”

“Golly!” ejaculated Tom. “Wouldn’t it be fine to go down in a diving
suit in such water. I don’t wonder that R—” Tom checked himself just
in time and asked, “But what do you mean by saying the ‘Conchs’ call
the places sea gardens?”

The purser laughed. “Oh, I forgot you’d never been down here,” he
said. “Conchs is the local name for the Bahamans. Guess it’s because
they’re always diving for conchs or maybe because they’re as much at
home under water as on land. Greatest divers in the world; fact, I’ve
seen ’em diving for sponge and coral many a time and when we get to
Nassau this afternoon you’ll see about ten thousand naked nigger boys
crowding about, begging you to toss pennies to ’em so they can dive
and catch them. Little beggars can grab a coin long before it gets to
the bottom and if you toss a penny off one side of the ship they’ll
dive off the other, swim under the keel and get the coin before it
reaches bottom. And speaking of diving—say, this is the real home and
headquarters of that. Met a chap down here last winter—Rawlins is his
name—was taking a lot of movies under water, fact. Had a new-fangled
sort of suit that didn’t have ropes or hose or anything and just
plumped overboard as easy as is and wandered around making friends
with the fishes.”

The boys nudged each other and winked. “Oh, now you _are_ kidding
us!” said Tom. “How could a fellow go down without air and how could
he take movies under the sea? That’s too big even for us to swallow.”

“Fact, just the same,” the other declared. “Had some sort of gadget
fixed up on his suit to make air and he took the movies in a big steel
room or chamber at the end of a jointed, water-tight pipe—had
electric lights and everything in it. Sure thing and no fooling. Saw
some of the pictures up in New York too. Yep, one of ’em was called
‘Drowned Gold’ or something of the sort—story of a treasure under the
sea—gathered in by Huns in a submarine and cached in an old wreck.
Rattling good picture too! Say, you boys want to see his place—got a
regular studio here. I don’t think Rawlins is here though.”

“That would be interesting,” agreed Frank, “I’d love to go down in a
diving suit and walk about on the bottom. Don’t the fish and things
ever trouble him?”

“No,” responded the purser, “even sharks keep off—only danger’s in
devil fish—octopus, you know. They grow mighty big hereabouts and are
likely to grab anything. Rawlins was making one picture of a whopping
big octopus fighting with a diver—fake devil fish made out of rubber,
but natural as is. Don’t know how it turned out but I tell you I’m not
keen on running foul of any of the real thing. And speaking of
sharks—say, here’s a fact that you boys will think’s a whopper.
Niggers down here dive in right among the sharks—carry a long knife
in their teeth—and grab hold of a shark’s fin and knife him, fact!”

“Well, you can’t tell any yarn bigger than that!” laughed Frank.
“Imagine a man tackling a shark under water! Oh come, you must think
we’re easy!”

“Well, just wait and see,” replied the purser, “but I’ll have to be
running along. There’s New Providence ahead—we’ll be getting into
port within the next hour.”

“Gosh, he’s some talker!” exclaimed Tom with a laugh when the
loquacious officer had left. “And wasn’t it rich—his telling us about
Rawlins and the suits and never guessing we knew him or had been down
in those suits ourselves! Say, I’m beginning to think there’s a lot of
fun in being Secret Service people. It’s sport listening to folks
telling all they know about a thing that you know more about and they
never guessing it.”

“Yes,” agreed Frank, “and I can understand now how detectives and
Secret Service men find out so much without any one suspecting them.
They just start a conversation and then let the other fellows do the
talking and pick up a lot of information. But that _was_ rich
about the sharks!”

“And the devil fish too!” added Tom. “Wonder if there _is_ any
danger from being attacked by an octopus. Say, if there is that’s
where our undersea radio would come in mighty fine.”

But whether or not the purser’s tales were true in regard to the
sharks and octopus the boys soon discovered that he had not in the
least exaggerated the clarity of the water or the skill of the native
diving boys when their ship steamed slowly into Nassau harbor.

It was all so wonderfully fascinating and beautiful that the boys kept
constantly uttering exclamations of surprise and delight. Never had
they dreamed that there could be such vivid colors anywhere in the
world. The sky, so blue it resembled a dense solid dome of blue silk;
the water, ultramarine, emerald and turquoise streaked with gold and
purple; the vivid green foliage with masses of scarlet hibiscus and
flaming poinciana trees; the glaring, snow-white coral streets; the
pink, blue, green, yellow, and lavender houses with their red roofs
and green shutters; the bright-hued orange and red bandannas and
gleaming costumes of the negro women crowding the dock; the lofty
nodding palm trees above the beaches and looming like gigantic feather
dusters above the buildings; the crimson and blue flags of England
flying everywhere; the scarlet tunics of strolling soldiers from the
garrison; the little shore boats bobbing upon the water and painted
every color of the rainbow and scores of sponging and fishing smacks
as brilliant in hues as the smaller craft, all combined to form a
kaleidoscopic picture of gaudy tints and blazing colors such as can be
found only in the tropic islands of the Caribbean. But all these
sights were of less interest to Tom and Frank than the naked black,
brown and yellow diving boys who paddled about the ship in crude
home-made boats, formed from discarded packing cases, or straddled
lengths of bamboo and with grinning faces and rolling eyes begged the
passengers to throw coins into the water exactly as the purser had
described. And when Tom and Frank tossed shining nickels into the sea
and the score of black bodies left the makeshift boats as one, the two
American boys burst into roars of merriment.

“Gosh, they’re just like a lot of black frogs!” cried Tom. “And just
look at them, Frank! See them! Look there! They’re after those nickels
and you can see them as plain as if they were under glass! There!
Look! One of them’s got a coin! And see how funny the pink soles of
their feet look! Say, it’s wonderful!”

For the next half hour the diving boys reaped a rich harvest of small
coins and then, the customs and port doctor’s men having completed
their inspection, Tom and Frank followed Mr. Pauling down the gangway
and a few moments later stood upon the first West Indian island they
had ever visited.




CHAPTER II

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE


For the first few days of their stay in Nassau the boys found plenty
to amuse them. They rowed out in a bright-hued rowboat with a glass
set in the bottom and gazed at the famed “sea gardens” and found them
even more wonderful than the ship’s purser had described. They
clambered over the ancient forts Williams and George; they bathed,
swam and fished to their hearts’ content and they visited the sponge
docks where the speedy little schooners and sloops with their grinning
black crews brought their catch of sponges to barter and trade.

The huge turtles, lying on their backs upon the decks of fishing
boats, were a novelty to the boys and they were absolutely fascinated
by the rainbow-tinted fish that swarmed in the waters and were sold in
the market. And they learned many new and interesting things also.
They had seen the bleached white corals in museums and saw the same
everywhere for sale in Nassau; and the first time they visited the sea
gardens and gazed down through the crystal clear water they were
surprised that no corals were visible.

There were huge sea-fans—purple and golden brown, long, black
sea-rods, brown and purple sea plumes, huge dull-orange and maroon
starfish, innumerable sea anemones with immensely long and
bright-colored tentacles and everywhere red, pink, yellow, blue and
particolored fish, like some sort of exotic butterflies, flitting
lazily among the marine growths. But not a white coral was visible.
Great rounded mounds of orange, bits of scarlet, masses of green and
lavender, of old rose and soft fawn brown were cluttered upon the
bottom, but in vain the boys sought for the massive brain corals and
graceful branched corals they knew so well.

“Well I don’t see any corals,” declared Tom after he had gazed at the
multicolored objects upon the ocean bottom for some time. “It’s
pretty, but I thought corals grew everywhere down here.”

The black boatmen chuckled. “Beggin’ yo’ pardon, Chief,” he remarked,
“tha’s plenty coral down tha’, Chief. Yaas, sir, all erbout. Doan’ yo’
di’sarn ’em, Chief?”

“No,” replied Tom, “I can’t see a single white thing there—all I see
are bright colored weeds and sea-fans and rocks.”

The negro looked genuinely surprised. “Bless yo’ soul!” he exclaimed.
“Yo’ cawnt be a s’archin’ fo’ white coral is yo’? White coral’s jus’
dead coral, Chief. Tha’s da culmination o’ tha’ manner o’ it’s
prep’ration, Chief. Yaas, sir, all tha’ objec’s yo’ di’sarn growin’
down to tha’ bottom is corals, Chief. Yaas, sir, some of tha’ kin’s is
yellow an’ some red an’ some green.”

It was the boys’ turn to be surprised. “Why, you don’t mean all those
things like stones covered with bright-colored weeds are coral!”
exclaimed Frank incredulously.

“Yaas, sir, Chief,” the negro assured him. “Ah’ll demonstrate it to
yo’ entire satisfaction, Chief.”

As he spoke, the half-naked negro stood up in the little craft and
before the astonished boys realized what he was about to do he had
plunged into the clear water and the boys watched in wonder as they
saw him swimming easily straight towards the bottom, a little string
of bubbles rising from him and the pink soles of his feet flashing
strangely. In an instant he had reached the masses of growth on the
sea floor and the boys saw him pulling and working at a projecting
ledge of vivid violet and green. Then he turned and shot up to the
surface like a flash. As he broke through the water he tossed a large
lump of brilliant material into the boat and clambered over the stern.

Interestedly the boys examined what he had brought and to their
absolute amazement discovered that it really was coral, but as the man
explained, completely concealed under the fleshy covering of the
animals which resembled tiny sea anemones of wonderful tints.

But after their first momentary surprise and interest at the discovery
the two boys found much more to attract them in the denizens of the
mass of coral than in the coral itself. Odd red and white crabs
emerged from their hiding places, a tiny fish that glittered with the
dazzling hues of a fire opal flapped from under a bit of adhering
seaweed, funny slug-like molluscs of intense blue and gold crawled
about the mass, queer little snails were everywhere and when the boys
disturbed the coral or handled it they heard odd snapping noises like
lilliputian firecrackers.

For a time this puzzled them until Frank discovered to his intense
delight that the sounds were made by tiny lobster-like crustaceans
that dwelt in holes in the hard coral and viciously snapped their
claws when disturbed.

“Say,” asked Tom presently, “weren’t you afraid of a devil
fish—octopus, you know—down there?”

“Bless your soul, no, Chief!” grinned the negro. “Tha’ fellow doan’
never humbug us. We eats them down here, Chief.”

“Eat them!” exclaimed Frank in surprise. “Gee! I’d hate to eat the
slimy things. But I thought they attacked divers, pulled them down
with their tentacles and killed them.”

“No, sir!” declared the boatman. “Tha’s jus’ foolishness. 'Cose a big
fellow _might_ humbug a diver, but Ah ne’er knew o’ such a
happenin’ an’ Ah was spongin’ fo’ ten years an’ mo’.” Then a broad
grin spread over the man’s face and he shook silently as though
laughing to himself over some amusing memory. “Yaas, sir,” he went on.
“Come to take consideration o’ the matter Ah did know o’ one o’ tha’
fellows makin’ to fight with a diver. Yaas, sir, a almighty big
fellow—jes erbout three fathoms across he was, Chief. Yaas, sir, he
went fo’ to make trouble with Mr. Rawlins, Chief, jus’ fo’ to
commo-date the picture, but tha’ one was a tame orctopus—made out o’
rubber an’ springs fo’ the occasion, Chief.”

“Oh, yes, we heard about that,” said Tom, “but do you know Mr.
Rawlins?”

“Bless yo’ soul, yaas, sir,” the negro assured him. “’Cose Ah knows
Mr. Rawlins, ev’yone here knows he. Why, Ah been we’kin fo’ Mister
Rawlins fo’ mos’ two years, Chief. Does yo’ know he too, Chief?”

“Oh, slightly,” replied Frank casually, realizing that they had not
adhered strictly to their motto. “But how about sharks? Don’t they
attack people in the water?”

The darky fairly guffawed with merriment. “Ah speculate some folks
been a yarnin’ to yo’,” he declared. “Yaas, sir, das’ it. Sharks! Lord
a’mighty 'cose tha’s sharks plenty hereabouts, but no one don’ make no
flust’ration 'bout those fellows, no, sir! Why, Lawd bless yo’ soul,
Chief, we Conchs goes down an’ kills sharks weselves. Yaas, sir, jus’
take a knife erlong an’ cotches hoi’ o’ a fin an’ slashes of them.”

“Gosh! then it’s true after all!” cried Tom. “The purser on the ship
told us that, but we wouldn’t believe it.”

But despite the boys’ desire to see a shark and their boatman’s
promise to demonstrate the fact that it is an easy matter to kill a
ten-foot man-eater single-handed in his native element, none of the
sea tigers presented themselves for the sake of the exhibition.

“Tha’ don’ is such a plenty o’ sha’ks roun’ here 'bout as tha’ was,”
the boatman informed them when the boys expressed their surprise at
seeing no sharks in waters which they had imagined teemed with them.

“Yo’ see tha’ tourists an’ folks what comes here-'bout cotches he an’
shoots at he an’ causes such a flustration 'mongst ’em tha’s mos’ all
scared away, Chief. Yaas, sir, I 'spec’ if yo’ wants to see sha’ks
yo’ll bes’ take a cruise 'board one of tha’ spongers. Tha’s plenty o’
sha’ks roun’ erbout tha’ cays an’ the sponging grounds.”

But the boys did see an octopus or “sea cat” as the natives call them.
As they were returning to Nassau they passed a fishing boat and going
alongside to see what the men had caught they were shown one of the
devil fishes which had just been hauled up from its home on the ocean
floor. It was not a large specimen—barely five feet across its
outstretched tentacles, but as it writhed and squirmed upon the sloop’s
deck the boys shuddered at its sucker-covered, snake-like arms, its
hideous pulpy body and its cold, cruel, lid-less, unwinking and
baleful eyes.

“Gosh! how can any one eat such things!” exclaimed Tom.

“And say, just imagine being tackled by such an awful beast down under
the sea!” added Frank. “I’d die of pure fright, I believe.”

Little did the boys realize that they would have a chance to test
their sensations under such circumstances and little did they know
that the delicious, thick, stew-like soup which they had enjoyed so
much was made from the repulsive octopus.

When the boys reached Nassau they found a trim little gray destroyer
anchored off the town and the American flag, flapping gently in the
breeze at her stern, left no doubt as to her nationality.

“Oh, say!” cried Frank. “There she is! Gee! why weren’t we here when
she came in?”

“May not be,” declared Tom. “Lots of American destroyers drop in here
and we won’t miss anything anyhow. The boat’s only reaching the dock
now. She must have just come in.”

By the time the boys stepped ashore the officer from the destroyer’s
boat had entered a rattle-trap carriage and had driven away, while
about the white-clad bluejackets in the waiting cutter were crowds of
blacks, laughing and jabbering and striving to sell the sailors
everything from seed necklaces and bits of coral to pineapples and
mangoes.

As they pushed through the close-packed, brightly-garbed throng the
boys caught a glimpse of one broad-shouldered sailor who was arguing
over a bunch of bananas with an immensely fat colored woman and
instantly they recognized him.

“Say, ’tis the destroyer,” exclaimed Tom. “Look, there’s the bosun’s
mate who told us about the schooner. Gee, I wonder if they got her!”

Hailing a carriage, for they were too eager to hear the news to walk,
the two boys were driven quickly to their hotel and hurrying to their
rooms found Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson talking with an officer in a
commander’s uniform.

“Hello, just in time, boys!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling as the two
appeared. “Commander West just got in and was about to give us the
news.”

“I’m sorry it’s not very good news,” said the officer. “In fact no
news at all—as far as results are concerned. We sighted the schooner
just north of Watling’s island and signaled her to heave to, but she
did not pay the least attention. We couldn’t send a shot after her,
you know—serious matter to fire on or near a vessel on the high seas,
and she was flying the British flag. Before we could come alongside
she slipped in between the reefs and we had to slow down and feel our
way—dangerous channels those between the coral, you know—and by the
time we rounded the next cay she’d completely disappeared. Strangest
thing I’ve ever seen. Not a trace of her, if she’d sunk with all on
board she could not have vanished more mysteriously. Of course we
supposed that she’d slipped into some little bay or cove where we
couldn’t follow so we anchored and sent our boats off. They ran around
every cay and island within sight, but not a sign of that blessed
packet. It gets me, I admit.”

“H-m-m!” muttered Mr. Henderson. “Sort of phantom ship, eh? Was it
possible she slipped away behind the islands while you were getting
through the reefs?”

“Don’t see how she could,” replied Commander West. “Her topmasts would
have shown up somewheres. No, she must have got into some landlocked
bay that our men missed—hard thing to see some of those with the
fringe of palms along the outer beach hiding the entrance, you know.
Well, to continue. We decided to search every cay the next morning—it
was pretty near dark then—and we did, but not a sign. Then we gave up
and were cruising about, thinking she’d slipped out during the night
and we might pick her up and the next day what do you think? Why we
got a radio from Haverstraw of the _Porter_ saying they’d sighted
her over by the Caicos and that she gave him the slip among the reefs
the same way. He had a little better luck though. Found her all
right.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Tom as the commander hesitated. “Did they get the
men?”

“They found her, as I said,” continued the officer, “anchored off one
of the cays and—absolutely deserted!”

“Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Deserted! Confound those fellows.
They seem to have a habit of deserting their ships! First the
submarine and now the schooner. Did Lieutenant Haverstraw find
anything on her?”

“Nothing suspicious,” replied the commander. “To all intents and
purposes she was merely a fishing smack. Didn’t even have a wireless
aboard. He might have towed her to port as a derelict, but he radioed
for advice and I told him to leave her. If he’d brought her in there
might have been too many questions asked—Admiralty investigation and
all—these Britishers are just as particular about a smack as a liner
when it comes to maritime law, you know, and they have a blamed
uncomfortable way of asking too many questions sometimes. Of course I
realize that the two governments would straighten it out and keep
matters quiet, but the local authorities might not and she’s just as
well off there as here as far as I can see.”

“Yes, no need of arousing curiosity,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “Did you
search the islands near her to see if the men had gone ashore?”

“Haverstraw tells me he even looked inside the conch shells on the
beach,” replied the officer with a laugh. “Says if he finds another
abandoned ship he’ll resign—getting on his nerves. He’s the one who
picked up the submarine, you know. However, I’m sailing for the Caicos
this evening—if those men are on any of the cays or took to another
vessel we’ll find them.”

“Oh, I’ve an idea!” exclaimed Tom who had been thinking rapidly. “If
those fellows on the submarine deserted her and took to the schooner
as we thought, perhaps they left the schooner and went to a
submarine.”

“Well, I’ll be——” began Mr. Henderson. “Why in thunder haven’t we
thought of that before? What did I tell you, Pauling? Didn’t I say
these boys would give us old hands some new ideas? Jove! I’ll wager
that _is_ the solution. Probably knew where the sub was waiting
and made for it. Had her ready for just such an emergency.”

“That may be it,” admitted Commander West, “but if ’tis where in the
name of the Great Horn Spoon do they get the subs? They’re pretty
darned expensive little toys, you know, and a chap can’t buy or build
one the way he can a skiff. Seems to me some one would have known if
there were mysterious submarines knocking about.”

“It is a mystery,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but the whole affair has been
full of mystery. I think, however, there may be a simple solution to
this one. If we assume that the head of the organization is whom we
suspect it to be he might well have obtained German U-boats. We must
remember that in his original undertaking he possessed unlimited means
and almost unlimited authority and had the confidence of the Prussian
government. Is it not possible or even probable that he had several
sub-sea craft on this side of the Atlantic—we know he made use of one
in his nefarious scheme—and that with the failure of his plans and
the collapse of Germany he appropriated the subs for his own private
designs? The crews in fact might have joined with him—we have proof
that some of those on the captured U-boat were formerly in the German
navy and if he has a secret headquarters down here is it likely he
would risk all on one submarine?”

“I imagine your theory is very nearly correct,” replied Mr. Henderson.
“If so, there is little use in attempting to accomplish anything until
Rawlins arrives. When should he be here, Commander?”

“That’s hard to say,” replied the officer. “We had a code message
several days ago to the effect that she had completed refitting and
was expected to sail any time. If she left the following day—let’s
see, that was last Friday—she might be at her rendezvous by day after
to-morrow—Thursday. I should hardly expect her before then. But
Disbrow is posted near there and will undoubtedly notify you the
moment she is sighted. You know the plan was for Rawlins to signal our
ship about thirty miles off the island and then run submerged to avoid
any possibility of being seen. Then Disbrow will radio you—Rawlins’
outfit might not reach you and a simple and innocent-appearing message
from Disbrow would excite no comment. Well, I must be getting off. If
we stay here too long these Conchs will wonder why we’re here. I gave
out we just dropped in for fresh vegetables and fruit and I expect my
gobs have loaded up by now.”

After the commander left, the conversation was all of this latest
development in the search for the mysterious conspirators and every
phase and theory was thoroughly threshed out without coming to any
more definite conclusion than before.

“It’s just one confounded disappearance after another!” declared Mr.
Henderson. “I shouldn’t be surprised now if Rawlins vanished or even
if that Smernoff had gone up in a wisp of smoke.”




CHAPTER III

SURPRISES


As if in answer to his words, there was a knock at the door and as Tom
opened it a colored boy handed him an envelope which he instantly
recognized as a cable.

It was addressed to Mr. Pauling and as Tom’s father tore it open and
glanced at its contents a strange expression swept over his face and
he uttered a sharp ejaculation of surprise.

“Speak of angels, Henderson!” he remarked, as he passed the cable to
his associate. “What do you think of that?”

“Well, I’ll be——” began Mr. Henderson as he hurriedly read the
familiar cypher message, “Smernoff has escaped! Confound those
fellows! Can’t they keep any one under lock and key? The second time
too. Now there will be the devil to pay.”

“Yes, it’s regrettable,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but I wouldn’t worry
over him. The chances are they’ll get him again and I can’t see how it
will be possible for him to reach his friends down here or even to
communicate with them—with his submarine gone and his confederates
arrested or dead. And we have all the information he could give us.
No, I don’t think his escape will trouble us much in this undertaking.
I’d hate to be in your shoes and in the States with him though. He’s
sworn to ‘get’ you, Henderson, and he’s absolutely reckless and
ruthless, as you know.”

“Gosh, he might come down here!” exclaimed Tom.

“Little chance of that,” his father assured him. “Every ship will be
watched and don’t forget he has neither diving suit, radio nor
undersea boat to help him. Besides he’ll find it a hard job to
discover where we are. Don’t be nervous over him, boys.”

For several days nothing eventful occurred and the boys began to find
time hanging heavily on their hands. Mr. Pauling would not consent to
their taking a trip on a sponging vessel as they had hoped, for, as he
pointed out, word from Rawlins might be received at any moment and
there could be no delay. But the arrival of the mails from New York,
bringing the latest radio news and radio periodicals, proved a godsend
to the boys who had discovered that a tiny island the size of New
Providence was somewhat limited in the interests it possessed for two
go-ahead, strenuous lads, despite its picturesque town, its odd people
and its beauties.

The two were soon deep in the latest developments of radio and were
eagerly discussing plans for the wonderful things they would do when
the present trip was successfully ended and they were once more in New
York. Tom was just reading an article on the almost miraculous
properties of specially prepared crystals of Rochelle salt when his
father entered the room.

“Better pack your duds!” he exclaimed. “Here’s good news for you.”

“Oh, I bet Mr. Rawlins’s arrived!” cried Tom, throwing aside his
magazine and jumping up.

“Right the first time!” his father replied, smiling. “That is, he has
not arrived, but I have just received a radio message from Disbrow
saying ‘William sends regards’ which means that the submarine has
signaled and that all is well. He is probably close to the prearranged
meeting place now and the launch is ready. Get your things together
and we’ll be off. Remember, if any one questions you we are off for a
fishing trip.”

Half an hour later the four were aboard a fast cabin launch which had
been purchased and held in readiness for the news of Rawlins’ arrival.

Leaving Nassau astern, the launch was headed towards the north, but no
sooner were they out of sight of any prying eyes which might be
watching from the island, than they slipped behind some low cays and
shifted their course to the east. At the wheel was a stalwart
brown-skinned young man and Tom in whispers asked his father if he was
sure the negro could be trusted.

Mr. Pauling laughed. “You’re getting as suspicious of every one as an
old hand,” he replied. “Don’t fret over Sam, Tom. He’s been with us
for years and very luckily too. He was born and bred in the Bahamas
and these natives never forget a channel or a reef. He was with me
when I was down here in the spring.”

“But I never saw him before,” said Tom, rather puzzled to know where
this chocolate-colored addition to their forces had been hidden.

“Of course not,” chuckled his father, “and you never saw several other
men in Nassau whom I might name. I might add another sentence to that
excellent motto of yours and that is: ‘and be seen by no one until
occasion calls for it.’ However, Sam saw you and was never very far
from you. In fact I believe he once taught you that living corals are
not white.”

“Jehoshaphat!” exclaimed Frank. “You don’t mean to say he’s the
boatman!”

“Exactly!” replied Mr. Pauling. “Didn’t you recognize him?”

“But, but, the boatman didn’t look like him,” declared Tom, staring at
the pilot, “he had a gray beard and gray hair and talked like one of
the Conchs.”

“A little gray wool and a gray wig will work wonders—especially on a
black man,” replied Mr. Pauling. “And remember Sam is a Conch as you
call them and can naturally talk his native dialect.”

“Well, I never believed all those detective stories about men
disguising themselves,” said Frank, “but I will hereafter.”

Mr. Henderson laughed heartily. “No real detective or Secret Service
man uses disguises—that is false beards and wigs and make
up—nowadays,” he declared. “To attempt a disguise would be to excite
suspicions at once—any crook with half an eye would penetrate such
makeshifts in New York; but with a colored man down here it’s
different. The natives are not observant and there are few if any
skillful crooks, and who would imagine for a moment that a negro was
in the Service? No, boys, you must learn to believe only what you
actually see.”

“Even less than that,” added Mr. Pauling. “I should say ‘believe only
half that you see and nothing you hear.’”

“Then I only believe half of Sam and nothing he told us,” laughed Tom.
“Did he really work for Mr. Rawlins?”

“Yes and no,” replied his father. “He met Rawlins when I did last
spring and did take a part in one film—Rawlins wanted a man to tackle
a shark under water and Sam volunteered; but he was not regularly
employed.”

“Gosh, then Sam really has done that!” cried Frank. “Say, I hope we
see a shark so he can do it for us.”

“Sam has other matters to attend to,” Mr. Pauling reminded him, “but
if he has time when we reach the place we’re bound for he will no
doubt gladly accommodate you and any sharks that may be about.”

Now that the boys knew the secret of the black man they decided to
have some sport themselves and after securing Mr. Pauling’s and Mr.
Henderson’s promises that they would not tell Sam that the boys knew
that he was their former boatman, the two lads plied Sam with
questions, pretending to swallow everything he said without
hesitation. Then, very adroitly, they led the conversation into other
channels and let out many hints that led Sam to believe they had
penetrated his former disguise.

“What do you dye your hair with?” asked Frank innocently. “It used to
be gray.”

Sam looked troubled. “Dye ma hair?” he replied, striving to maintain a
puzzled expression and to speak in casual tones. “I guess you is
jokin’. Ah don’t dye ma hair, Boss. No, sir, ma wool’s jus’ as the
Lord made it.”

“Well why did you shave off your whiskers?” asked Tom. “Thought you
looked too old to suit those darky girls in Nassau?”

Sam was now genuinely uneasy. “Ah doan’ bother wif she,” he declared
indignantly, and unconsciously lapsing into the Conch vernacular. “Ah
always shaves. Yaas, sir, Ah never grow no whiskers. Wha’ fo’ yo’ arsk
such interrogation, Chief?”

“I guess a shark must have bitten it off,” suggested Frank in an
undertone nudging Tom slyly, “or perhaps it was in the way when he
dove after corals to show to some other Northerners looking for white
corals.”

Sam turned and stared at the boys in amazement. “Lawd bless yo’!” he
exclaimed. “Den fo’ a fac’ yo’ knowed me an’ was jus’ pretendin’ yo’
didn’t all tha’ time!”

“Of course!” replied Tom trying to keep a sober face as he saw Sam’s
surprise and chagrin at having been discovered, “you must have thought
we _were_ green.”

For a moment, poor Sam seemed utterly dispirited. He had taken the
utmost pride in his clever disguise and now, after all, these two boys
had penetrated it. If that were so, then no doubt, others had done the
same and Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson would blame him.

But the next instant a relieved look swept over his good-matured face
as he caught sight of the two gentlemen trying to stifle their laughs,
and, realizing it had all been a plant, he burst into a hearty roar of
merriment over the way he had been fooled.

“Ah guess yo’ young gent’men did sure 'nough get ma goat!” he
exclaimed, “an’ Ah’m jus’ boun’ fo’ to get yours an’ knife a sh’ak.”

Now that the boys had had their sport with Sam they found him a most
interesting companion, and standing in the bows of the speeding
launch, asked him innumerable questions about the various islets, the
birds, the fish and the reefs they passed. It was nearly sundown when
they sighted the island where it had been agreed they would meet
Rawlins—a lovely palm-fringed islet with silvery-white beaches, and,
much to the boys’ surprise, they saw the roofs of buildings peeping
from among the foliage.

“Why, people live there!” cried Tom. “Say, we can’t meet Mr. Rawlins
there.”

“Those are Rawlins’ buildings,” replied his father smiling at Tom’s
distressed expression. “Didn’t I tell you? This is where he takes his
undersea pictures—his studio and workshop, you know—but at this
season it’s deserted. We’re perfectly safe there.”

A few minutes later the launch slipped through a narrow channel
between outjutting ledges of jagged, gray coral rock and entered a
beautiful little harbor or cove. On one side was a low point, covered
with coconut palms, and on the other a white sand-beach with a small
dock and with a large wooden building,—red roofed and with green
shutters—just beyond.

“Well we’re here first,” exclaimed Tom as the launch forged slowly
towards the dock. “There’s no sign of the submarine.”

“No, but some one’s here!” cried Frank.

As he spoke a figure appeared upon the dock holding glasses to his
eyes and the next moment the boys recognized it.

“Gosh! It’s Mr. Rawlins!” shouted Tom. “But where _is_ the
submarine?”

A moment later the launch grated alongside the pier and Rawlins with a
grin welcomed them.

“But—but, where’s the submarine?” demanded Tom before Rawlins could
speak.

“Safe and sound!” he replied. “Welcome to my kingdom!”

Then, when the first greeting was over, he exclaimed. “I’ll say I’ve
news for you! Couldn’t guess what ’tis. When we were tinkering around
in that old sub, we found a secret compartment—sort of locker—and
some darned queer things in it—radio stuff of some sort, I expect. I
didn’t show it to any one—not even to our ‘Sparks’ but I’ve got it up
at the house. Come on and have a look at it. And I’ve another surprise
for you too—but that will keep—that’s for you, Mr. Pauling. Come
along.”

Hurrying up the path between the hedges of gay-flowered hibiscus the
party entered the building which served Rawlins as den, living place
and workshop combined.

The boys were amazed as they glanced about. They had not expected to
find anything on the island and here they were surrounded with every
comfort. Luxurious wicker-work furniture all about; enlarged
photographs-and paintings of scenes from Rawlins’ sub sea films on the
walls; rugs of woven grass and matting on the polished floors; a
phonograph in one corner and shelves of books.

On a stand at one side of the room was a model of a submarine complete
in all its details; there were models of sailing vessels on shelves
and freshly cut flowers filled vases and bowls.

“Say, you’ve a regular house here!” cried Tom, “It’s fine!”

“Oh, it’ll do for a hang-out,” replied Rawlins as he began to undo a
package, “But you’ll like the studio better. Look here, what do you
make of these?”

As he spoke he showed the boys the contents of the package. There were
one or two of the single control coils the boys had already seen, a
pair of peculiar phone receivers, several beautiful shining crystals,
one of which was secured in a metallic stand or ring and an odd affair
about two feet in length and three inches in diameter looking like an
overgrown walking stick wound with wire and with a sliding ring upon
it.

For an instant, the two boys gazed at the collection with puzzled,
uncomprehending faces and then, suddenly, a queer look of mingled
surprise, delight and understanding swept across Tom’s features.

“Gosh!” he cried, picking up one of the crystals, “Gosh! I’ll bet I do
know what these are. Say, they’re those wonderful Rochelle salt
crystals I was reading about. Now we _will_ have something worth
while! But I can’t imagine what this thing is, it looks like a funny
big coil, but whoever saw a coil like it and with this sliding ring on
it?”

It was now Frank’s turn to exhibit his knowledge of the latest
discoveries in radio. “Hurrah, I know!” he exclaimed. “It’s a
resonance coil! Don’t you remember, I was just speaking about it when
your father told us to get ready? Say, these things beat loop aerials
all to pieces. Why, that magazine said that with one of ’em you could
tell where a sending station was and even how far away! It’s an aerial
and tuning coil in one. Gee, Tom, we _are_ in luck! If we want to
find those chaps now we’ll have a regular cinch!”

At the boys’ excited exclamations Mr. Henderson, who had been
examining a picture, turned to them.

“What’s all the excitement, boys?” he asked. “Anything interesting
that Rawlins has found?”

“Well I should say _so_!” declared Tom. “Look, here’s some of
those Rochelle salt crystals and a resonance coil. Do you know about
them, Mr. Henderson?”

“Jove, you’re right!” ejaculated the other. “Yes, I’ve seen
experiments made with the salt—and have seen them used in submarine
work during the war too, and I’ve read Gen. Squiers’ articles on the
resonance coil and its properties. No wonder those fellows in the sub
got by with such things to aid them.”

“Well I suppose it’s all mighty plain to you, but I’ll be hanged if I
can see where Rochelle salts come in,” declared Rawlins. “I thought
that was medicine.”

“So it is, under certain conditions,” agreed Mr. Henderson, “but if
the salt is prepared or ‘grown’ so as to form a certain kind of
crystal it possesses almost magical properties. By its aid one can
hear a fly walk, insects talk or molecules of metal turning over in an
iron bar.”

“Nothing doing!” exclaimed Rawlins. “I can believe pretty big yarns
after seeing what radio does, but I’m from Missouri when you talk
about a bit of salt making a fellow hear a fly’s trotters or the
inside of iron getting restless. You’ll have to show me.”

“That will be easy, I imagine,” replied Mr. Henderson. “Tom says he’s
been reading the accounts of it. I expect he can make you hear your
own thoughts almost. But with no exaggeration it is a most marvelous
thing. During the war we used it as a detector to hear vessels at a
distance—particularly subs, and it saved countless thousands of
lives. One man in Washington is employed to devote all of his spare
time merely to growing these special crystals. If Tom can arrange the
apparatus on the submarine we can locate the other sub if we get near
her. You’ve made a great find, Rawlins.”

“What’s that you said about another sub?” asked Rawlins. “Don’t tell
me they’ve got another one!”

“That’s what we think,” replied Mr. Pauling. “I forgot you didn’t
know.” In a few words he related Commander West’s story of the finding
of the deserted schooner and the disappearance of the crew.

“I’ll say they’re some little deserters!” exclaimed Rawlins, “and
you’re dead right about another sub, I’ll bet. And say, that helps us
some too. They left that schooner and took to the U-boat—that is if
they did have a sub at the Caicos. Well, that fits right in with my
theory about the latitude and longitude. If they left the schooner
there and took the sub you can bet the Caicos are not far from their
hang-out. I’ll bet they knew the destroyer wouldn’t touch the smack
and expected to lie low and take her again after the boys had cleared
out. Why, they might have been lying submerged right alongside of her
or with their periscope sticking up watching the destroyer from back
of some reef or a bunch of mangroves. Yes, sir—if we hit the Caicos
we won’t be far off.”

“H-m-m, there’s a lot of good reasoning there,” agreed Mr. Pauling.
“And if we’re to prove the theory the quicker we get started the
better.”

“Right you are,” agreed Rawlins. “We’re ready to sail any time. I just
want to get a few things together and I’ll be with you. Want to have a
look around the studio and shop, boys?”

The boys would gladly have remained for hours or even days in the
studio but they realized there was no time to be lost. Here were
diving suits of all kinds, sets representing the interior of ships and
submarines, the yards and rigging of a bark complete, but with no
hull, strange devices at whose use they could only guess and in one
corner the enormous intricate octopus of rubber, springs and wire
which when occupied by a man, could be made to imitate so perfectly
the real creature that scientists who had seen the picture in which it
figured had insisted that it was a genuine octopus.

The workshop also was full of interesting things. Here was where
Rawlins and his assistants made the diving suits, the under-sea
apparatus for taking the films, the lifelike octopus, the miniature
ships, the complicated and wonderful counterfeits of the interiors of
the submarines and many other objects.

But long before they had half time to examine all these things Rawlins
was ready and leading the way along a narrow path through the brush
headed for the other end of the island.

“Aren’t you afraid some one will disturb your property?” asked Mr.
Henderson, “I shouldn’t think it safe to leave all these things
unguarded.”

“I don’t,” replied Rawlins. “I have an old colored chap and his wife
who live here. That’s why I kept the submarine out of sight.”

“Where are they now?” asked Mr. Pauling. “Are you sure their curiosity
won’t be aroused and that they may not wonder at your sudden
appearance and departure and our arrival?”

Rawlins laughed. “They might be curious or talk about a sub—if they
saw it, but as far as I’m concerned they are quite sure I’m an obeah
man—sort of witch-doctor you know—and absolutely incomprehensible.
If I dropped from the sky in a parachute and left in a pillar of flame
they’d think it quite in keeping with my habits and no more remarkable
than walking into the sea and out again at will. Just at present
they’re so busy over some things I brought ’em that they wouldn’t see
a sub if it poked its nose into their cabin. And even if they wanted
to talk they couldn’t, there’s not a soul living within a dozen
miles.”

They had now come out of the brush upon a second miniature harbor
where a small boat was drawn up on the smooth beach.

With Sam helping, Rawlins shoved off the boat as the others climbed
in.

“We might have come around by the launch, I suppose,” Rawlins
remarked, “but it’s safer over at the dock and this boat’s handier.”

Sam at the oars and Rawlins steering, the boat swept away from the
beach and headed for a jutting point.

As they drew near and the boys were watching the circling seabirds and
admiring the beautifully colored water, Rawlins spoke to Sam and
ordered him to stop rowing.

“See anything of the sub?” he asked as the boat lost headway.

Every one gazed about, expecting to see the undersea boat just awash
or just emerging from the surface, but not a ripple broke the glassy
water. Along the shore they were approaching was a dense belt of green
trees—mangroves and sea grape—with a few ragged coconut palms above
all, but not a sign of anything remotely resembling a submarine.

“No, I give up,” said Mr. Pauling at last.

“So do I,” added Mr. Henderson.

“Me too,” said Tom.

“I don’t believe it’s here,” declared Frank.

Rawlins chuckled. “Thought it was pretty good,” he exclaimed. “You’ve
been looking right at her, too.”

“Looking at her!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling.

“Where?”

“Straight ahead,” laughed Rawlins, “over against that point.”

All eyes were now turned towards the point and as Sam again took to
his oars and they drew nearer and nearer the two men and the boys
searched the rocks and greenery in vain.

Not until they were within one hundred yards of the shore were they
rewarded. Then Tom uttered a cry. “Hurrah, I see it!” he shouted.
“Gosh, but she _was_ hidden! Say, how did you do it?”

“Just a bit of camouflage,” chuckled Rawlins. “Idea I got when making
a set once. Thought it might be handy to be able to lie on the surface
and not be seen sometime.”

“Well you’ve certainly succeeded,” declared Mr. Henderson. “The effect
of the rocks and foliage is perfect. I’d defy any one to see her five
hundred feet distant.”

Even now the outlines of the submarine were so hidden by the clever
painting on her upper works and hull that the boys could not have been
sure what was boat and what was foliage if a man had not appeared,
emerging from a hatchway, and followed by two others.

The next minute the boat was alongside the craft, and scrambling onto
her decks the boys gazed about with interest.

They had been on this same underseas boat before, but then she had
been tied up to a dock in the Navy Yard and only curiosity to see what
she contained had filled their minds. But now she was riding on the
waters in the West Indies, she was manned and ready to sail and the
boys were wildly excited at the thoughts of adventures to come and of
sailing on a real submarine under the sea.




CHAPTER IV

RADIO MAGIC


“It appears to me there’s one point you’ve overlooked,” remarked Mr.
Pauling as he glanced about. “I thought your main idea in using this
submarine was that if sighted by any of those we are after they would
recognize it and their suspicions would not be aroused. With this
disguise they would never know the boat.”

Rawlins laughed. “Oh, I’ve kept that in mind,” he responded. “This is
just a camouflaged camouflage.”

Then, before Mr. Pauling could ask for an explanation, he turned to
the members of his crew, gave an order and, to the amazement of Mr.
Pauling and his party, the men commenced to strip a layer of painted
canvas from the submarine.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, “that’s cleverly done. I never
realized it was not painted upon the vessel herself. You’re some
artist, Rawlins.”

As soon as the canvas disguise had been removed, preparations were
made to get under way and all entered the hatch in the superstructure.

“How about the destroyer?” inquired Mr. Pauling. “Did you arrange with
Disbrow to be near in case of need?”

“Yes,” replied Rawlins. “We simply have to give him our position and
he’ll be within an hour’s run.”

“Didn’t I understand you had a surprise in store for us?” asked Mr.
Henderson. “What was it, that canvas camouflage?”

“Not a bit of it!” declared Rawlins. “It’s down below. Come along and
have a look at it.”

Descending into the submarine, Rawlins led the way through the narrow
passage past the engine room and stopped before a small iron door. “Be
prepared for a jolt!” he warned them and as he spoke threw the door
open.

As the two men glanced within they fairly jumped and both uttered
involuntary cries of utter amazement. Seated upon a bunk in the small
steel walled room was a man and no second glance was needed to
recognize him. It was Smernoff!

But what a changed Smernoff! No longer did the small piglike eyes
glare defiance and hatred at the Americans. His head was bowed upon
his chest, his mouth, once so hard and cruel, drooped at the corners,
his face was lined and seamed and his eyes held a far-away, wistful
look.

“Where did he come from?” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, when he recovered
from his surprise at this totally unexpected and almost miraculous
reappearance of the Russian.

“And what on earth’s happened to him?” added Mr. Pauling. “Why, the
fellow looks absolutely tamed and cowed—in fact broken. What
_have_ you done to him?”

“He’s tame all right,” replied Rawlins. “But we haven’t done a thing
to him—except keep him locked up until we had orders from you. He’s
no longer either an enemy or a ‘red,’ Mr. Pauling.”

“Well, you’re a most surprising man—I don’t wonder your darky
caretakers believe you are in league with the devil—and you speak in
riddles. Come, what’s the story? Why is this fellow so changed and
what on earth do you mean when you say he’s no longer a ‘red’ or an
enemy?”

But before Rawlins could reply a deep voice came from the room and
with a start Mr. Pauling whirled about to find that Smernoff was
speaking; and in English.

“Excuse, please,” he said in slow hesitating words. “Me, I no mek
trouble, no. Me, I theenk maybe can help. Me, I want keel all
Bolshevik fellow. Ah! heem, I dreenk he blood!”

“By Jove, he speaks English!” cried Mr. Henderson.

“I’ll say he does!” agreed Rawlins with a grin. “Always has, just been
bluffing all along, but he’s through with that now. I’ll tell you the
story in a few words. Two days out we sighted a disabled powerboat and
running alongside found Smernoff just about all in lying in the
bottom. You can just bet I was about knocked clean over when I saw
him. Last I’d seen of him he was under lock and key in jail and here
he was bobbing up in a little power boat in the middle of the
Atlantic. Of course none of the men knew him so I said nothing—told
them he was a bit looney and we’d have to keep him locked up.

“The next day he spoke to me in English and nearly bowled me over
again by doing so. Then he told me he’d escaped and all about it. Said
he’d got away by the aid of some ‘red’ sympathizers in the prison and
had hidden with friends on the East Side somewhere down in Allen
Street. While he was lying low he got word from Russia that his whole
family—kids and all—had been murdered by the Bolshevists and he went
clean off his head at that. It was one thing to be a ‘red’ and kill
others and a different matter to have the ‘reds’ killing your folks.

“Well, the upshot of it was that he swung clean around and only had
one thought and that was to get even. He started in by doing up all
the ‘reds’ he knew around his hang-out and then hit it for the docks
with the idea of clearing out—stowing away—in some ship that would
get him to Europe. But he couldn’t make it. Too many cops about and so
he grabbed a powerboat, paddled away from the docks at night and
started for the open sea.

“He wasn’t nutty enough to expect to cross in the craft, but he had an
idea he could get well off the land and sight some outward bound ship
and get picked up. Only trouble was he hadn’t figured on a northwest
gale which drove him off the steamships’ courses and left him disabled
and without grub or water. Drifted three days and nights before we
hove in sight. He thinks it’s a direct act of God and I don’t know but
he’s right. At any rate, he’s keen on being with us and if he is in
earnest—and I reckon he wouldn’t have taken the chance he did if he
wasn’t—he’ll be a help to us all right.”

“It’s one of those miraculous coincidences that are far stranger than
fiction,” commented Mr. Pauling. “But I am skeptical about his story.
How do we know it is not a tissue of lies? He may have merely tried to
escape the police in the launch and invented this yarn to hoodwink us.
I guess we’d better keep him locked up.”

“Well he’s got the letter telling about his folks being killed,” said
Rawlins.

“H-m-m, and his face _is_ changed—I’m inclined to believe him,”
declared Mr. Henderson. “You know, Pauling,” he continued, “there are
no more vindictive enemies of the ‘reds’ than one of their company who
suffers at their hands. You must remember that Ivan was as fanatical a
Soviet as ever lived until his parents were butchered.”

“Yes, you’re right, Henderson,” admitted Mr. Pauling. “We’ll have a
long talk with Smernoff and get at the truth. But for the present
we’ll leave him. Plenty of time after we’re under way.”

Rawlins grinned, “We’re under way now,” he remarked. “Have been for
the past fifteen minutes. Didn’t you hear the engines?”

“Jove, you don’t say so!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson.

“Gosh, I can’t believe it!” cried Tom.

“Why, I thought that noise was just the dynamos!” put in Frank. “Say,
are we under water?”

“Surest thing you know!” replied Rawlins. “She’s under her electric
motors now and runs smooth as a watch. Come on, boys, and have a
squint through the periscope.”

“We’ll stay behind a bit and talk to Smernoff,” said Mr. Pauling. “No
use in keeping him locked up if he’s in earnest.”

Reaching the observation room Rawlins led the boys to the eye-piece of
the periscope and as Tom squinted into it he gave a delighted cry.

“Gosh, Frank, we _are_ under water! Say, I can see the island
back there pretty near two miles away. Isn’t it great! Think of being
in a real submarine under the sea!”

Frank was as delighted and interested as Tom when his turn came to
have a look. Then, a few minutes later, the louder rumble of the
Diesel motors throbbed through the undersea craft and Rawlins
announced that they were on the surface.

“No use running submerged except when in sight of land or a vessel,”
he said, “she doesn’t make half her speed underwater and it’s a strain
on her and we might bump into a reef. I’m not any too familiar with
the channels that will accommodate her submerged.”

Hurrying up the steel ladder the boys and Rawlins reached the deck and
gazed about, delighted at the speed the craft was making and the novel
sensation of traveling on a submarine. But there was really little to
be seen and the vessel might have been an ordinary ship as far as
appearances or sensations were concerned. Noticing the aerial
overhead, the boys’ minds at once turned to radio.

“Are our things all right?” Tom asked Rawlins. “I guess we might as
well get busy and set them up. We may need them at any time.”

“Sure they’re all right,” replied the diver. “But say, I’ve been
wondering how you’ll work this thing. Won’t the steel hull interfere
with the waves?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Tom, “but we’ll soon find out. At any rate if
the others sent and received messages in this craft we can.”

“Well if they could and they did why did they need this gadget
overhead?” asked Rawlins.

“Maybe that was just for sending when on the surface,” suggested
Frank. “You know those sets of ours would only send a short distance
under water and we used mighty short wave lengths. If they wanted to
send and receive ordinary messages they’d need this aerial, I expect.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” said Rawlins. “I never can get onto this
radio stuff. By the way, how about showing me how a fellow can hear a
fly jazzing and all that?”

“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, “I’d almost forgotten those crystals. Say, I’ll
bet that’s how they received under water. Come on, let’s try some
experiments.”

Descending the ladder, they made their way to the radio room and
Rawlins hauled out the cases in which the boys’ undersea radio sets
were packed. The naval operator who was in charge of the room looked
rather contemptuously at the “kids” as he considered them, but his
attitude underwent a tremendous change when he learned that the “kids”
were in control of the radio aboard and that he was subject to their
orders.

“Let’s try those crystals first,” suggested Frank. “I’m crazy to see
if they’ll really do all that article said they would.”

As the boys got out the big crystals the regular operator’s eyes
gleamed. “By Jupiter!” he exclaimed, “That’s the first time I’ve seen
those since the war. We used ’em in submarine detectors you
know—could hear a sub’s screw whirring three miles off.”

“Hurrah, then you know about them!” cried Tom. “I’m awfully glad you
do. We only read about them and Mr. Rawlins wouldn’t believe the
things we told him, so we’re going to show him.”

“Well, I don’t know such an all-fired lot either,” admitted the naval
man. “But I know they worked wonders as we used ’em.”

“Let’s see,” said Tom as he examined the crystal in its metal support.
“We have to connect it with our amplifier. There, that may not be
right, but it’s the way I understand it. Then we connect another
crystal to the amplifier. Now let’s see. They say that if this is done
right and the first crystal is scratched or rubbed on something, the
second one will reproduce the noise, only thousands of times louder.”

As he spoke, he gingerly touched the crystal, but nothing happened.
With a puzzled look he rubbed his finger across it and still no
result. Then, opening his pocket knife he scratched the crystal
deeply, but still nothing occurred.

Rawlins began to laugh. “Nothing doing!” he exclaimed. “I’ll bet
they’re only good for medicine.”

“I expect we haven’t got it connected properly,” said Frank. “Let’s
try a different combination.”

While he spoke the two boys were busy disconnecting and rearranging
the wires while Rawlins chuckled and kidded them good-naturedly.

Finally the boys had the wires connected and as Tom turned on the
filament to the amplifier tubes in preparation for another trial
Rawlins, who had been casually examining a bit of crystal tossed it
onto the table. Instantly there was a shivering crash.

“Struck a reef!” cried Rawlins, and with frightened eyes all stood
motionless, silently staring at one another and expecting each moment
to feel the craft reeling or to hear excited shouts from the engine
room. Was she injured? Was their cruise to end so soon? Was the
submarine sinking? Such thoughts sped through the boys’ minds and each
wondered how long they would stand there waiting for the order to
desert their craft. But the steady throb of the engines continued. No
sounds of excitement came from the engine crew. No signal from the
navigator.

“Well I’ll be jiggered!” ejaculated Rawlins. “Must have just scraped
bottom. Close shave though. Well, I guess you’re satisfied those salt
rocks aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

As he ended Rawlins contemptuously flipped his finger nail against a
crystal and almost bumped his head against the low ceiling as he
leaped aside, for at the touch of his finger nail a high-pitched
shriek seemed to issue from the crystals.

“Hurrah!” shouted Tom. “Hurrah! Now do you say they don’t work!”

“Oh, oh!” cried Frank between peals of laughter. “Oh, oh! That
_is_ one on you, Mr. Rawlins. That ‘struck a reef!’ Say, that
wasn’t a reef, that was just the crystal you tossed on the table!”

Rawlins stood staring with gaping mouth and incredulous eyes.

“Sure it was!” repeated Frank. “See here!” Picking up the fragment of
crystal he dropped it on the table top and again the rattling crash
resounded through the room.

“Well!” cried Rawlins. “That beats anything I ever saw or heard by
twenty miles.”

Half fearfully he reached forward and moved the crystal and a dull
grating noise resulted. He tapped gently on the table and the blows
resounded through the room like strokes of a sledge hammer.

“Beats the Dutch, don’t it!” exclaimed the operator. Then, taking out
his watch he placed it on the table near the crystals and instantly
steady beats like a hammer ringing on an anvil came from the crystals.

“Oh, here you are!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling who now entered the room.
“What are you up to? Oh, I see—trying to show our Missouri friend!
Well, how does it work?”

“I’ll say I’m shown!” declared Rawlins. “Darndest thing I ever saw!
Just look here, Mr. Pauling. Drop something on the table there.”

Rather curiously, Tom’s father drew a coin from his pocket and dropped
it on the table as suggested and at the resounding bang that followed
he uttered an exclamation of amazement and involuntarily jumped back.

“You don’t mean to say that was the sound of a dime dropping?” he
cried. “Why, it’s simply marvelous—absolutely uncanny.”

“Now don’t you believe you could hear a fly walk?” demanded Tom of
Rawlins.

“You bet, and a mosquito sneeze!” replied the diver. “I’ll wager you
could hear a man write his own name.”

Drawing a pencil from his pocket he wrote his name upon the paper
covering the table, and all gasped in wonder as each stroke of the
pencil came to their ears in grating, reverberating howls.

“Ah ha!” ejaculated Mr. Henderson who had approached unseen. “So
you’ve found the magic in the crystals! But I’d wager you haven’t
found all the wonders they contain yet. I suppose you haven’t a
phonograph on board?”

“One of the men has,” replied the naval operator. “Shall I fetch it,
sir?”

“Yes, if you will,” said Mr. Henderson. “I’ll show you a singing
crystal in a moment, and there’s another thing. These crystals possess
another remarkable property—they generate electricity.”

“Generate electricity!” cried Tom in puzzled tones. “How can they do
that?”

“I’ll try to show you when we have tried the phonograph test,” replied
Mr. Henderson. “Ah, here’s the machine.”

Shutting off the current to the tubes, Mr. Henderson removed the sound
box from the phonograph, fastened a needle to the crystal with a bit
of thread and sealing wax, fastened the whole to the arm of the
machine and adjusting the needle so it rested on a record set the
phonograph in motion.

“Now turn on your filament rheostats,” he said, and as Tom did so, the
second crystal suddenly burst into a rollicking song.

“Absolutely amazing!” declared Mr. Pauling as the record stopped.

“Here’s another!” laughed Mr. Henderson, as he again started the
record moving. Then, lifting the second crystal, he placed it in his
pocket with the result that he seemed to be singing himself.

The boys roared with merriment.

“Why,” cried Tom. “With one of those any one could be a ventriloquist.
All you’d have to do would be to have wires leading out of sight and
keep the crystal in your pocket. Wouldn’t it be rich!”

Mr. Henderson now took the singing crystal from his pocket and placed
it on a bare spot of wood and to every one’s amazement it jumped and
leaped about as if endowed with life.

“Dances while it sings,” remarked Mr. Henderson. “That shows how
strong the vibrations are. Now let’s try the test for electricity I
mentioned.”

Selecting a large crystal Mr. Henderson placed it in one of the metal
frames whose use the boys could not fathom and after fastening wires
to it asked if they had a voltmeter.

The operator brought one and attaching the wires from the crystal to
the instrument Mr. Henderson told them to watch the needle. Then,
turning the knob on the frame and thus twisting it slightly, he
brought a strain upon the crystal and instantly the needle of the
voltmeter soared upward to 500.

“Jehoshaphat!” cried Frank. “That beats all yet!”

“I’ll say it does!” agreed Rawlins.

“But, why have you never told us about them before?” asked Tom.

“Simply forgot them,” replied Mr. Henderson. “I never made use of them
and had merely seen their wonders demonstrated out at the Bell
laboratories when I was inspector there. Thought them remarkable but
of no practical value at the time, although I knew later they were
used as submarine detectors and for deep-seas sounding. I can see now,
however, how useful they will prove. What are you boys intending to do
with them?”

“Well, we hadn’t exactly decided yet,” replied Tom, “but we thought
the fellows that had this sub probably used them in receiving undersea
radio and we were going to rig up something of the same sort.”

“I expect they did use them,” agreed Mr. Henderson, “and you should be
able to arrange a set with them. Does Bancroft here know how those
submarine detectors were arranged?”

“Well, not exactly, Sir,” replied the operator, “but I think I can
manage after a bit of experimenting, Sir. That is, with the young
gentlemen’s help.”

“Very well, go to it,” replied Mr. Henderson, “but you’ll find they’re
doing it with your help if you don’t watch out. I’ll wager they can
teach you a lot about radio.”

But both Bancroft and the boys found it a far more difficult matter to
rig up a detector than they had imagined.

“The trouble is we can’t tell when it’s right,” said Tom, “and we
don’t know yet whether or not we can hear even without the crystals. I
vote we get Rawlins to stop the submarine and go down and test the
thing out.”

This seemed a good plan, but they were now well away from land and
both Rawlins and Mr. Pauling told the impatient boys that they would
have to wait until the next day when Rawlins said they would be near
one of the cays and could run into shoal water and test the
instruments.

In the meantime Smernoff had been put through a severe grilling and at
last, Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson being convinced that the Russian
was cured of Bolshevism forever and really wanted to do anything in
his power to aid in stamping out the gang of which he had been a
member, he was freed, but cautioned to remain within certain bounds
and was turned over to the chief engineer.

“He’s a machinist and engineer,” Mr. Henderson explained, “but he’s
also a desperate character, or at least was, and has escaped from
prison twice. For reasons which I need not mention we are inclined to
think he’s reformed and may be of help. Let him work, but keep an eye
on him constantly and if you see anything suspicious or any attempt to
disable the machinery or to do anything that savors of treachery have
him put in irons if you have to tap him over the head with a spanner
to do it.”

The engineer squinted at Mr. Henderson with a quizzical expression.
Then, wiping his big hairy hands on a piece of cotton waste he pushed
back his greasy cap exposing a shock of flaming hair.

“Verra weel, Sir,” he replied. “I ken his breed an’ ye can trust me ta
see nowt happens as shouldna’. But I ne’er used spanner on lad yet,
Sir, an ne’er expect to hae to. Naw, naw, Meester Henderson, Sir; ’tis
a braw laddie I canna make see the light o’ reason wi’ me ain han’s.”

Mr. Henderson chuckled. “Yes, I guess you’re right there, McPherson,”
he replied. “I remember the story about your holding the reverse when
the lever broke on the _Baxter_. Personally, I think I’d prefer
the spanner to your fists if I were the culprit.”

Early the next morning Long Island was sighted and, passing Whale
Point with the submarine submerged, Rawlins headed for Rum Cay. Here,
under Sam’s guidance, the sub-sea boat was brought safely into a
sheltered cove and preparations were made for tests of the radio.
Rawlins donned his suit and slipped out through the air-lock, for the
first test was to see if he could hear what was sent from the
submarine. When, after the stipulated time, he returned, he reported
that he had heard clearly, but not as loudly as in New York. Satisfied
that their sending apparatus would work just as well from within the
submarine as from shore Tom also donned a diving suit for the purpose
of sending to Frank who was left in charge of the receiving set with
Bancroft to help him.

Despite the fact that Tom had been down so often in the north it was a
totally new and strange sensation to descend here in the Bahamas and
from a submarine. He entered the air-lock with Rawlins, saw the
water-tight steel doors closed behind him, saw Rawlins moving a wheel
and slowly the water rose about him. Then Rawlins stepped to a lever,
a round steel door slowly opened in the floor and following Rawlins
Tom slipped through and half floated to the bottom of the sea. For a
moment he could scarcely believe he was under water. He had expected
everything to be indistinct, shadowy and green as it had been in the
north. Instead, he seemed standing in air suffused with a soft blue
light. Before him, plain and distinct, was the bulk of the submarine,
each seam and rivet clearly visible. Under his feet was a smooth,
white, sandy floor. Here and there great purple sea-fans, swaying
black sea-rods and masses of gaudy coral broke the broad expanse of
sand while, over and about him, brilliant scarlet, purple, blue, gold
and multicolored fishes swam lazily, paying not the least attention to
the intruders. Looking up, Tom could see only a marvelously blue void
like a summer’s sky and on every side he could see for what seemed an
interminable distance. It was all very wonderful and very beautiful
and he would have liked to stop and admire it, but Rawlins held his
arm and was guiding him along the sea bottom away from the submarine.

“Gosh, it’s great!” exclaimed Tom, suddenly remembering that he could
converse with his companion.

“Didn’t I tell you ’twas!” replied Rawlins, his voice coming to Tom so
distinctly that the boy started. “Not much like that dirty old river.”

“Hello, hello!” came Frank’s voice plainly, but rather faintly. “Were
you speaking, Tom?”

“Yes, can you hear?” cried Tom.

“What is it you say?” queried Frank’s voice. “I can’t make out a word.
Just a sort of crackling like static.”

Tom spoke still louder and at last shouted, but still Frank kept
asking what he was saying and declaring he could not make it out.

“Well, something’s wrong,” Tom announced at last. “Might as well go
back. They can’t hear.”

Ascending through the open door to the air-lock Tom waited while
Rawlins manipulated the machinery which forced the water from the tiny
chamber and let in the air and a moment later they were again in the
radio room.

“I knew you were talking,” said Frank, “but I couldn’t make out a
single word, just buzzes and clicks. What do you suppose is wrong?”

“It’s the way we have it connected up,” declared Tom, “but it gets me.
I can’t understand why, if we get sounds through our suits with those
little grid antennae you shouldn’t get them here with that bigger
antenna. Did you try the regular aerial connection too?”

“Yes I tried both—or rather Mr. Bancroft tried one and I tried the
other—and he didn’t get anything.”

“Well, if the fellow who had this sub before used those crystals then
they had ’em hooked up differently or something. I wonder if their
sets in their suits would work better.”

Acting on this idea Rawlins donned one of the suits they had taken
from their captives in New York and again went down, but the results
were no better. As Frank had said, there were sounds—buzzing noises
which were intermittent and indicated that Rawlins was speaking, but
nothing that in the least resembled human voice or words.

“We’ll have to think this out,” declared Tom. “We get the noises, but
not the words so it must be we pick up the waves and it’s a question
of modulation. Let’s see. Those crystals magnify sounds when they’re
touched or vibrated or when there’s a vibration or jar to the thing
they’re resting on. Gosh! I believe I know our trouble.”

“Well, what is it?” demanded Frank.

“Why, we’ve got this rigged up for a detector—the way they did for
submarines—and we _do_ get the noises which was what they wanted
when locating a sub, but we don’t get the words. The trouble is we’ve
got the cart before the horse. We’ve hooked this up so the crystals
come before the phones. What we need is to transfer the sound waves in
the phones to the crystals and let ’em amplify them. As ’tis now we’re
amplifying electric waves not sound waves.”

“I guess you’re right,” agreed Frank. “Let’s try it the other way.”

It took some time to rearrange the set, but with Mr. Henderson to
advise and Bancroft to help, it was done at last and once more Rawlins
entered the air-lock.

Hardly had he had time to reach bottom the boys thought when, to their
inexpressable delight, his voice came to their ears clearly.

“Hello!” he said. “Do you get me?”

“Hurrah it works!” cried Tom and instantly Rawlins’s voice responded:

“Bully for you!”

“Walk farther off and see if we can get you,” suggested Tom over the
phone.

“All right,” responded Rawlins.

Five minutes passed and then, rather faint, but still easily
understandable, Rawlins’ voice again came to them.

“All right,” cried Tom. “How far away are you?”

“About five hundred yards,” replied the diver. “I can just hear you.”

“Well that’s about the limit, I guess,” remarked Tom, as Rawlins told
him he was returning to the submarine. “Say, isn’t it just immense?”

“Wonderful!” agreed his father. “But let me ask a question. Suppose we
overhear some one talking. How will you know where they are or whether
they are under water or on land. It seems to me that’s a very
important matter.”

“Golly, that’s so!” exclaimed Tom. “I hadn’t thought of that. Our loop
aerials won’t work in here, I suppose.”

“Might,” commented Frank, and then, “What about that resonance coil?
That might do.”

“Let’s try!” agreed Tom, and calling to Rawlins to wait where he was
they hurriedly disconnected their instruments and connected the odd
resonance coil in position.

“Now, say something, Mr. Rawlins,” called Tom.

Anxiously the boys waited but no response came although the boys could
hear a very faint buzzing sound.

“Well, that evidently is a failure,” said Tom, “but just the same
these fellows wouldn’t have had it aboard unless there was some use
for it.”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Bancroft. “My idea is they used
that in the air, when they were running on the surface or just awash.
You might get the words from under water then, or perhaps it wasn’t
used for undersea work.”

“We’ll have to try that—when Mr. Rawlins gets here,” replied Tom.

Presently Rawlins appeared and the boys told him of their new plans.
In a few minutes the submarine had risen to the surface and the boys
prepared to test the resonance coil.

“First we’ll try it in the air,” announced Tom. “Walk over on the
island there, Mr. Rawlins, and see if we can get you.”

Accordingly, the diver slipped into the sea and a few moments later
his head appeared near shore and for the first time the boys
experienced the strange sensation of seeing a man walk ashore from
beneath the water. That they could receive messages with the resonance
coil through the air was soon proved to their satisfaction, and
telling Rawlins to go under water and walk about in different
directions the two boys and their companions, who were fully as much
interested, prepared for the final test. But this was a dismal failure
and chagrined and disappointed the boys gave up at last.

“If we hear any one under water we’ll have to find them some other
way,” Tom announced. “We just get that funny buzz we used to hear in
New York. And I’ll bet anything that was the men talking under water.
But if we hear anyone talking in the air we can locate them all
right.”

As Tom had been speaking he had turned half around and his resonance
coil was swung towards the southeast. The next moment, Frank’s excited
voice called up from below where he had been seated at the receivers.

“Jehoshaphat!” he yelled. “They’re talking! Those Russians! I hear
them plainly!”




CHAPTER V

A NARROW ESCAPE


At Frank’s words Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson leaped to their feet
and Tom almost dropped the coil in his surprise. “By glory!” exclaimed
Rawlins, who had just appeared.

“Are you sure?” demanded Mr. Pauling. “Of course I’m sure,” replied
Frank. “I heard them just as plain as in New York.”

Scrambling down the ladder all gathered about the instruments, but
despite every effort no sounds came to their ears.

“Well, it did before,” insisted Frank. “I hadn’t been hearing anything
and then, suddenly, I heard the voices.”

Tom sprang up and rushed towards the ladder. “Keep listening,” he
yelled. “I’ll bet I know how ’twas.”

Hurrying up the ladder, he gained the deck and seizing the resonance
coil moved it slowly about as if pointing with a stick. Then, just as
it pointed to the southeast he heard Rawlins’ voice.

“They’ve got it again,” he shouted up the ladder. “Come down and hear
it.”

“If I do you’ll lose it,” Tom shouted back. “It’s this resonance coil.
You only get the voices when it points to the southeast. Tell them to
listen and you yell up when they lose it and get it.”

Again Tom swung the coil about and before it had moved two feet
Rawlins called up that the sounds had faded away. Once more Tom swung
the coil back to its former position and once again Rawlins notified
him that the voices could be heard.

But Tom was wild to be down below and hastily hanging the coil to the
rail by knotting his handkerchief he hurried down.

“I knew that was it,” he declared excitedly. “The coil works and
they’re southeast of here. Do you know what they’re saying?”

“No, it’s Russian or German,” replied Mr. Henderson. “Wish Ivan were
here.”

“What’s the matter with Smernoff?” suggested Rawlins.

“Of course!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “By Jove, what fools we are! Get
him, Rawlins.”

Rawlins dashed from the room and returned a few seconds later dragging
the big Russian with him.

“Here, Smernoff!” ordered Mr. Henderson. “Tell us what they’re saying.
And no lying, either!”

Clapping the receivers over the Russian’s ears Mr. Henderson shoved
him into the chair. For a moment the slow-witted fellow seemed dazed
and uncomprehending and then, as the words came to him and he realized
what was wanted, a strange look of mingled cunning and ferocity
crossed his features and his chest heaved with the intensity of his
efforts to catch every syllable.

Impatiently the others waited. To ask him to translate as the
conversation went on they knew would merely result in failure; his
English was too limited and his brain too slow for that.

“Might let him talk back,” suggested Rawlins in a whisper. “He could
put up a yarn about escaping and find out where they are.”

Mr. Pauling shook his head. “You don’t know the men you’re dealing
with,” he said. “They probably know all about his escape and his acts
in New York and a word from him would simply forewarn them. I had the
sending set cut off the moment I came in—I’m not risking any chance
of being heard.”

A moment later, Smernoff slowly swung his big body around and with a
savage glint in his eyes took the receivers from his ears and rose.

“They been done,” he announced. “No more talk. Me, I hear heem say he
been try keel me, me, Alexis Smernoff. Ha! Heem teenk he get me, eh?
Me, I make keel heem mos’ likely. Heem say me, I what you say—geef
double cross—Ah! heem Bolsheviki keel mine boy, mine girl, mine wife.
Ah! me, I help the gentlemen.”

“Yes, yes, we know all that, Smernoff!” cried Mr. Henderson
impatiently, “but what else did they say? Where are they?”

The Russian spread his palms and shrugged his shoulders expressively.

“Heem no say notting more,” he declared. “Me, I no know where heem be.
Heem make to talk from boat, heem talk from how you call it—boat same
like thees fellow.”

“From a submarine?” cried Mr. Pauling.

“Sure, that eet,” replied Smernoff. “Sutmavine you call heem? Ah, he
same like thees only more beeg.”

“Then they have got another sub!” exclaimed Rawlins. “I knew it! Darn
it all, why didn’t we get him here first thing? We might have got wise
to where they are.”

“Possibly,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but I doubt it. They would not be
likely to give away any secrets.”

“Now see here, Smernoff!” cried Mr. Henderson sharply. “You want to be
free—you want to go to Russia. Well, you tell us where we’ll find
this crowd and I’ll get you a pardon, see? Now out with it! Where does
the crowd hang out—where do they stay? Not the chief—I don’t believe
you know that—but where do they keep that submarine and where did you
live?”

Smernoff listened, a perplexed frown on his low forehead.

“Me, I no know,” he replied. “Leetle islan’; Me, I no know hees name.
He near one beeg place, one place me, I hear heem say call what you
call heem Sam Dora—San Dom—me, I forget heem.”

“Santo Domingo!” shouted Rawlins. “Was that it, Smernoff?”

The Russian’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” he replied “That eet. Me I hear
those fellow say beeg islan’ San Dom—San Dom’go.”

“I’ll say that’s a tip!” cried Rawlins, his face fairly beaming.
“Hitches right onto the schooner left at the Caicos too. They’re
almost due north of Santo Domingo and I’ll bet it’s one of those cays.
Come on, let’s beat it.”

Ten minutes later the cay was a rapidly fading patch of green behind
them and at her top speed the submarine tore through the smooth sea
with her bow pointed for the Caicos Islands.

But before they reached their goal their hopes were dashed, for
through the air from an invisible destroyer lurking below the horizon
came a long cypher message from Disbrow which, when decoded, informed
those upon the submarine that the deserted schooner had
disappeared—vanished as mysteriously and completely as had her crew,
and that a careful search of the islands had failed to reveal a sign
of her or of the missing men.

“Well, that’s that,” said Rawlins, when Mr. Pauling told him of the
message, “but there’s a bunch of cays and islands down there. I’ll bet
Commander Disbrow didn’t hunt every one. I’m for getting down in there
anyway. Maybe we can get their talk again.”

There seemed no better plan and so, giving Disbrow their position and
course, they continued on their way, passing the Caicos low down on
the horizon and making for the remote, uninhabited, outlying cays. In
the hopes of again picking up the Russian conversation the resonance
coil had been fixed on the superstructure and a man was detailed to
slowly swing it back and forth through a wide arc, while below, one of
the boys was constantly at the receivers with Bancroft at the regular
equipment listening for messages from the destroyer or any other
source.

Land was in sight ahead—low-lying, surf-beaten cays on the fringe of
the Bahamas—when once more Tom heard the rough gutturals in his ears.
Instantly he summoned Smernoff and with the signal bell, which had
been arranged, notified the man at the resonance coil to hold it
steady. Mr. Pauling, Mr. Henderson and Rawlins appeared at the same
instant as the Russian and all waited breathlessly as the big fellow
seated himself at the instruments. But only a few words came to him in
the tongue of his native land and they were meaningless to him. Mere
numbers, but which, after he had repeated them several times and his
hearers were convinced he had made no mistake, caused the others to
glance at one another and to retire behind closed doors the moment the
Russian was out of sight. In the meantime Rawlins had hurried on deck
and had asked the man at the coil for the direction in which it had
pointed when the bell had sounded.

“Southeast by south one-quarter south, Sir,” he replied.

“Well, they’re not on those cays!” Rawlins announced as he joined the
others. “The coil was pointing southeast by south one-quarter south
and the cays are just about due south by east. What did you make of
those numbers?”

“Latitude and longitude, I should say,” replied Mr. Pauling. “If so,
where would they bring it?”

Rawlins left and returned a moment later with a chart. Spreading it on
the table he ran his parallel ruler over it.

“If they are latitude and longitude they’re not anywhere within five
hundred miles,” he declared, “and,” he continued, “I don’t believe
they were latitude and longitude. One was X 3568 and the other 46 B
15. Whichever way you take it that would be way outside of the West
Indies and I’ll bet my best hat to a stale doughnut that they’re some
cypher numbers. By the jumping Jupiter! I have it! That’s the way the
Hun planes used to signal their gunners to direct their fire! Those
fellows on that sub are directing some one to somewhere. Yes, sir, and
I’ll make another guess and that is they’re onto us and are breaking
for headquarters as fast as they can beat it. Likely as not those
numbers refer to us. I’ll say that’s it! We never heard a peep from
them till we began testing that radio under water. Shouldn’t wonder if
they were lying low not far off and heard us.”

“You may be right,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “But it’s all guesswork. Of
course we did not hear them before as we had not set up the
instruments and had not used the resonance coil. But tell me,
Henderson, how is it we get them on that and don’t get them on the
regular instruments?”

“Too weak for the latter,” replied the other, “you forget the boys are
using three stages of amplification and those crystals. But if that
detector is right we should be able to hear that other sub if she’s
near. Are there any cays southeast by south one-quarter south,
Rawlins?”

“Not this side of Haiti or Santo Domingo, but Smernoff said they were
talking from a sub so that don’t count.”

“H-m-m,” muttered Mr. Henderson. “Rather like searching for a needle
in a haystack. For all we know they may not be headed for their hiding
place.”

“No, they may not,” admitted Mr. Pauling, “but I think Rawlins is
right in that part of his surmise. If the submarine picked up the
schooner’s crew as we assume, then they would naturally go direct to
headquarters to report. If they continue to talk there is no reason
why we should not trail them and eventually run them down.”

“Well I’m going to pump that Smernoff,” declared Rawlins. “I’ll bet he
can tell us something. Not that I think he’s lying, but he’s just
naturally thick as mud and he doesn’t get all we say to him. He must
be able to tell something about the island if he lived there, and if
he does I may be able to recognize it from his description.”

“Well, good luck, Rawlins,” laughed Mr. Henderson as the diver hurried
aft. “Sorry you can’t talk Russian.”

But when, an hour later, Rawlins reappeared the others knew instantly
by the expression on his face that he had learned something of value.

“I’ll say he knew something!” cried Rawlins gleefully. “Had the deuce
of a job getting at it—couldn’t seem to make him understand, but got
it little by little. He says the island was about a mile long and half
a mile wide, that it was high and rocky in the middle, that one of the
landmarks was a big turtle-shaped rock standing out of water just off
a point and that the men lived in rooms or barracks which were cut in
the solid rock.”

“That’s all very interesting—if true,” said Mr. Pauling, “but how
does it help? There are probably a thousand islands of that size with
similar high rocky centers and turtle-shaped, undercut rocks off their
points. Why, the description might do just as well for New
Providence.”

“Yes, except for one thing,” replied Rawlins, “and that of course was
the last thing I got out of the old duck. Probably thought it wasn’t
worth mentioning.”

“Well, out with it! What was it?” demanded Mr. Henderson.

“Rather I should have said two things,” Rawlins answered. “The first
was the fact that there were rooms cut out of the rock and stairways
cut from the rock leading up to an old fort or wall also cut from the
solid rock. The second was that the place was inhabited by a sort of
giant rat and that the men caught and ate them.”

“Might have been China!” laughed Mr. Pauling.

“Yes,” agreed Rawlins, “but it’s not. I know the place as well as I do
my own island back in the Bahamas. There’s only one island in the West
Indies that it could be. There aren’t many with ruins of forts cut
from solid rock. I don’t know of another that has them and a
turtle-shaped rock off the point, and I can swear there’s not another
that has both those and the big rats as he calls them—the Jutias—and
that’s a little island off Santo Domingo known as Trade Wind Cay.”

“Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Are you sure of that?”

“I’ll stake my life on it,” replied Rawlins soberly. “I’ll bet, if we
head for Trade Wind Cay, we’ll find their hang-out. And here’s another
bet—or hunch, or whatever you want to call it. Smernoff says it never
took over a day for the sub to go to the chief’s place and return. Now
there’s no blamed bit of land within half a day’s run of that cay
except Santo Domingo and it’s dollars to brass tacks the old
High-Muck-a-Muck hangs out there. Mighty good place too—lot of it
wild and uninhabited, plenty of caves, fine hidden harbors and bush
everywhere.”

“Rawlins you should be in the Service!” declared Mr. Pauling
enthusiastically. “You’ve the imagination, the perseverance, the
energy and the logic. I believe you’re right. I’m with you for Trade
Wind Cay.”

“Well I had a sort of an idea I was in the Service, just at present,”
laughed Rawlins, “and if the old sub don’t bust or run aground or
shake herself to pieces we’ll be within sight of that cay inside of
three days.”

No further messages were heard that day and all through the night they
kept steadily on. The last bit of land had dropped from sight and far
off on the southern horizon a faint misty cloud hung which Rawlins and
Sam both insisted was the higher mountain tops of Haiti or Santo
Domingo. Then, just before noon, the man in the conning tower called
down the speaking tube to those below.

“Sail ahead!” he announced. “Looks like a schooner and about three
points off our port bow.”

Ordinarily the sighting of a schooner would have caused no interest or
excitement and would merely have called for submergence until out of
sight, but with the knowledge that the mysterious submarine was
somewhere in the surrounding waters and remembering the strange
disappearance of the schooner reported by Disbrow, those on board the
submarine hurried on deck to have a look.

“It’s a schooner all right,” declared Rawlins, after studying it
through his glasses, “and it fits the description of the one that
Disbrow lost to a ‘T.’ Shall we run over and have a look at her?”

“I suppose it would be wise,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but how about being
seen? I think we had better submerge and watch her through the
periscope. If it’s another schooner we can get away without being
seen—I doubt if these West Indians would notice a periscope—and if
it _is_ the schooner we want, we can either run alongside and
board her or else keep watch at a safe distance and perhaps secure
valuable information as to her objective.”

A few moments later only the submarine’s periscope was visible above
the sea, and below, Rawlins, Mr. Pauling and the navigating officer
kept their eyes glued to the eye-pieces. Now the schooner was plainly
visible, even from the low elevation of the periscope, and as they
drew ever nearer Rawlins noticed something peculiar about her.
Although she had all lower sails spread they were drawing but little
in the light wind and yet she was moving at a fairly good speed.

“I’ll be hanged!” Rawlins suddenly exclaimed. “She’s being towed!”

“Being towed?” repeated Mr. Pauling. “There’s nothing towing her.”

“Nothing!” almost shouted the diver. “Nothing! By all that’s holy
she’s being towed by a submarine!”

“Yes, Sir; that’s what she is, Sir,” responded the navigator in
matter-of-fact tones. “Shall we put a shot across her bows, Sir?”

Mr. Pauling burst out laughing despite the excitement and surprise of
their discovery. “This is not wartime,” he replied. “We’d get into no
end of trouble by such methods. That schooner is flying the British
flag and for all we know to the contrary is an honest vessel in
distress being towed by one of our own submarines.”

“What the deuce is up now!” interrupted Rawlins. “Look there! She’s
stopped! Say, yes, darned if she isn’t. Jumping jiminy, the sub’s cut
loose!”

“She’s no longer moving,” admitted Mr. Henderson. “Perhaps they’re
waiting for us.”

“No, the sub’s gone!” declared Rawlins. “Don’t you think so,
Quartermaster?”

The quartermaster, a grizzled but husky old sea dog, gazed silently
for a minute.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, “she seems to has, Sir. Sorry we couldn’t have
bumped her, Sir.”

By now the schooner was close at hand and Rawlins was on the point of
suggesting that they should run alongside and board her when Frank
shouted that there was a queer noise in the receivers.

“It sounds like a hard wind or an electric fan,” he cried. “Come on
and listen. What do you suppose it is?”

“The sub’s screw!” replied Rawlins. “I’ll bet she’s hustling. Shall we
board that schooner?”

“Better,” replied Mr. Pauling, and orders were at once given to
emerge. As the submarine, her decks awash, approached the schooner,
those upon the under-sea boat’s superstructure gazed curiously at the
craft they had overhauled. That she was the missing schooner they had
sought all were sure, for she fitted the descriptions perfectly and
the fact that she had been towed by a submarine was still further
evidence. They were now within a few hundred yards and yet not a soul
had appeared upon the schooner’s decks.

“Darned if she isn’t deserted again!” exclaimed Rawlins. “I’ll——”

At that instant the schooner’s masts seemed to spring into the air; a
burst of flames and smoke shot from her decks, there was a terrific
detonation and as the submarine rolled, pitched and rocked to the
force of the explosion those upon her clutched wildly for support
while all about fell bits of torn and shattered rigging, spars and
canvas. Scared and white-faced those upon the submarine stared at one
another, steadying themselves with their grasp of the handrails,
soaked to the waist by the great waves that had washed over the
half-submerged craft and speechless with the surprise and shock of the
explosion. Only bits of wreckage marked the schooner. She had been
blown to atoms.




CHAPTER VI

ON THE TRAIL OF THE SUBMARINE


Rawlins was the first to recover from the shock. “I’ll say that was a
close shave!” he cried. “The dirty skunks! Missed us though and a miss
is as good as a mile.”

Then, before any one had time to speak, he sprang towards the open
hatchway. “Quick!” he shouted, as he leaped down the ladder. “Down
below! Everybody! Hurry!”

Without stopping to question and only realizing that he must have good
reasons for his orders, the others rushed after him and scarcely was
the last one at the foot of the stairs when the hatch slid into place,
men sprang to levers and wheels and the submarine was diving.

“Jiminy!” exclaimed Tom. “What on earth’s the matter? What do you mean
by saying they missed us and then hustling us down below?”

“Don’t you understand?” snapped Rawlins. “It’s clear as glass. They
tried to get us—knew we or the destroyer were trailing them and towed
that schooner along as bait. Had it loaded with explosives and figured
on touching them off when we or the destroyer sighted her and ran
alongside. But they failed by about a minute. Probably timed the
blamed infernal machine for the destroyer and didn’t allow for our
speed—darned lucky for us! I don’t wonder they cleared out as fast as
they could leg it.”

“Then if we’d been nearer we’d have been sunk!” cried Frank.

“Sunk!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Sunk! Why we’d have been blown to bits!
But by crickey we’ll fool ’em and give 'em the jolt of their lives!
Get busy with that detector, boys, and see if we can hear her screw
again.”

The two boys sprang to their instruments and clapped the receivers to
their ears.

“But what do you mean about surprising them?” asked Tom, still
confused and puzzled.

“Why they’re down at the bottom now waiting, but they’ll be up having
a look around to see if they made a good job of us,” explained
Rawlins, “and while they’re squinting at the water and patting
themselves on the back for their cleverness we’ll just bob up
alongside.”

“But they may run into us,” objected Frank. “If they’re moving around
down here, and they’ll heat our screws too.”

“Don’t you worry, son,” replied Rawlins. “We’re on hard bottom ten
fathoms deep and quiet as a mouse and they’ll be on the surface
looking for oil or wreckage. And by glory I’ll bump ’em, as the
quarter-master says—that is, if I may, Mr. Pauling.”

“H-m-m,” muttered Mr. Pauling. “I don’t think they’re worthy of any
consideration. They evidently tried to destroy us and are no better
than pirates. I guess we’ll be perfectly safe in firing on them if
necessary. But don’t sink them first thing, Rawlins. Put a shot over
them—close enough to let them know we mean business. They can give us
valuable information if we capture them, but dead men don’t talk.”

“You bet I’ll show ’em we mean business!” declared Rawlins. “I handled
a gun and crew during the war and I bet my bottom dollar I can slam a
shell so close to ’em it will take their hats off without rumpling
their hair.”

“Oh, I hear that whirring again!” cried Frank excitedly.

“Me too!” added Tom.

Bancroft grabbed the receivers and put them on. For an instant he
listened attentively and to his ears came the steady unmistakable
swishing whir of a vessel’s screw, the sound Frank had so aptly
compared to a heavy wind.

“She’s a-coming!” announced the operator. “Not far off, either!”

Rawlins sprang to the periscope and glued his eye to it, swinging it
around throughout the entire arc of its movement.

“Now they’re closer!” cried Bancroft. Then a moment later: “Going off
again! Sounds as if they’re circling!”

“I see ’em!” shouted Rawlins. “At least, I see their shadow.
Yep—they’re circling. All ready! Stand by! Did you squirt that oil,
Quartermaster?”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” replied the sailor. “Ready to emerge, Sir?”

“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, to whom a new thought had just occurred.
“Perhaps they’ll drop a depth bomb!”

“Thunderation!” cried Rawlins, “I hadn’t thought of that! Don’t
believe they’ve got one though and it would be too risky to
themselves. We’re going up now. All ready for the surprise party!”

Then followed quick, sharp orders, men scurried about, levers were
pulled and control wheels whirled while Rawlins stood with his eyes at
the periscope and the quartermaster gazed fixedly at the dial of the
depth indicator.

“Two fathoms, Sir!” he announced calmly.

“Periscope’s up!” cried Rawlins. “I see her—off to starboard! All
ready? Come on!”

At his last word he had bounded to the ladder with his men at his
heels, the hatch slid open and onto the deck they poured with the two
boys, Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson bringing up the rear.

A few hundred yards away a large submarine was floating, her upper
works high above the smooth sea with a number of men gazing intently
at the water from her decks.

The next instant they caught sight of the craft they had thought sunk
and were as surprised, dumbfounded and amazed as if they had seen a
ghost. Loud shouts and cries came clearly across the water from them,
they ran hither and thither, confused, getting in one another’s way
and utterly at a loss to know what to do.

Before they could make a move, Rawlins and his crew had reached the
gun, a shell was slipped into the breech, Rawlins spun the controls,
the wicked-looking black barrel swung towards the enemy craft. The
next instant there was a blinding flash, a puff of smoke, a deafening
report and the wireless mast of the other submarine and the rails of
the conning tower vanished as if by magic, while a few yards beyond
her a great column of water leaped high in air.

“I’ll say I bumped ’em!” fairly screamed Rawlins, as he spun open the
breech of his gun and a second shell was slipped in.

At this totally unexpected turn of events the men upon the enemy
submarine became panic-stricken. Some flung themselves flat upon the
decks, others plunged headlong down the hatch, and still others
huddled behind the rails and super-structure.

“Surrender or we’ll sink you!” shouted Mr. Henderson who had grabbed
up a megaphone.

As if in reply, there was a puff of smoke from the conning tower of
the other vessel, a shrill whistle in the air and a bullet spatted
spitefully against the steel plates within six inches of Mr.
Henderson’s head.

Rawlins waited for no further orders. Again came the flash and roar of
his gun and in a burst of flame the entire top of the other’s conning
tower disappeared.

“Hurrah!” shouted the boys fairly dancing about, so excited and
thrilled that they did not realize their danger. “Hurrah! That’ll
teach ’em!”

At this instant, Frank caught sight of a strange thing—a slender line
of white moving swiftly through the blue water from the injured
submarine and headed directly towards where he stood.

“Jimmy!” he yelled. “What’s that? Look, coming right towards us! Looks
like a big fish!”

The others glanced towards the spot indicated. “It’s a torpedo!” cried
Mr. Pauling. “Back her! Full speed astern! Quick or we’ll all be
killed!”

But it was too late. The engines had been stopped, the crew were on
deck and long before they could start the motors and get under way the
awful death dealing torpedo would be upon them and all would be over.
It was traveling at a terrific speed and the white, foaming trail of
its wake was plainly visible. Barely 500 feet lay between those on the
submarine and instant death.

They were helpless, numbed, frozen with horror. Utterly unable to
move, powerless to escape they stood there, the boys clinging to Mr.
Pauling, the men with set faces, gritted teeth and grim eyes watching
the oncoming, inevitable death.

But Rawlins had spied the torpedo as soon as Frank. With feverish
haste he had loaded his gun; like a madman he swung it and depressed
the barrel all unnoticed by those who were watching the oncoming
torpedo and were hoping against hope, praying with heart and soul that
by some miracle, some chance, it might miss, might fail to explode.

And as they prayed the miracle happened. A flash, a roar and where, an
instant before, the torpedo had been, a huge column of water and foam
sprung like a gigantic geyser high in air. There was terrific
detonation, a concussion that threw the boys flat upon the deck, a
shower of spray and as the submarine rocked, reeled and plunged to the
waves the white-faced boys rose trembling and shaken to their feet.
They were saved! Rawlins’ skill had won, his well-aimed shot had been
the answer to their prayers!

But Rawlins seemed suddenly to have gone mad. He was leaping, dancing
and shouting.

“Darn their hides!” he screamed. “They got away! They’ve submerged! By
glory if I’d only had another shot at ’em!”

It was true. Where the other submarine had been the water stretched
unbroken, unruffled even by a periscope.

“Get down below!” ordered Rawlins racing towards the group upon the
deck. “They may fire another torpedo or ram us! It’s risky up here!”

Pellmell after him the others pushed down the ladder and an instant
later the submarine was once more under the sea while Rawlins swung
the periscope about and Bancroft listened at the detector.

“I’m getting them,” he announced presently, “but pretty well off. Yes,
getting fainter all the time. Expect they’re only too glad to get
away.”

“Oh, hang the luck!” cried Rawlins flinging down his cap. “Why didn’t
I shoot a bit lower and disable ’em!”

“Why, man, you saved us!” cried Mr. Pauling, grasping Rawlins’ hand
and patting him on the shoulder. “You made a wonderful hit! Absolutely
marvelous! Aren’t you satisfied with that?”

“We owe you our lives,” put in Mr. Henderson. “It was the finest thing
I’ve ever seen—wonderful marksmanship, Rawlins.”

Rawlins flushed. “Oh, shucks!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t I save my own
hide too? More luck than anything else. A fellow has to depend a heap
on luck in my business, you know.”

“Well all the luck in the world without a clear head, quick mind,
steady hands and a true eye wouldn’t have helped in that case,”
declared Mr. Pauling. “I certainly thank Heaven for our
escape—whether through luck or expert gunnery, my boy.”

“Yes, but we might have got those dirty Huns at the same time,”
lamented Rawlins. “If I hadn’t been so all-fired afraid of sinking
them and had shot a mite lower.”

“Don’t you suppose you did sink them?” asked Mr. Henderson. “I
shouldn’t think they could maneuver with their superstructure and
conning tower smashed.”

“No, they got away all right,” replied Rawlins. “Didn’t we just hear
them—and they’re beating us even with a shell through their upper
works, As long as the hatches and bulkheads weren’t hit they’d be all
right, of course they’re running blind, my shot carried away their
periscope—that is, unless they’ve got another one—but as long as
it’s open sea and they know their course that’s safe enough. Of course
they’ll come up pretty soon—as soon as they’re well out of range of
our gun; but I’ll bet we don’t sight them again. Guess we might as
well go up to the top. No use ambling along down here. We’d better
hike it to Trade Wind Cay.”

As Rawlins had foreseen, they did not catch a glimpse of the other
submarine and very soon the faint whir of her screws was lost. It was
evident that even in her partly disabled condition she was a much
faster craft than their own and Rawlins declared that he believed her
one of the very latest types that were launched just before the close
of the war and very few of which actually left German harbors.

“Funny she didn’t carry a gun,” commented Mr. Henderson, “and lucky
she didn’t for us.”

“She did,” replied Rawlins. “Disappearing gun, but they were either
too rattled or too surprised to use it. Probably thought it easier and
safer to sneak that torpedo at us. I’ll say they were some surprised
when it didn’t hit!”

“Begging your pardon, Sir, they never knowed it didn’t hit, Sir,”
remarked the quartermaster. “They was all below when they fired it,
Sir, and were just awash when you exploded it. I was a-noticin’ of
that, Sir.”

Rawlins slapped his thigh and let out an exultant shout. “By crickey,
then we may get ’em yet!” he exclaimed. “If they think the torpedo got
us they’ll make straight for their hang-out and think we’re done for.
I was afraid they’d keep off and not show up.”

Throughout that day nothing occurred. A message was sent to Disbrow
giving him their course and the position of the Cay and the submarine
kept steadily on her way. Early on the second morning a faint blur
showed upon the horizon ahead and after studying it through his
glasses Rawlins announced that it was Trade Wind Cay.

“Guess we’d better submerge,” he said. “If they’re there they’ll spot
us mighty quick and when we get closer we’ll even get our periscope
down. No use of taking any chances. Smernoff says they used to sink to
the bottom off the coast and let the men walk ashore, so we can play
that same game—only in a different place. But we’ll have to keep the
men on board ready to come up the minute we need ’em. If there’s a big
bunch on the Cay there’s no use in tackling them single-handed.”

“Yes, that’s the best plan,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but there’s one
matter we must bear in mind. Whoever goes ashore to scout must be able
to communicate with those aboard here. If we use radio the others will
also hear it and be suspicious—we have every reason to think they
already know we are, or rather were, following them and we must not
count too much on their thinking they sunk us. How can we arrange
that? Have you any suggestion, Henderson?”

“Have to arrange some sort of signal, I suppose,” replied Mr.
Henderson. “Possibly by means of these submarine detectors. I imagine
that a bell could be fixed to ring under water so we could hear it.”

“I’ve a better scheme than that,” declared Tom. “Wired wireless.”

“Wired wireless?” exclaimed his father. “How can you wire wireless and
what’s the idea?”

“Why, you just run a copper wire under water and attach the radio sets
at the ends,” explained Tom, “Then you can talk back and forth and no
one else can hear you.”

Mr. Pauling laughed. “Don’t you know that the electricity will run off
in the water, Son?” he asked. “Water’s a conductor of electricity and
even the cables have to be heavily insulated in order to carry the
current.”

“Well, this is different,” insisted Tom. “The electricity doesn’t run
through the water, it’s just the radio or electromagnetic waves and
they follow the wire and don’t get lost.”

“Who put all that nonsense into your head?” demanded Mr. Pauling.
“Radio is a wonderful science, I’ll admit, but that’s a little too
fishy.”

“Well, General Squiers did it—across the Potomac and used it during
the war,” declared Tom, “so it must be so. It was in that same article
that told about the resonance coils.”

“It’s quite true, Pauling,” Mr. Henderson assured him. “It _does_
sound ridiculous, I’ll admit, but radio and the modern theory of
electrons is upsetting all our old-fashioned ideas and Squiers proved
conclusively that radio waves _will_ follow a bare copper wire
under water. They’ll even go around corners or turns with it—not only
under water, but under ground. It was one of those lucky discoveries
that helped win the war, too. If General Squiers hadn’t discovered it
we would have been in a pretty fix. There was not one-thousandth
enough insulated wire on hand and we needed hundreds of times more
than all the factories together could supply. There was plenty of
wire, but not enough machines for insulating it. We were right up
against it when Squiers got his hunch and found it worked. And just as
Tom says, no one except those with the instruments at the ends of the
line can pick up the messages—a big advantage over wireless or
ordinary telegraph or telephone messages.”

“All right,” laughed Mr. Pauling, “I give in. Another miracle added to
the long list of radio magic. I’ll believe almost anything now. Go
ahead, Tom, you’re the radio boss, you know. Get your wired wireless
ready and we’ll soon see how it works.”

The submarine was now submerged, but with the periscope out, and each
minute the Cay was becoming plainer and plainer.

“If those chaps are there, won’t they hear our screws and clear out?”
Mr. Henderson asked. “I suppose they’ll have a detector on their boat
or ashore.”

“I don’t see how we can avoid that,” declared Mr. Pauling. “It’s one
of the chances we’ll have to take. I wish——”

“No, they won’t hear!” interrupted Rawlins. “I’d been worrying over
that myself, but luck’s with us again to-day. There’s a tramp steamer
over yonder—heading the same way we are and with her screw thrashing
the water like a dying whale. These laddies we’re after ’ll never be
able to pick up the sound of our little wheel. I’m going to edge over
towards the tramp a bit so as to make it still safer.”

“Jove, that is luck!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “I only hope our luck
holds and we find our friends at home.”

It was soon evident that the tramp steamer would pass close to the
island and that the submarine could hold her course and yet be within
half a mile of the tramp as she slipped by the Cay which both were
rapidly approaching.

“Better let Smernoff have a look and see if he knows the place,”
suggested Mr. Henderson. “Perhaps he can even pick out the location of
the houses and where the men land.”

“All right, have him come right up then,” said Rawlins. “I’ll have to
drop down and get the periscope under water in a minute; we’re getting
too close to the island and that tramp to risk being seen.”

Presently the Russian arrived and bending his huge shoulders peered
into the eye-piece of the periscope.

“Sure, that heem,” he announced in broken English, and then pointed
out a row of coconut palms on the western end of the Cay which he said
was the spot where the men landed, and indicated a hill just to the
left which he declared was where the men had dwelt in the old stone
rooms.

“Well, that’s all hunky-dory!” declared Rawlins jubilantly. “Now we’ll
just drop down and run along easy and come to rest on a nice sandy
bottom around the point and walk ashore and ask our ‘red’ friends how
they feel after the surprise party we gave ’em back there. Say, these
chaps picked out a mighty fitting place for themselves—just the spot
for a gang of pirates and thugs. Trade Wind Cay used to be a real
pirate hang-out. Back in the buccaneer days they held the place and
defied all the world for years—it was those old chaps cut the stairs
and forts and rooms out of the living rock. Used prisoners to do the
work and then murdered them afterwards. Spooky sort of place. That’s
why the natives fight shy of it; and they say there’s a lot of
treasure buried there.”

“I expect it’s being a ‘spooky’ place, as you say is one reason these
men selected it,” commented Mr. Pauling. “They probably knew they
would not be disturbed. But how do you account for the fact that they
found a few natives there whom they killed according to Smernoff’s
story?”

“Most likely smugglers or political refugees,” replied Rawlins, “Every
time there’s a row in Santo Domingo a bunch of the natives clear out
to save their skins and a place like this would suit ’em first rate.
And there’s always a crowd of smugglers knocking about. Or they may
have been fishermen or settlers from some of the others islands—from
over Porto Rico or St. Thomas way, who didn’t know the reputation of
the Cay.”

“Say,” said Tom, who had been listening attentively as Rawlins had
been speaking. “If there’s treasure there perhaps we can find it.
Wouldn’t that be great?”

His father laughed. “If there’s any treasure there it’s what the men
we are after have brought there,” he declared. “And if any was there
before they’ve probably found it. No, Son, every island and cay in the
West Indies has treasure on it, if we believe the natives.”

“Well, some of ’em really do have and some of it’s been found,” said
Rawlins. “First time I was down here I was diving for a crowd who were
searching for treasure.”

“Did they get it?” asked Frank.

“I’ll say they did!” replied the diver. “Got it out of an old
wreck—old galleon they said it was. I don’t know how much, but big
piles of old gold and silver coins all stuck together with coral and
old bronze bells and cannon. I’ve often wondered if they got it all. A
storm came up so we couldn’t work and we had to clear out. They said
they were coming back, but I don’t think they ever did, and I’ve been
meaning to have another look myself, but never got around to it. It’s
not far from here either. Over close to the Santo Domingo coast.”

“Jehoshaphat!” exclaimed Frank. “Let’s go over and try for it now!”

“This isn’t a treasure hunt, Frank,” Mr. Pauling reminded him. “We’ve
far more important matters on hand. Uncle Sam isn’t paying us to hunt
old galleons.”

“Oh, hang it!” ejaculated Tom in disappointed tones. “That’s what I
call rotten. Here we are with a submarine and a diver and suits and
all and right near a sunken galleon with millions and millions of
dollars on it for all we know, and we can’t even hunt for it. It makes
me sick.”

Mr. Pauling laughed. “You’ll never do for the Service if you’re so
easily sidetracked,” he declared. “Of course I understand how
fascinating such a story is to you boys, but business is business,
treasure or no treasure.”

“We’ll have to go up and take a squint now,” declared Rawlins a moment
later. “We don’t want to bump into the rocks.”

With the engines stopped the submarine was slowly raised until her
periscope broke through the surface and Rawlins announced that the Cay
was within half a mile.

“We can’t run into shoal water blind,” he said. “And if we go in with
our eye out they’ll spot us perhaps. I’d like to wait until night, but
then the old tramp wouldn’t be wallowing along to drown the sound of
our screw. What shall it be, Mr. Pauling?”

“I think we’d better risk running in with the periscope out,” he
replied. “Of course, as you say, there _is_ a risk of being seen,
but if we’re on the other side of the point and they don’t expect us
it’s a much smaller chance than we’d take by running in at night. It’s
highly probable that they maintain a pretty close watch and some one
is at the instruments constantly and they’d be certain to pick us up.
Yes, if you keep your periscope low and go slowly, so as not to make a
white wake, I think we can risk it.”

So, under half speed and with the slender periscope barely projecting
above the water, the submarine edged slowly in towards the Cay, until
in about five fathoms of water, when Rawlins brought her to a stop and
let her slowly sink until she rested on the sandy bottom.

“Well, we’re here,” he announced cheerfully, “About three hundred
yards from a nice smooth beach. Now, how about going ashore?”

“Better wait until dark,” suggested Mr. Henderson. “A diver coming out
of the sea is easily seen and would be helpless until he took off his
suit. I would advise laying that copper communication wire and getting
everything in readiness for a scouting party after dark.”

All agreed that this was the wisest plan and so, donning his suit,
Rawlins entered the air-lock and carrying a coil of copper wire
slipped into the sea, paying out the wire as he walked slowly towards
the shore. He was strongly tempted to sneak to land among the rocks of
a nearby point and have a look about on his own account, but knowing
that if anything went wrong he would be to blame for having disobeyed
orders, he regretfully refrained and having crawled as close to shore
as he dared without showing himself above the surface he weighted the
remainder of the coil with coral and returned to the submarine.

Before he had taken ten steps he halted in his tracks, listening half
incredulously, every nerve and sense alert, for in his ears he had
heard the rough, guttural voices he knew so well. For the time being
he had forgotten that he wore the receiving set and the sound of human
voices coming to him so unexpectedly and suddenly under water startled
him.

To be sure, the voices sounded faint and far away, but that they were
voices and voices of men speaking in Russian or some similar tongue
there could be no doubt.

“Confound it!” he muttered to himself. “Why the dickens didn’t I learn
Russian! Wonder if they’re hearing it on the sub!”

But he could not ask. He realized that if he could hear the others
they might hear him if he attempted to speak to his friends and with
this thought another flashed through his mind. Suppose the boys should
not hear the Russians and should speak to him! Or suppose, without
stopping to think, they too should hear the voices and ask him if he
did! In either case the enemy would be forewarned and on the alert.
The only thing was to make all haste to the submarine and warn those
upon it to listen and not to speak into the transmitters. Without
waiting to hear more, Rawlins hurried as rapidly as possible to the
submarine, climbed into the air-lock and soon reappeared among his
friends.

“Did you hear them?” he asked the moment he entered the door.

“No, hear who?” demanded Mr. Henderson.

“Those Bolsheviks,” replied Rawlins, “I heard ’em not five minutes
ago. I didn’t dare call you or say anything for fear they’d hear me
and I was nervous as a cat fearing you fellows might call into the
transmitter and they’d hear.”

“We’ve been right at the instruments and didn’t hear a thing,”
declared Tom. “Gosh, but it’s funny you got ’em and we didn’t.”

“They were pretty faint and far off,” said Rawlins. “Maybe they were
out of your range.”

“No, I guess it’s that same old effect of the sounds inside the
helmet,” said Tom. “Remember, up in New York, we could always hear
under water better than ashore.”

“Well, I don’t think it makes much difference,” declared Mr. Pauling,
“but it proves they’re here or near here. You’d better take some one
ashore with you to-night, Rawlins. Whom would you select?”

“Guess it’ll have to be Smernoff,” replied Rawlins. “I’ll need some
one who can savvy Russian more than anything else.”

“Do you think you can trust him?” asked Mr. Henderson. “You’re taking
a risk with him alone on that Cay in the dark and with his old-time
friends and comrades there.”

“Sure, I’m taking a risk,” agreed Rawlins with a grin, “but a diver’s
always taking risks—been taking them ever since I was knee high—and
a few more or less don’t cut any ice. Anyway, I don’t believe Smernoff
will turn traitor. You see, he looks upon me as a sort of hero—saving
his life and all, and besides, he’s as keen on evening up scores with
this bunch as any of us. He’s got everything to win and nothing to
lose by betting on us and my experience is that if it’s an even toss
up with a fellow he’ll chip in with the side that he’ll gain the most
with.”

“That’s sound philosophy,” chuckled Mr. Pauling. “I don’t think
there’s any danger with Smernoff and of course there’s the advantage
that he can use a diving suit.”

The time dragged slowly until sundown and as soon as darkness fell
Rawlins summoned the Russian and prepared to go ashore on his
dangerous mission.

“Just as soon as you get ashore, or even before, try this wired
wireless,” Tom admonished him. “Then we’ll know if it works. It’s too
bad you can’t keep it fastened to your set while you sneak over the
island, but that’s impossible.”

Then, showing Rawlins how to snap the wire onto his set, the boys bade
him good-by and the two men entered the air-lock. For a long time
after they had left, those upon the submarine sat silent, the boys
listening at their receivers, the men thinking deeply and in their
minds planning their moves should Rawlins locate the camp of the
“reds.” At last, after what seemed an interminable time, Tom heard
Rawlins’ voice rather thin and faint, coming in over the wire.

“Safe ashore,” he said, “and talking mighty low. Can you get me all
right?”

“Hear you finely,” replied Tom. “We’ll stick right here. Good luck!”

Minute after minute dragged by, the little clock upon the bulkhead
ticked off an hour and no sound or word came from shore. What had
happened? Had Rawlins found the camp? Had he been seen and captured?
Was he even now struggling for his life? Had Smernoff betrayed him?
The suspense was nerve-racking. It anything happened to Rawlins, if he
failed to return, their quest would come to an abrupt end. They
depended upon him for guidance, for advice, for diving. Never until
now did any of them realize to what an extent everything depended upon
him.

“If he’s not back soon I’ll take a landing party ashore,” declared Mr.
Pauling. “We’ve got arms and a dozen men and more. I can’t stand this
uncertainty much longer. They’ve been gone an hour and a half. I’m
sorry he took Smernoff. I——”

At that moment Frank heard the long-hoped-for voice. “Coming back!”
was all it said.

“Well, he’s safe at all events!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling fervently.




CHAPTER VII

THE FIGHT WITH THE OCTOPUS


A few moments later Rawlins appeared with Smernoff close behind him.

“Gone!” Rawlins announced before a question could be asked. “Cleared
out bag and baggage. We went over every inch of the Cay and there’s
not a living soul on it. Just too late.”

“Jove, that’s too bad!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Looks as if they’re
bound to be a jump ahead of us. Lord alone knows where they’ve gone.”

“You’re dead wrong there!” declared Rawlins. “The Lord’s not the only
one knows. We know.”

The others leaped to their feet. “Are you serious?” cried Mr. Pauling,
hardly able to believe Rawlins’ statements. “What do you mean by that,
Rawlins?”

“Where are they?” demanded Mr. Henderson. “_How_ do you know?”

“You bet I’m serious,” declared Rawlins. “Heard ’em talking. Last of
’em was just leaving and I had one devil of a time stopping old
Smernoff from running amuck and doing up the bunch single-handed.
They’ve gone over to Santo Domingo where the Grand Panjandrum stops.”

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, begin at the beginning and tell us what
happened,” cried Mr. Pauling. “First you announce they’ve all gone and
then you talk about hearing them and knowing their plans. Make a
sensible consecutive story of it, Rawlins.”

“All right,” grinned the diver, seating himself. “We got ashore all
right and I called the boys and heard them—say you must have been
shouting, Tom—and then we took off the suits, tucked ’em out of sight
among the brush and started overland, Smernoff leading. Found a nice
spot overlooking the beach and there was a bunch of men standing by a
pile of dunnage and jabbering away to beat the band. Old Smernoff
wanted to butt right in and clean up the crowd, but I managed to stop
him. Thought he’d spoil the game by yelling or something. Well, after
I’d got him quieted down we sneaked in close—they were so blamed busy
gassing away they wouldn’t have seen us if we’d walked in and said
‘how-de-do.’ Got close enough so Smernoff could understand them and
told him not to try to translate, but just to take it all in and tell
me later. I thought at first of coming back and reporting, but I could
see they were just ready to clear out and knew they’d be gone before
we could get over here and back and decided the talk was more
important so hung on. Pretty soon up bobs their sub—I could tell her
by that smashed conning tower—and a boat comes ashore and takes off
the bunch. Then the sub clears out and we are alone.”

“Well, what did Smernoff tell you?” demanded Mr. Henderson as Rawlins
concluded.

“I was coming to that,” went on the diver. “There were so many talking
at once he didn’t get it all, but he got enough. He says they had word
this morning or this afternoon—he isn’t sure which—that their sub
had been attacked and was being followed by a destroyer, and a sub,
but that the sub—meaning us—had been done for. And they were talking
a lot about him—I expect he was so busy listening to that part he
couldn’t get all the rest—swearing vengeance on him for betraying
them. They knew about his getting away and doing up a few ‘reds’ in
New York—though how the dickens they got the news beats me, and one
of the men from the sub—he’d come ashore in a diving suit to see if
the coast was clear—was telling them how Smernoff and his mate had
betrayed the sub in the East River and the narrow escape they’d had.
Funny how they got the idea old Smernoff did that when really they
deserted him. Anyhow they were mad as hornets when their nest’s been
poked by a kid and at the same time they didn’t dare wait for the
destroyer to come up, so all hands decided to pack up and go over to
Santo Domingo. It seems they’ve a place all ready over there close to
the big chief’s and had been planning to move for some time. Now, just
where that is I don’t know, but Smernoff says they talked about a cave
and I heard one of ’em say something about Caña Honda. Over Caña Honda
way there are lots of caves so I’ve got a hunch the whole shooting
match are beating it for over that way.”

“You’ve done a good night’s work, Rawlins!” cried Mr. Pauling. “You
did quite right in listening rather than notifying us. All we wanted
of this crowd was information—it’s the head of the gang we’re
after—and we’ve got what we want, or nearly what we want—without
capturing or alarming them, which is a big point. Always keep the
other fellow guessing in this game is a good thing to remember—let
him think he’s safe and he’ll be less careful. I imagine you are right
about the locality, your hunches have proved very accurate so far, so
let us get under way for Caña Honda.”

“No hurry,” declared Rawlins. “Those chaps won’t be over there until
morning and I don’t want to take any chances of bumping into them or a
reef at night. We can get started and loaf along a little later, but
we want to be dead careful or they’ll hear us. They think we’re at the
bottom of the Caribbean so we’ll let ’em keep on thinking so. If they
are at Caña Honda we won’t have much trouble finding them. We can
either pick them up by radio or spot them by smoke. They can’t cook
without fire and where there’s fire there’s smoke. My plan would be to
wait until nearly daylight and then start and take it easy and
submerge before we get in sight of Caña Honda. Then slip in, find a
good hiding place and do our hunting in small boats or afoot after
dark. A sub’s a mighty poor sort of thing to go moseying around with.
If we locate them we can slip off, notify Disbrow and corral the whole
bunch.”

For a few moments Mr. Pauling was silent, thinking deeply.

“Yes,” he assented at last. “That will be the best plan. No use in
rushing matters to such an extent that we overdo it. And I quite agree
with you in regard to tracing them. As you say, a submarine is too
clumsy and large a craft for scouting—it’s too easily seen or heard.”

Everything being thus arranged, the submarine was raised to the
surface, anchored securely and the occupants retired. The boys,
however, got little sleep, for they were nervous and excited and
filled with expectation of thrilling adventures to come.

As soon as the first faint streaks of dawn showed upon the horizon,
the anchor was hauled in and, swinging her bow towards the dim, black
bulk that marked the mountains of Santo Domingo to the westward, the
submarine slipped silently from Trade Wind Cay.

Hour after hour they moved steadily across the calm blue sea and as
they drew ever nearer to the big island the boys gazed upon it with
wonder. They had never dreamed that an island could be so large. They
had imagined, from the tiny dot that represented Santo Domingo in
their geographies, that it would be a low, flat spot somewhat like the
Bahamas, but a little larger, and now before them, they saw what
appeared to be a continent. As far as eye could see on either hand the
forest-covered hills stretched away. Inland and up from the shores
rose tier after tier of mountains, the farthest nearly two miles in
height and half-hidden in clouds, and between them were immense
valleys, deep ravines and wide plateaus. And everywhere, from sea to
topmost mountain peaks, the vivid green of forest and jungle, broken
only by a few isolated patches of light-green sugar cane upon the
lower hill slopes or in the valleys.

“Jiminy!” exclaimed Tom. “That _is_ an island!”

“I’ll say ’tis!” agreed Rawlins. “Mighty fine one too.”

“It’s beautiful—but awfully wild-looking,” declared Frank. “Is it
full of Indians and wild animals?”

Rawlins laughed heartily. “Wildest animals are the natives,” he
assured them, “and the old Spaniards killed off the last poor Indian
over two hundred years ago.” Then, a moment later, he continued: “By
the way, speaking of Spaniards, that old galleon I told you about is
right over yonder. See that line of reefs? Well, she’s just on the
outer edge of those in about 20 to 25 fathoms.”

“Oh, Gosh! why won’t Dad let us stop and go down to it?” cried Tom.

“Say, perhaps he will!” exclaimed Frank jubilantly. “He wouldn’t
before, but now he’s in no hurry—they can’t go in shore until
dark—and I’ll bet he’d just as lief wait out here as anywhere else.
Let’s ask him.”

At first Mr. Pauling refused to listen to the boys’ pleading, but when
Rawlins pointed out that they had time to kill and added that he
personally would like to have a look at the old wreck, Tom’s father
yielded.

“Very well then,” he agreed, “but don’t waste any time. We’ll expect
you to bring up a fortune, Rawlins. Let us know when you go down so we
can see the fun.”

“And for heaven’s sake take care of yourself,” added Mr. Henderson.
“If anything happens to you where will we be?”

“Oh, I’ll be safe enough,” laughed Rawlins. “I’m safer under water
than on top any day.”

“Come on then!” cried Tom, “let’s get our suits ready.”

“No, boys, you’re not going down here,” declared Rawlins. “Too deep.”

“Oh, confound it all!” cried Frank. “Everything has to be spoiled.
What’s the use if we can’t go down to the old wreck?”

“You can look through the underseas ports and watch me,” Rawlins
reminded them. “Honest, I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but this is
real diving. I’ll have to use my regulation suit here too. Too deep
for those self-contained ones.”

For a time the disappointed boys sulked, but presently, realizing that
there were limits to what they could expect to do and also realizing
that they were more than fortunate to be able to watch Rawlins as he
investigated the old galleon, their high spirits returned and they
became as interested, excited and enthusiastic as ever.

The submarine was now close to the spot where Rawlins stated the wreck
had been before and he busied himself getting out his suit, oiling and
testing the air pump and making everything ready while the submarine
slowed down and came to a stop.

“It’s a heap easier now—with a submarine,” said Rawlins, as he slid
back the heavy metal cover to the thick glass port. “We can look about
a bit and locate the wreck before I go down. Last time it took us
nearly a month to find it. You see, it’s too deep to see bottom from
the surface and—look here, boys—ever see anything prettier than
that?”

The boys crowded to the small port and stared out It was like the
sea-gardens at Nassau multiplied and glorified a thousandfold. The
submarine was now submerged and floating at a slight angle a few
fathoms above the bottom and her powerful electric lights, such as
Rawlins used in his sub-sea photography, were casting a brilliant beam
of soft greenish light upon the ocean floor and the marvelous growths
which covered it. The boys, dry and safe within the submarine, could
scarcely believe they actually were gazing at the bottom of the sea.
It was more like some strange and marvelous painting or, as Tom said,
like the models on exhibition in the American Museum. It was all
unreal, weird, beautiful, unbelievable. On all sides was a dim, green
void, with half-revealed forms, shadowy outlines and indistinct
objects showing through it as through a heavy green curtain, while the
beam of light, stabbing through the water gave the effect of the
curtain being drawn aside to disclose the beauties and wonders behind
it. Back and forth in this light clear space flitted gaudy fishes;
fishes of grotesque form; fishes with long, trailing opalescent-hued
fins; fishes large and fishes small; and once the boys cried out in
momentary alarm and drew quickly back from the glass as an ugly
hammer-headed shark, six feet or more in length, bumped his
clumsy-looking head against the port.

“Gosh! Mr. Rawlins, aren’t you afraid to go down among those fellows?”
cried Tom.

“Not in the least,” Rawlins assured him. “They won’t touch a man in a
diving suit—come up and rub their backs against him or stare at him,
but never anything else. They’re a blamed nuisance at times—get in a
man’s way, but we can drive ’em off by hitting them. Look, there’s a
moray!”

As he spoke, an immense greenish, snake-like eel wriggled past so
closely the boys could see his throbbing gills.

“They’re worse than sharks,” Rawlins told them. “Bite anything and
savage as tigers. Good to eat though.”

But the boys found the other wonders and beauties even more
interesting than the fishes. Gigantic cup-shaped sponges grew upwards
for six or seven feet. Immense sea-fans and sea-plumes formed a forest
that might have been of futuristic palms. Huge orange, green and
chocolate domes of brain corals were piled like titanic many-colored
fruits. There were great toadstool-like mushroom corals of lavender,
pink and yellow and everywhere, above all, the wide-branching,
tree-like madrepores or stag-horn corals of dull fawn-brown. Back and
forth among this forest under the sea darted schools of tiny
jewel-like fishes; great pink conchs crawled slowly about; a little
flock of butterfly squids shot past, gleaming like bits of burnished
metal in the light; ugly long-legged giant spider crabs scuttled into
their shelters among the corals and everywhere the ocean’s floor was
dotted with huge starfishes, brilliant sponges, big black,
sea-cucumbers and crabs and shells by hundreds.

“Jove, it’s the most wonderful sight I’ve ever seen!” declared Mr.
Henderson who, with Mr. Pauling, was also gazing at this wonderland
beneath the sea.

“Yes, simply marvelous!” agreed the other. “Boys, I’m mighty glad I
gave in. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. No wonder you’re
fascinated by a diver’s life, Rawlins!”

“But I want to see that wreck!” cried Tom. “Do you suppose it’s gone?”

“Ought to be pretty close to it by now,” said Rawlins. “Yes, there
’tis! See it, boys? Look, over beyond that big bunch of sea-fans!”

The boys strained their eyes in the direction Rawlins pointed, but
could see nothing that even remotely resembled a wreck.

“No, I can’t see it,” admitted Tom, at last.

“Neither can I,” said Frank.

“Why it’s plain as can be,” declared Rawlins. “Can’t miss it.” Then,
an idea occurring to him, he burst into a hearty laugh. “Why, I
suppose you’re looking for a ship!” he cried. “Masts and stern and
rails and all! Nothing like that, boys. This old hooker’s been down
here a couple of hundred years and more. She’s just a mass of coral
now. See that sort of mound there—that one with that lop-sided
stag-horn coral growing out of one side?”

“Oh, yes, I see that,” declared Tom. “Is that the wreck?”

“I’ll say ’tis,” Rawlins assured him. “Well, we’re near enough. Too
bad we can’t let the old sub down to the bottom, but it’s too rough. I
guess she’ll be pretty steady here though—isn’t any current or those
sea-rods would be waving.”

“But I don’t understand how you can go down with life-lines and things
when the submarine is under water,” said Frank. “I thought we’d have
to be on the surface.”

“And I don’t see why it makes any difference about the suits, no
matter how deep it is,” added Tom.

“I don’t use life-lines and ‘things’ when I’m diving from a sub,”
explained Rawlins. “In the first place they’re no use. When a fellow
goes down from the surface he can’t be seen and so he has to have a
signal line and a rope for hauling him up. But down here I can come
back to the sub whenever I please and just climb into the air-lock on
the ladder, and if I want to signal I can do it without any line—just
wave my hands—as you can see me all the time. The airhose runs from a
connection in the air-lock and I carry a light line along just as a
safeguard and have a man in the air-lock holding it. Of course I
_could_ go down in one of the self-contained suits, but the
pressure’s pretty big down here and it’s no fun working in one of them
when the pressure outside is just about the limit of what I can get
with the oxygen generators. It’s different with the air—I don’t have
to bother with that—the pump looks after it.”

“Oh, I understand,” declared Frank, “but who’s going to tend the line
for you?”

“Sam,” replied Rawlins. “He’s worked with me before and he’s a
wonderful diver and swimmer. You see the pressure in the air-lock is
the same or even a little more than outside and it takes a chap who’s
used to deep-sea diving to stand that. Sam could go down here without
a suit—but not for long of course—pressure’s too great. Well, so
long. Keep your eyes on the wreck and you’ll see me out there among
the fishes in a minute.”

Rawlins entered the air-lock with Sam and presently the boys saw
him—a grotesque, clumsy figure in the baggy diving suit and big round
helmet—laboriously making his way along the bottom almost below them.
Turning, he waved his hand reassuringly and then resumed his way
towards the coral-encrusted wreck.

“Doesn’t he look funny!” cried Tom, “leaning way forwards and half
swimming along, and aren’t those bubbles coming up from his
escape-valve pretty? Say, it must be fun to be way down there. Gosh, I
wish we could have gone!”

“It takes years of practice to enable a man to stand that pressure,”
his father informed him, “and even expert professional divers cannot
keep it up long. If you boys should go down here you’d probably be
terribly injured—your ear drums burst and perhaps your eyes ruptured.
A diver begins in shoal water and gradually goes deeper and deeper and
Rawlins has been at it since he was a youngster.”

“Yes,” commented Mr. Henderson, “and some men never can dive. Divers
are born not made.”

“Well it’s the next best thing to be able to watch him,” said Frank
philosophically. “Oh, look, Tom, he’s nearly at the wreck!”

Rawlins was, as Frank said, close to the mound of coral and sea-growth
that he had told the boys was the wreck of the old galleon and a
moment later they saw him stoop and begin working with the heavy
crowbar he carried.

Breathessly the boys watched, thrilled with the idea of thus seeing a
deep-sea diver at work and speculating on whether he would find
treasure. Then they saw Rawlins suddenly start back, almost losing his
balance and in recovering himself the crowbar dropped to the ocean’s
floor. The next instant Tom uttered a frightened, horrified cry. From
among the mass of corals a long, snake-like object had shot forth and
had whipped itself around Rawlins’ body like a living rope. They saw
Rawlins grasp it, strain at it, and then, before the white-faced,
terrified watchers in the submarine fully realized what was taking
place, another and another of the livid, serpent-like things were
writhing and coiling about the diver.

“It’s an octopus!” cried Mr. Pauling.

“Oh, oh! He’ll be killed!” screamed Frank. “Oh, isn’t it terrible?”

But they were helpless, powerless to aid. All they could do was to
gaze fascinated and terror-stricken at the awful tragedy, the fearful
struggle taking place there at the bottom of the sea before their very
eyes.

And now they could see the loathsome creature itself. Its great pulpy
body, now pink, now blue, now green; its huge, lusterless, unwinking
eyes—an enormous creature whose sucker-clad tentacles encircled
Rawlins in a grip of steel, binding his signal line and making it
useless, reaching about as if to grasp the air-hose, swaying like
serpents about to strike before his helmet. Madly the diver was
fighting for his life, bracing himself against the corals, grappling
with the slimy tentacles, wrenching his hands and arms free. Then the
terrified, breathless watchers gazing at the nightmare-like scene saw
Rawlins lift his arm and through the water they saw the blade of his
sheath knife flashing in the beam of light. Again and again he brought
it slashing down, hacking, stabbing at the clinging tentacles. Bits of
the writhing flesh dropped off at the blows and a cloud of inky water
that shot from the repulsive creature’s syphon for a moment obscured
the scene. But the savage blows, the slashing cuts, the lopped-off
tentacles seemed not to affect the giant devil fish in the least and
slowly, steadily, inexorably Rawlins was being drawn closer and closer
to the cruel eyes, the soft toad like body and the wicked, parrot-like
beak.

The boys screamed aloud, the men muttered under their breath. Members
of the crew, attracted by the frightened cries, rushed to the port and
peered horrified at the terrible scene being enacted under the sea.

Rawlins’ fate seemed sealed, he was now bound fast by the eight
tentacles, even the hand with the knife was wrapped around by the
relentless, sucker-armed things.

And then, from below the submarine, a strange shape darted through the
water—a dark form which, for an instant, the boys took for some huge
fish.

Straight towards the struggling diver it sped and as the light fell
upon it the boys shouted and yelled, the men cheered, for it was no
fish but a man! A man, naked and black, swimming at utmost speed—Sam
the negro hurrying to Rawlins’ aid!

Hardly had those at the ports realized it was Sam before he was at the
scene of battle. For a brief instant he poised motionless above the
diver and his antagonist and then, quickly and gracefully as a seal,
he plunged straight down at the octopus. There was a flash of steel in
the light, the water was blackened with the polyp’s ink. Through the
thick, murky, discolored water only confused, rapidly moving forms
were visible and scarcely breathing, those within the submarine gazed
and waited. Would Sam be able to kill the creature? Could he hold out
long enough to win the battle? Could he free Rawlins?

Then as the water cleared and the light once more penetrated the
depths, rousing cheers went up from the watchers, they laughed
hysterically, tears rolled down their cheeks, for slowly, painfully
but surely, Sam was coming back, while behind him, half dragging
himself along, but apparently uninjured, was Rawlins. Upon the bottom
where he had stood a shapeless squirming, pulpy mass was all that
remained of the octopus and about it, swarmed voracious fishes
snapping at the dying, flaccid tentacles. The battle was over. Rawlins
was safe. Sam had won. Naked, armed only with a knife, he had attacked
the monster of the sea, had literally hacked it to bits and had
returned unharmed.

“Gosh!” cried Tom. “Gosh!” and unable to say another word, utterly
overcome, he slumped down upon a cushioned seat faint from the strain
he had undergone.

Frank swayed unsteadily and sank down beside his chum while Mr.
Pauling and the others wiped their wet brows, licked their dry lips
and grasped one another’s hands in silent thanksgiving, too overcome
to speak.




CHAPTER VIII

LOST


Long before they had recovered from their fright, from the strain and
the reaction, Rawlins appeared, his face pale, but with its habitual
cheerful grin and half-carrying Sam.

“I’ll say that was a close call!” he exclaimed, as he placed the negro
on a seat. “Say, get some brandy or whisky quick! Sam’s all in.”

As the others crowded about, laughing, congratulating, expressing
their relief and joy at his escape and forcing liquor between Sam’s
blue lips, Rawlins was busily chafing and rubbing the man’s cold body
and limbs, slapping his chest and back and giving orders.

“Get some hot coffee,” he commanded, “and blankets. He’ll be all right
soon. Went to pieces in the air-lock—couldn’t help me off with the
suit and had a devil of a time with it. Bully boy, Sam! There, old
sport, how do you feel?”

A sickly smile spread over Sam’s haggard features.

“Ah’s all right, Chief,” he whispered. “Did Ah finish tha’ sea-cat,
Chief?”

“I’ll say you did!” cried Rawlins. “Cut him clean in two! Blamed lucky
for me too. Here, take this coffee!”

Sam gulped down the steaming coffee and was wrapped in the blankets
and slowly the color came back to his lips and he took deep, long
breaths.

“You’re all right now,” declared Rawlins. “Be fit as ever and ready
for another scrap with an octopus before dinner. Say, Sam, I
can’t——” Rawlins swayed, his face went white as a sheet and he
grasped wildly at a stanchion. Willing hands seized him and carried
him to a couch where, for five minutes, they worked feverishly over
him before he opened his eyes and regained consciousness.

“By Jove, but you’ve got grit!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Nerviest
thing I ever saw! Imagine going through that horror and then bringing
Sam in and tending to him before you gave in! Rawlins, old man, you’re
a marvel!”

Rawlins grinned and rose to a sitting posture.

“Guess I was a bit knocked out and shaken,” he admitted. “I’ll say
it’s no sport fighting a darned octopus!” and then, with a whimsical
smile, “Say, I’ll be able to make a corking film of an octopus next
time. I thought that last one of mine was a peach, but it didn’t have
enough pep to it. Never thought when I invented that rubber beast I’d
ever get in a scrap with a real one.”

“Oh, it was terrible!” cried Tom. “How can you joke about it?”

“Easy to laugh as to cry,” replied Rawlins. “All’s well that ends
well, you know. I guess you’re glad you didn’t go down now.”

“You bet we are!” declared Frank. “Gee! I don’t believe I’ll ever go
down again. I’d imagine there were devil fish waiting for me
everywhere. Ugh!”

“Never had to tackle one before,” said Rawlins, “and I’ve been diving
for years. Well, I guess I’m O.K. I’ll get busy on that wreck again.”

“Not for one minute!” said Mr. Pauling decisively. “You’ll just forget
that wreck—at least as long as you are with me. If you feel all right
we’ll get out of here as quick as we can and get some fresh air—I’m
stifling and my heart’s still beating like a trip hammer.”

“Well, I suppose you’re the boss,” grinned Rawlins, “but it’s a shame
to clear out with that old galleon and a lot of loot so handy.”

“Bother the galleon and her loot!” burst out Mr. Henderson. “No more
nonsense on this trip. We’ve had enough of under-sea work to last a
lifetime.”

Ten minutes later, the submarine was floating on the surface and
standing in the bright warm sunshine on deck, with the placid blue sea
about and the rich green island beyond, the boys could scarcely
believe that they had really undergone such a frightful experience. It
seemed like some unreal, horrible nightmare, but the round raw spots
on Rawlins’ hands where the creature’s suckers had gripped him were
proof of the reality of the battle, and every time the boys thought of
it they shuddered and cold chills ran up and down their spines.

Rawlins made little of it, joking and laughing as if such matters were
of everyday occurrence, while Sam, fully recovered from the effects of
his daring rescue, refused to be considered a hero and was ill at ease
and embarrassed whenever a word of praise or commendation was
expressed.

Very soon Santo Domingo was so close that Rawlins advised running
submerged and, pointing out a low valley-like expanse extending far
into the hills, declared it to be the entrance to Caña Honda Bay. With
the periscope just visible above the sea, and hugging the shores as
closely as they dared, the submarine was run slowly into the narrow
opening while the boys, stationed at their instruments, listened for
the faintest hint of a whirring screw in their vicinity. But no sound
broke the silence under the sea and no sign of another craft was seen.

Well up the bay and behind a densely wooded point the sub-sea craft
was run into a smaller bay and then, emerging, Rawlins piloted her
through a crooked river-like channel until safely screened back of a
low sandy beach covered with a grove of coconut trees.

“We’re pretty safe here, I think,” he announced. “I came here once
with a party of scientists and we camped here when we were on that
trip looking for the wreck yonder. If the 'reds’ are hanging out near
here they’ll be over the other side of the bay, I think. Those hills
over there are full of caves and it’s a wild country. Just the place
for such a gang. We can keep an eye on the entrance and the channel
from here and go snooping around after dark and maybe pick up a radio
message or see a fire or smoke.”

“You’ve selected an ideal spot,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “Safe harbor,
fresh coconuts, a nice beach for bathing and safely hidden. I don’t
know how we could get on without you, Rawlins.”

“Well, if I hadn’t got the crazy idea of coming down here you wouldn’t
have been here,” the diver reminded him. “So you couldn’t have been
without me. But I’m mighty glad I’ve helped a little.”

“How about fresh water?” asked Mr. Henderson. “Ours is getting pretty
low, you know.”

“There’s a stream back on the mainland—just over by that point,”
replied Rawlins, “and there’s a sort of inner harbor here too—fine
place for fishing and hunting, though of course we can’t hunt—and
beyond that a big mangrove swamp that runs clean around to the
opposite side of the bay. By going through that we could sneak over
around the caves without being seen. Devil of a place to get through,
though—regular labyrinth. A man would get lost there in a jiffy
without a compass.”

It was now nearly sundown and preparations were at once made for the
night.

It was agreed that no time was to be lost. That as soon as darkness
came Rawlins and Mr. Pauling with one of the boys should go out in a
boat carrying a receiving instrument and the resonance coil while the
others remained in the submarine and listened for any sounds or
messages which might come to them.

“The trouble is we cannot communicate safely,” remarked Mr. Pauling.
“That’s the one great shortcoming of this radio. Any one within range
can hear. I don’t know much about the technical end as you know, but I
can see that the man who invents a method of communicating by wireless
secretly, or so others can’t hear him, will make his fortune and
revolutionize the science.”

“You’re quite right,” agreed Mr. Henderson. “That’s why it will never
take the place of wire telegraphy or telephone—that is, until such a
discovery as you suggest is made. However, the very fact that it’s not
possible to keep messages secret at present is to our advantage now.
It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good, you know.”

“We’ll hope we don’t need to communicate,” said Rawlins. “I don’t see
why we should. If we hear anything and locate the gang we can come
back here, slip away and call Disbrow. We’re in no shape to make an
attack by ourselves.”

“I’d like to know why not?” demanded Tom. “We could turn the gun on
’em and we’ve got rifles and pistols and everything.”

“Sure,” laughed Rawlins. “I suppose we’d pick up that two-inch gun and
lug it over in the small boat and dump it down in their front yard
while they looked on. No, Son, if they got wise to us being here
they’d either clean out by their sub or scatter in the bush or go for
us tooth and nail. A crowd that don’t hesitate to try to torpedo us
isn’t going to stop at a scrap and the Lord alone knows how many of
’em there are.”

“Rawlins is right,” declared Mr. Pauling. “If we locate them we must
plan to make a concerted raid, surrounding them on all sides and with
a large enough force to make resistance useless. The man we want may
or may not be there, but we must be absolutely sure to get him if he
is. If he gives us the slip our troubles will have just commenced.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s so,” admitted Tom. “Gosh, I hope we do find
them.”

Everything was now in readiness, the night was inky black, not a
glimmer of light showed upon the submarine and silently embarking in
the small boat, Rawlins, Mr. Pauling, Tom and two of the crew pushed
off and were instantly swallowed up in the darkness.

Sitting at his instruments and listening for any chance sound or
message was dull work for Frank and his mind was constantly on what
Tom and the others might be doing. Once, very faint and far away, he
thought he heard the whirring sound of a screw, but Bancroft, who
listened in at Frank’s request, declared he did not believe it was.

“At any rate,” he said, “if 't is, it’s a long way off. Maybe some
ship outside the bay.”

Then followed absolute silence. Bancroft, at the regular instruments,
picked up some dot and dash messages flying back and forth between
passing ships and the big station at Santo Domingo City, but there was
nothing suspicious, nothing that hinted of the proximity of the men
they sought. Slowly the time dragged on, hour after hour passed by.
Frank yawned and almost dozed while sitting at the instruments. Would
the boat never return? Had they heard or seen anything? How, Frank
wondered, could Rawlins find his way in such dense blackness? Would
they get lost in the swamp he had mentioned? Suppose they never
returned? Perhaps they might be captured or killed by the outlaws. The
thought startled him. It had not occurred to him before that there was
any danger. But once that current of thought was started it ran riot
in his brain. He grew nervous, excited, worried, and Bancroft could
not cheer him or disabuse him of the premonition that something
serious had happened.

“Oh, you’d hear ’em, if anything happened,” declared the operator.
“They’d call you or something. If they were discovered there’d be no
need of keeping quiet. Trouble is, your nerves aren’t over the
excitement of this afternoon yet. Cheer up. They’re all right. No news
is good news, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” admitted Frank, “but just the same I’m
worried.”

Then to his ears came a faint sound; before he could grasp its meaning
he heard footsteps overhead and a moment later Rawlins and Tom
descended the ladder with Mr. Pauling close behind them and Mr.
Henderson, who had been keeping watch on deck, bringing up the rear.

“Gee, I’m glad you’re back!” cried Frank. “I thought sure something
had happened to you! Did you find them?”

“Not a sign!” replied Rawlins. “Don’t believe they’ve got over here
yet.”

“Gosh, but it was black!” exclaimed Tom, “and weird. What did you
think could happen to us?”

Frank, rather ashamed of his unwarranted fears, tried to explain, but
Rawlins laughed.

“Don’t you worry over anything of that sort,” he told him. “We can
take care of ourselves.”

“And, as Bancroft said, if anything went wrong we’d let you know,”
said Mr. Pauling. “Remember, all of you, if you have trouble or are
attacked or anything goes wrong don’t hesitate to call for help or
give information. Safety first is the rule and it’s better to lose the
game by having the rascals hear us than to come to grief ourselves. I
should never forgive myself if anything serious happened to any of us
through lack of communicating with the means at hand, regardless of
the results as far as catching the criminals is concerned.”

“Didn’t you hear anything on the detector?” asked Tom.

“Nothing but the splash of your oars when you came and went and, yes,
I heard something once I thought was a screw, but is was too faint to
be sure and Mr. Bancroft didn’t think it was.”

“Funny,” commented Mr. Pauling. “Of course we didn’t go very far—it
was slow work getting about in the dark—and we had to turn back as
the moon began to rise. They are either not here or else were not
talking through their instruments. To-morrow night we’ll have an hour
longer and can go farther.”

“I think the very fact that they were not conversing by radio proves
one of two things,” declared Mr. Henderson. “Either the submarine has
not 'come within speaking distance or else all are ashore together
when there would be no need of talking by wireless. I imagine that, as
they know the destroyer is looking for them, and are aware that we or
those on the destroyer have some form of under-sea radio, they would
be very cautious about using it and would do so only when absolutely
necessary.”

“Yes, and they’ll lay low for a while too,” said Rawlins. “They know
about the raid in New York and about Smernoff’s escape and they wont
try any of their tricks for a time you can bet. They’ll just listen
and say nothing and wait until the excitement blows over. It’ll be
like stalking a deer to find ’em.”

“Yes, or like looking for a needle in a haystack,” agreed Mr. Pauling,
“although I should not be surprised if they are occupying one of those
caves you mention. Our best plan will be to make a thorough search and
trust to luck.”

The night passed uneventfully and the boys awoke the next morning
feeling as if the adventures of the previous days were all a dream.
Nothing could be done during the day and so, after breakfast, they
paddled to the beach, had a splendid swim, gathered coconuts to their
hearts’ content and came back to lunch with hearty appetites. In the
afternoon they went with the two boats to the stream for fresh water
and the boys thoroughly enjoyed themselves wandering about in the
jungle while the men filled the casks. They had never been in a
tropical forest before and they were filled with wonder at every turn.
The enormous trees, with their wide-spreading buttress-like roots and
the drapery of lianas; the great, broad-leaved air plants and gay
orchids; the innumerable palms and brilliant flowers were fascinating.
They exclaimed with delight at the gaudy butterflies, the tiny humming
birds and bright-plumaged tanagers and were tremendously interested in
the hosts of big busy ants carrying bits of leaves in their jaws and
moving across the forest floor in an endless procession. Rawlins told
them these were “drougher ants” and stated that the scientists with
whom he had visited the spot before said they used the bits of leaves
for propagating a species of fungus in their nests—“sort of ants’
mushrooms” as he put it—on which they fed.

Once the boys were puzzled by a shrill, rather pretty song which
seemed to issue from the sky and in vain they searched for the singer
until Frank’s sharp eyes spied a tiny atom perched on the topmost leaf
of a tall palm—a very midget of a bird—a diminutive humming bird no
larger than a bumblebee, whose fluttering wings and trembling throat
proved him to be the singer. Again, they were startled by harsh,
discordant cries and were just in time to see a flock of green and red
parrots winging swiftly away from a tree where they had been feeding.
It was all very novel and strange and to the boys, who for so long had
been confined to the submarine. It was a most delightful change, and
even after the casks had been filled and the boats were ready to
depart they insisted on remaining, telling the men to come back just
before sundown.

With nightfall, the small boat again started forth on its search,
Frank this time going with the party while Tom remained on board, but
once again they returned unsuccessful.

The following day Rawlins suggested going for a fishing trip and with
the two boys rowed up through the narrow, winding channel to the inner
harbor and for several hours caught fish as fast as they could bait
their hooks and drop them into the dark water.

Then, with enough fish and to spare, Rawlins rowed them into the
dismal mangrove swamp among the maze of trunks, aerial roots and
winding channels. This was another new and wonderful experience to the
boys. It was low tide and between the densely growing mangroves the
mud was exposed and with countless brilliant scarlet and yellow crabs
scuttling about everywhere, across the mud, up and down the tree
trunks, over the roots, even on the overhanging branches. Many of the
trees with their sprawling roots were overgrown with oysters and the
boys gathered half a boatload of the bivalves. Rawlins too showed them
how the mangroves spread and grew by means of the roots descending
from the branches, how the slender but tough cable like roots
supported the trees and bound all together into a compact mass and how
the trees, ever growing out into the water and accumulating mud and
drift about them, formed land.

“Some day,” he declared, “this whole swamp will be dry land. After the
mangroves come black-jacks and sea-grapes, then palms and other trees,
and at last it will be all forest. I’ve seen lots of places like
that.”

There was bird life in plenty in the swamp too. Green and blue herons,
white egrets and scarlet-faced white ibis that flapped up at the
boat’s approach and stared curiously at the intruders, uttering
half-frightened, hoarse croaks like giant frogs.

“Say, it would be fine hunting here,” declared Frank when, a little
later, a flock of tree ducks whirred up and perched upon the trees
within easy gunshot. “It’s too bad we can’t shoot. Roast duck would go
fine for a change.”

“I’ll say it would,” agreed Rawlins, “but a fellow could hear a
gunshot miles off here and it would give us away in a minute.”

Night after night the boat left the submarine, ever going farther and
farther in its search, but without results, and each day the boys
amused themselves by exploring the adjoining woods and swamps,
sometimes with Rawlins, and sometimes by themselves.

At first Mr. Pauling had objected to the two youngsters going off
alone, but after they had promised always to carry a compass and to be
very careful he consented, on the condition that they did not go far
and always took along their radio set.

“Not only that you may use it in case of real need,” he explained,
“but also as it is always possible that you may hear messages.
Remember and don’t use the set unless absolutely compelled to, but
don’t hesitate if in danger or lost.”

On their first two excursions they enjoyed themselves hugely. They had
caught plenty of fish, explored a small island in the swamp and found
a colony of egrets and herons and had even seen a few of the
wonderful, pink, roseate spoonbills. Also, they had been terribly
startled when a big broad snout broke through the water a few yards
from the boat and with a terrific bellow plunged out of sight.

Rawlins laughed heartily when they told of this. “Just a manatee or
seacow,” he said. “Perfectly harmless creatures and usually very shy.
I’ll bet he was more frightened than you two boys.”

On the third day, hoping to again catch sight of a manatee, and intent
on exploring another small island they had seen, the boys set forth in
high spirits, taking along a lunch and planning to be away until
afternoon. Rawlins had planned to go with them, promising to show them
an alligator’s nest, but at the last minute changed his mind and
decided to tramp inland and ascend a high hill with the hopes of
sighting smoke which might divulge the presence of the men they
sought.

For a time all went well with the boys. They paddled to the portion of
the swamp they had already visited, took compass bearings and
continued on their way. They found the island they had sighted and
spent several hours exploring it and, finding a pleasant sandy beach
on the farther side, decided to eat lunch there. Returning to their
boat they rowed around to the beach and, seated in the shade of the
trees, ate their midday meal while laughing and joking over the clumsy
pelicans diving and fishing in an open area of water a short distance
away. Suddenly, from beyond a thick grove of mangroves, came the
startling bull-like bellow of a manatee.

“Come on!” cried Tom. “Let’s go and find him. He’s just back of that
point. If we sneak up on him carefully we’ll see him!”

Hurrying to the boat they tumbled in and rowed as silently as possible
to the point and peered beyond. There was no sign of a manatee, but
ever-widening ripples on the calm water showed where some creature had
been a few moments before and presently, from up a narrow lane of
water, they heard a snort and a short bellow again.

“He’s gone up that channel,” declared Frank in a whisper. “Come along!
He’s bound to come up. Gee! I _would_ like to see one. Mr.
Rawlins says they’re eight or ten feet long and with skin like an
elephant.”

Paying little heed to where they were going the two interested and
excited boys, keen on their chase of the elusive manatee, paddled up
the winding channel among the mangroves while ever just beyond, they
could hear the snorts or the rumbling bellow of the creature they were
following.

Presently they swung around a bunch of the trees and found themselves
upon a small lake-like lagoon several hundred acres in extent and
surrounded by the mangrove swamp.

“I’ll bet he’s in here,” declared Tom. “Let’s sit still and watch.”

Taking in their oars the boys sat motionless, gazing about the
tranquil surface of the lagoon and watching for the expected
appearance of the sea-cow.

Suddenly Frank gripped Tom’s arm. “Look!” he whispered. “There he is.
See, crawling up on that mud bank!”

“Gosh! that’s so,” agreed Tom and fascinated, the two boys watched as
a big, bulky, black creature emerged from the dark still water and
slowly and with great effort drew himself onto the wet mud flat among
the trees.

“Jimmy, isn’t he a queer beast!” exclaimed Frank in an undertone.
“Looks like a seal; and what a funny head!”

“I wish we were closer,” whispered Tom. “Don’t you suppose we could
sneak nearer?”

“Well, we can try,” agreed Frank. “We’ve seen all we can from here and
if we do scare him we can see the way he dives. Come on.”

Very cautiously, the boys slipped their oars into the water and
silently edged the boat closer and closer to the unsuspecting
creature.

They had reached a point within a few rods of the manatee when the
clumsy beast suddenly lifted his head, peered at them with his tiny
eyes in a way which Tom afterwards said reminded him of Smernoff, and
so quickly the boys could hardly follow his movements plunged into the
water.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, “I didn’t suppose he could move so quickly. Oh,
say, here he comes! Look!”

The water where the manatee had drawn himself ashore was shallow and
as he strove to reach deep water, frightened out of his few wits by
the unexpected sight of the human beings, his broad back broke through
the surface like the bottom of a capsized boat and to the boys’
excited minds he seemed headed directly for them.

Although Rawlins had assured them that manatees were gentle harmless
creatures, yet here, alone in the big, silent, mysterious swamp, the
huge beast seemed fraught with danger to the excited boys and they
were fully convinced that he was attacking them. Grabbing the oars
they strove frantically to get out of his way, but the boat was heavy
and clumsy, the boys were frightened and in their mad efforts to avoid
the oncoming sea-cow Frank’s oar slipped from the rowlocks, he lurched
backwards and before he could recover himself or cry out he plunged
overboard. Had Tom not been so terribly frightened he would have
roared with laughter at the sight, for as Frank fell he pushed the
boat aside and was now floundering about in water up to his waist,
struggling madly to regain the boat while the manatee, absolutely
crazy with fright at the splash and the appearance of the boy, tried
to turn and escape in another direction and in his blind rush bumped
into Frank’s legs and knocked him yelling and screaming head over
heels.

But at the time there was nothing humorous in the situation to either
boy. To Frank, startled by the manatee in the first place and shocked
and frightened at his unexpected plunge, the poor bewildered creature
was a terrifying monster bent on destroying him, while to Tom, equally
scared, the manatee’s sudden turn and collision with Frank appeared as
a deliberate attack. But it was all over in an instant. The manatee
gained deep water and disappeared and Frank, covered with mud and
dripping with the water, wallowed to the boat and pulled himself in.

“Whew!” he exclaimed as he caught his breath. “That _was_ a
narrow escape!”

Then for the first time Tom became sensible. “Say, I don’t believe he
was after us at all!” he declared. “He was just frightened half to
death. Golly, but you look scared!”

“So would you if you’d been overboard with that big beast in the water
alongside of you knocking you down,” responded Frank. “Come on, I’ve
had enough of this, let’s go back.”

“All right,” agreed Tom, “Hello, where did we come in?”

As he glanced about he realized for the first time that he was not
sure of his bearings. A dozen and more openings showed among the
mangroves and try as he might he could not tell which was the one by
which they had entered the lagoon.

For an instant Frank looked about. “Over there,” he declared
positively. “I remember that funny-shaped tree.”

“All right then,” replied Tom, “I thought for a minute we were lost.”

Feeling sure they were right the boys pulled into the narrow channel,
chatting and laughing over their adventure until suddenly Tom stopped
rowing and glanced about.

“Say, this isn’t the place we came in,” he declared. “We never passed
here. Look ahead—those stumps are right in the middle of the channel
and we’d have seen them sure.”

“Golly, I believe you’re right!” agreed Frank, “Say, we’ll have to go
by compass.”

Dropping his oars he reached into his pocket and slowly a strange
expression of wonder, amazement, surprise and fright overspread his
face.

“It’s gone!” he said in an awe-struck tone. “It’s lost! Gosh, Tom, it
must have dropped out of my pocket when I went overboard!”

“Jiminy, that’s too bad!” exclaimed Tom. “But you needn’t be so
frightened, we can go back and start over again.”

“Yes, but suppose we can’t find the right lead?” objected Frank. “Then
we will be in a pretty fix!”

“Oh, we can find it,” declared Tom reassuringly. “If necessary we can
try every one until we get the right one.”

Turning their boat the boys pulled rapidly back to the lagoon and
after a careful survey decided on another channel.

“Hurrah, this _is_ right!” cried Frank after they had rowed some
distance, “I remember that clump of reeds. We’re all right.”

But after they had rowed steadily for an hour the two boys began to
have doubts.

“We ought to be out by that island by now,” declared Tom. “I’m
beginning to think we’re wrong again.”

“I was just getting that same way myself,” admitted Frank. “Say, if we
don’t look out it’ll be dark before we get out of here.”

“Well we can use the radio,” suggested Tom.

“Not unless we have to,” replied Frank. “We still have time to go back
and—hello, there’s the island now!”

Glancing over his shoulder Tom saw that they had reached a bend in the
waterway and beyond it loomed a wooded island. For a moment he gazed
at it.

“That’s not the island,” he announced. “Look, it’s got palms on it.”

“Jehoshaphat, so it has!” exclaimed Frank. “Say, Tom, we’re lost.
We’ll have to use the radio.”

“Yes, I guess we will,” agreed Tom, “if we go back to that lagoon now
we’ll never get out until after dark and Dad’ll be worried to death.”

As he spoke, he uncovered the radio apparatus while Frank got out the
small portable aerial and erected it over the boat, dropping the
ground wire over the side into the water.

Tom picked up the instruments, turned on the rheostat and was about to
call into the microphone when his jaw dropped, his eyes seemed about
to pop from his head and his hand shook.

“What on earth’s the matter?” cried Frank, alarmed at the strange
expression which had come over Tom’s face. “You look as if you’d seen
a ghost.”

“Hssh!” whispered Tom in a shaky voice. “I near them! I heard those
Russians! Gosh, Frank! they must be close by!”




CHAPTER IX

PRISONERS


At Tom’s astounding announcement Frank sank limply onto a thwart. But
the next instant he was up, and seizing the resonance coil, hastily
connected it to the set in place of the aerial.

“Now signal or tell me when you get them,” he said, as, holding the
coil horizontally, he commenced moving it in a wide circle. For a time
Tom was silent, motionless, listening with every sense and nerve taut;
then, as the coil pointed to the right, he raised his hand.

“There!” he whispered.

Presently he took off his phones. “It’s no use listening,” he declared
“we can’t tell what they’re saying. Oh, thunder, why isn’t Smernoff
here?”

“Well, we can call to the folks and tell them and they can let
Smernoff listen,” said Frank.

“Silly!” cried Tom petulantly. “If we called them, these Russians
would hear and either clear out or shut up. And, besides, I don’t
believe they could hear them on the submarine. I’ll bet that’s been
the trouble all along. They’ve been too far off.”

“Well, what can we do then?” demanded Frank. “If we call for help to
get back, these fellows will hear us too. We’re in a nice fix just
from chasing that confounded old manatee. First we get lost and then
we hear this talking and can’t even tell about it.”

“We might row along until we lose these fellows and then call the
sub,” suggested Tom, “if we get so far away we can’t hear them the
chances are they can’t hear us. Come on.”

There seemed nothing else to do and so, choosing a channel that led
away from the direction whence the sounds had come, the boys rowed
steadily for some time. Then they ceased rowing and picking up the
coil Frank held it while Tom listened at the set.

For a space no sounds came to his ears and then he started so
violently that Frank was almost upset.

“Gosh all crickety, Frank!” he exclaimed. “Something’s wrong. They
sound nearer than ever.”

Puzzled and not knowing what to do, the boys sat motionless and
speechless. They seemed to be surrounded by the voices coming from
both directions.

“Hello,” ejaculated Frank presently, “We’re moving. Look at those
trees!”

Tom glanced up. It was perfectly true, the trees were slowly but
steadily slipping past them. They were drifting with the current.

“It must be the tide,” declared Tom. “If ’tis we’ll be out of here
soon and if we reach the bay——”

“Hurrah, there’s the bay now!” cried Frank.

A few hundred yards ahead they saw the sheet of open water through the
trees and with light hearts grasped the oars and started to row
forwards, but before they had taken a stroke Tom uttered a smothered
cry, grasped Frank’s arm and pointed a trembling finger at the open
water visible through a space between the mangroves.

“Look, Frank! Look!” he whispered

Less than two hundred yards distant, plainly visible and moored close
to the edge of the swamp was a big submarine! No second glance was
needed to verify Tom’s first suspicions; the shattered conning tower
left no doubt as to the craft’s identity.

Frank was too surprised and dumbfounded to speak and stood gazing with
unbelieving eyes at the submarine so near to them and so totally
unexpected.

“Quick!” whispered Tom. “If we don’t watch out we’ll be drifting in
sight on that open water. Grab a root or a branch while I push the
boat in.”

Seizing his oars, Tom pushed and pulled, forcing the boat close to the
trees until Frank could grasp one of the swaying, descending roots and
made the boat’s painter fast to it.

“No wonder we heard ’em,” remarked Tom when the boat was secured.
“That creek must turn around a corner and we didn’t notice it. Say,
what are we going to do now? We can’t wait here all night and we don’t
know where to go and we can’t call our folks without those fellows on
this sub hearing us.”

“And if we could call your father or Mr. Rawlins we couldn’t tell them
where this submarine is because we don’t know ourselves,” replied
Frank.

“It’s awful funny we should find it by getting lost after they’ve been
hunting for it night after night,” said Tom, “and now what good does
it do? I don’t see but what we’ll have to go back the way we came and
trust to luck.”

“Huh!” snorted Frank, “and get lost worse than ever. If this sub came
in here there must be deep water leading to sea and if we could sneak
out we’d be sure to find the entrance to the bay and then we could
call our people or hunt along the shore till we found that beach with
the coconut grove.”

“Yes, and a swell chance we have of sneaking out!” Tom reminded him.
“Just as soon as we went out of here they’d spot us, sure.”

“Well we’ll have to wait until dark, that’s all,” said Frank
resignedly. “Of course they’ll worry, but like as not they’ll call for
us and we may hear ’em. Then if these chaps hear, it wont be our
fault. I know your father said not to hesitate to use radio if we had
to, but he didn’t think we’d be alongside this submarine when we
needed to. It’s not going to hurt us to wait here a while and we may
see something.”

Tom’s sharp “Hisst!” caused Frank to wheel about. A small boat was now
beside the submarine and several men were climbing into it. Presently
they pushed off, the men took to the oars and to the boys’ horror and
amazement the boat headed directly toward their hiding place.

“Gosh now it’s all up!” whispered Tom in terrified tones, “if they
spot us or our boat it’ll be good night for us!”

Breathlessly the boys crouched in their craft, shaking with fright,
while nearer and nearer came the boat from the submarine. Then, when
the two trembling boys felt that their hour had come, that in another
instant they must be seen, the other boat swung to one side and
disappeared in a narrow channel among the mangroves not fifty feet
from where the boys were concealed. In a few moments the sound of the
oars and the voices of the men grew faint in the distance and the boys
raised themselves and with relieved, fast-beating hearts exchanged
glances.

“Did you see them?” exclaimed Tom. “My, weren’t they a tough looking
lot!”

“Regular pirates!” agreed Frank. “Did you see that big fellow with the
red beard?”

“You bet, and that thin one with the upturned blonde mustache! Gosh,
he looked like the Crown Prince of Germany!”

“That dark man was the worst,” declared Frank. “That Indian or nigger
or whatever he was—the one with the earrings. Gee, I’d hate to have
them get us.”

“I never knew Russians were such ugly looking people,” said Tom, “and
I thought they were all light. That fellow with the earrings was
almost as black as Sam.”

“They’re not all Russians,” Frank reminded him. “Don’t you remember
Mr. Henderson and your father saying they were ‘reds’ from every point
of the world and that the big chief of the lot isn’t even a German
although he worked for Germany. And there was that man that died in
New York, he was Irish.”

“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Tom, “but say, let’s get out of here now.
They’re gone and maybe we can sneak away. I don’t believe any one’s
aboard the sub.”

“Well, I do,” replied Frank, “I vote we turn back and see if we can’t
find another channel that leads out below here. We can tell the right
way to go by the tide flowing.”

“Golly, that’s so,” assented Tom. “All right, but we’ve got to be
careful.”

Unfastening the boat, the two boys pulled slowly up the creek against
the current, searching the mangroves on either side for an opening
through which the tide was flowing. At last they sighted one and with
elated minds turned into it. As they pulled along, Tom noticed that
the mangroves were giving place to other trees, that the soft mud
banks had changed to sand and that the shores were getting higher.

“We must be getting out of the swamp,” declared Tom. “See! the banks
are high and there are trees. We’ll soon be out.”

The stream they were following was now running with quite a swift
current and the boys noticed several side branches or smaller creeks
flowing into it. They had just passed one of these and were about to
turn a bend when with one accord they stopped rowing, their eyes grew
wide with fright and they sat listening breathlessly. From ahead had
come the sounds of human voices! Just around the bend were men!

To go on meant certain discovery. What should they do? For a brief
instant they had thought it might be some of their own party, but the
next second they knew better, for the words that came to them were in
a harsh guttural tongue—the same tongue they had so often heard
through their receivers.

Then, a sudden desire, an overwhelming curiosity to see the speakers,
to learn where they were and what they were doing swept over Tom. With
signs he motioned to Frank and an instant later they had run their
boat into the side creek, had beached it noiselessly upon a narrow
strip of soft earth and like snakes were wiggling silently up the bank
among the trees. For some strange psychological reason they were no
longer afraid; no longer did thoughts of the risk they ran enter their
heads. Their entire thoughts were centered on seeing these men, on
learning what they could, for they realized instinctively that they
had stumbled upon the secret of the gang’s hiding place, that they had
found what their friends had been searching for night after night and
that, did they ever regain their own submarine, their knowledge would
be invaluable.

But they were cautious. They had no intention of being either seen or
heard and before they reached the summit of the bank they carefully
raised their heads and peered between the bases of the trees beyond.
They had no means of knowing what lay beyond that bank. It might be
open land, it might be brush or woods or it might be water. They knew,
however, that the men must be close at hand and yet, when they peered
through, they could scarcely repress surprised exclamations at what
they saw.

Within a dozen yards, a boat was lying beside the bank of the stream
and just beyond, beneath a wide-spreading tree, two men stood talking.

One was the big, red-bearded fellow the boys had seen in the boat as
it left the submarine. The other, who half leaned upon a repeating
rifle and who wore an immense automatic pistol at his belt, was tall,
well-built and most striking in appearance. He was dressed in light,
neat clothes and leather puttees; a broad-brimmed Panama hat was on
his head, his face was tanned but clean shaven, except for a small,
sharply upturned, iron-gray mustache, and in one eye he wore a
monocle.

So totally unlike his companions was he that the boys almost gasped in
astonishment. There was nothing about him, nothing in his appearance,
that spoke of lawlessness, of a thug or a criminal. Indeed, he was a
most distinguished-looking gentleman, such a figure as one might
expect to see at a meeting of scientists, at some state function, at a
directors’ meeting in some bank or business house.

But when he spoke the disillusionment was complete. His voice had the
strangest sound the boys had ever heard. It was cold, grating,
inexpressibly cruel and sent shivers down the boys’ backs as they
listened. What he was saying they could not grasp, but that he was
angry, that he was reprimanding the giant before him, the boys could
tell by his tones, the hard reptilian glitter of his light gray eyes
and by the expression of the red-bearded fellow.

The latter, with hat in hand, fairly cowered before the other. His
head was bent, his eyes downcast, his face and neck were flushed
scarlet and his replies came in a low, humble, apologetic tone.

Those in the waiting boat were silent, only the two uttered a single
word. For a space the boys watched, fascinated, and then it occurred
to Tom that they must get away, that somehow they had taken the wrong
channel and that if they were to escape unseen they must leave at
once, retrace their way to where they had seen the submarine and from
there try to reach the entrance to the bay.

Touching Frank’s arm, Tom signaled for him to withdraw and as silently
as they had come the two boys slipped down the bank, shoved their boat
noiselessly into the water and crept into it.

With fast beating hearts they paddled towards the larger stream and
had almost reached it, when, without warning, a flock of white ibis
flapped up before them and with harsh croaks of alarm perched upon the
topmost branches of the trees.

The boys’ blood seemed to freeze in their veins and their hearts to
cease beating. Would the men suspect something or somebody was near?
Would they sweep down on the boys?

Instantly, at the hoarse cries of the birds, the voices beyond the
point had ceased and the boys knew the men were listening, straining
their ears for a suspicious sound. To go on would be to court
disaster. The least rattle of oars or squeal of rowlocks would be
heard and even if no sound issued from the boat the slightest movement
would again arouse the ibis overhead. There was nothing to do but
wait, wait with panting, throbbing lungs and heart-racking fears for
what might happen next.

But the boys did not have long to wait. From beyond the intervening
bank came the rattle of an oar, a sharp, gruff order, the splash of
water. The men were coming! To remain where they were meant capture!
There was but one thing to be done and that was to turn and pull as
fast as they were able into the small creek in the one faint hope that
the others might pass it by and look for the cause of the birds’
fright upon the main stream. Quickly the boat was swung round and with
deadly terror lending strength to their arms, the boys pulled
frantically into the trees that formed an archway over the tiny
waterway. But their ruse was in vain. The noise of the splashing oars
had been heard. The disturbed water of the stream told the story of
their flight to their enemies. Scarcely a score of yards had been
covered when the boys heard the other boat following, heard the rough
Slavic voices, and the frightened cries of the ibis. Madly they pulled
and then, so close that the boys could not avoid it had they wished,
the creek came to an abrupt end in a mass of foliage.

Before the boys knew it was there they had bumped into it. Frank’s hat
was swept off by a branch, sharp twigs and thorns tore their flesh,
the boat rocked and grated, and realizing they were trapped the boys
screamed in terror. Then, ere they grasped what had happened, their
boat had shot through the screen of branches, they were in open water
and looking back they saw the fallen trees which had spanned the
creek. Before them the stream turned sharply to one side. Only a dozen
strokes of the oars would bring them to the bend. They had almost
reached it when shouts and curses came from beyond the fallen trees,
they heard a crashing of the branches, the sharp reports of revolvers
rang out and bullets whistled past the boys’ heads.

The next moment the boat shot around the point and, driven to
desperation, thinking only of outdistancing their pursuers, the boys
rowed like mad, giving no heed to direction, no attention to their
surroundings. Then they suddenly realized that the sounds of their
pursuers had ceased, that there were no shouts, no splashing of oars,
no rattle of wood on wood. What had happened? Why had the others
abandoned the chase?

And then it dawned upon Frank.

“Gee Christopher!” he exclaimed under his breath, “that fallen tree
saved us, Tom! Their big boat couldn’t get through. We’re safe!”

“Gosh, I guess you’re right!” whispered Tom while the two still
continued to row. “But I’m not sure we’re safe. There may be another
way in here and perhaps they’ve gone around to cut us off. Say, we’ve
got to row like the dickens and try to get so far they won’t find us!”

“Yes, but we’re lost!” declared Frank. “We haven’t any idea where we
are!”

“I know it,” admitted Tom, “but we can’t help that now. After we’ve
gone farther we’ll stop and call our folks. Those chaps back there
can’t hear us and if their sub does, it won’t make any difference now.
They know we’re here and we’ve got to get out.”

For fully half an hour they toiled on. Their breath came in gasps,
their arms ached, their hands were blistered and raw, but they dared
not stop. Then, when they felt they could go no farther, their boat
shot out from the mangroves and they found themselves floating on a
broad lagoon.

“Hurrah!” cried Frank, “we’re back where we saw the manatee!”

“Golly, so we are!” agreed Tom. “Well, I’m going to use the radio now
and see if we can get our people.”

But all attempts to get their submarine proved fruitless. Over and
over again they called. Hopefully and patiently Tom listened while
Frank moved the resonance coil about, but not a sound came through the
receivers.

“It’s no use,” declared Tom at last. “We can’t get them. What on earth
will we do?”

“All we can do is to go on,” replied Frank in dejected tones. “It’s
almost dark, we may find our way by luck.”

“I can’t row another stroke,” declared Tom. “I’m all in. We might just
as well lie here and rest, at least until the moon comes up. We can’t
go on in the dark through these creeks.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed Frank who, now the excitement was over,
felt utterly exhausted. “We’re as safe here as anywhere.”

Drawing in their oars the two lonely, tired and hungry boys threw
themselves in the bottom of the boat and too weary even to talk lay
gazing up at the stars. The boat rocked gently to the tiny ripples on
the lagoon; from the swamps came the droning chant of frogs and
insects; fireflies flitted by like tiny meteors; the water lapped
soothingly against the boat’s planks and lulled by the sounds and the
soft night air the boys slept.

Tom was the first to awake. For an instant he lay still, dazed, not
remembering where he was and dimly aware of a strange, monotonous,
resonant sound that somehow seemed to vibrate and throb through his
brain, the boat and the night air.

He nudged Frank. “Wake up!” he half whispered, “wake up! The moon’s
out and we’ve got to be going on.”

Then, as Frank sleepily opened his eyes and yawned, Tom spoke again.

“Hear that noise?” he asked. “What is it?”

Frank, now wide awake, sat up. He too heard the sound, a noise so
unlike anything else he had ever heard that he felt cold shivers
chasing up and down his spine.

“I—I don’t know!” he stammered. “It’s uncanny—perhaps it’s a frog or
a night bird or something. Say, where are we?”

Then, for the first time, Tom noticed their surroundings. No longer
were they on the lagoon. On either side, rose tall trees looming black
and gigantic against the moonlit sky and by the glint of the light
upon the ripples the boys could see that the narrow waterway ran
swiftly.

“Crickey, we’ve drifted while we were asleep!” cried Frank. “Now we
_are_ lost.”

“Well, we’re drifting with the tide anyway,” said Tom, trying bravely
to be cheerful. “And it’s bound to take us out somewhere to open
water.”

“Yes, only it may be coming in and not going out,” said Frank. “What
time is it? My watch stopped when I fell overboard.”

Tom pulled out his watch and examined it’s luminous dial. “Gosh, it’s
after eleven!” he exclaimed. “Say, we must have slept four or five
hours.”

“There’s that noise again!” cried Frank. “What on earth is it? It
seems to come from all around and say—— Gee, look there, Tom! What’s
that?”

Startled, Tom glanced about. Far ahead between the trees he could see
a ruddy glow.

“Golly, it’s a fire!” he exclaimed in frightened tones. “Let’s get
out. It may be those Russians again. Perhaps it’s their camp.”

“And the noise comes from there!” stammered Frank. “It’s dreadful!”

Hurriedly grasping their oars the boys pulled, trying their utmost to
swing the boat’s bow around, but it was of no use. The current was
running like a millrace and despite their utmost endeavors they were
being swept irresistibly towards the fire and that weird, uncanny,
hair-raising sound.

Nearer and nearer they swept. Now they could see the ruddy light upon
the water ahead. They could even see the flames dancing among the
trees and the resonant, throbbing boom rose and fell in terrifying
cadence through the night. Then, between the throbbing beats, the boys
heard voices; but not the harsh guttural voices of the “reds.” It was
even worse, for the sounds borne to the boys—frightened,
terror-stricken and helpless in their drifting boat—savored of
savages. They were high-pitched, yet musical, rising and falling; one
moment dying to a low murmur, the next rising to a blood-curdling
wail.

Absolutely paralyzed, the boys sat and stared at the light and the
fire they were approaching. What was it? Through their minds flashed
stories of cannibals, visions of savage Indians, and yet Rawlins had
assured them there were no Indians upon the island. But surely these
could be nothing else. Those sounds—dimly, to Tom’s mind came
memories of a similar sound he had once heard—yes—that was it—an
Indian tom-tom at a Wild West show. They _must_ be savages! Yes,
now he could see them, wild, naked, dancing, leaping figures;
whirling, gyrating about the fire now less than two hundred yards
ahead and within fifty feet of the Lank. Frank had seen them also. He
too knew they must be savages. Would they be seen? Would the dancing,
prancing fiends detect them as they swept through that circle of light
upon the water or were they too busy with their dancing to notice
them? Now the drum roared in deafening, booming notes, filling the
surrounding forest with its echoes and the savage chant of the
prancing figures sent chills over the cowering boys. Just ahead was
the expanse of water illuminated by the red glare. In a moment they
would be in it. Close to the bank the boys saw canoes drawn ashore,
big dug-outs, crude primitive craft. Yes, there _were_ Indians in
Santo Domingo, Rawlins must have been mistaken. Now they were in the
firelight. They held their breaths and then a moaning hopeless groan
issued from the boys’ lips. Their boat slowed down; before they
realized what had happened they were caught in an eddy and the next
instant their craft bumped with a resounding thud against one of the
canoes.

The boys’ senses reeled. They were wedged fast between the dugouts in
the brilliant light from the fire and before a cry could escape them,
before they could move, two half-naked, awful creatures, hideously
painted and with threatening, waving clubs came dashing down the bank.

The boys knew their last minute had come. The savages had seen them.
Resistance would be hopeless. They were too frightened, too frozen
with mortal terror to move or even scream.

The next second the naked fiends were upon them. Powerful hands seized
legs and feet and unresisting, limp, almost unconscious with dread
thoughts of their fate, they were borne triumphantly towards the fire
and the ring of terrifying figures.




CHAPTER X

RADIO TO THE RESCUE


As the sun dipped towards, the mountains to the west and the boys did
not return, Mr. Pauling became worried.

“I was a fool to permit them to go off alone,” he declared to Mr.
Henderson. “Even with a compass they might go astray in the swamp.
Boys are always careless and they do not realize the danger of getting
lost.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry yet,” replied the other. “They have their radio
sets along and would call us if they had any difficulties. Bancroft
has been listening for the past hour and nothing’s come in.”

“Yes, I know,” rejoined Tom’s father, “but if they don’t turn up soon
I shall start after them.”

Rawlins, who had returned from his scouting trip and had reported that
he had been unsuccessful in seeing a sign of smoke across the bay, now
approached.

“I hardly think they’re in trouble,” he said, “I I’d suggest calling
them before starting a search, provided they don’t arrive. They can
hear much farther than they can send and I don’t believe our messages
could be heard by the gang in the sub. We’ve been several miles around
the bay and know those rascals are not near.”

“Yes, we can do that,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “Even if they should hear,
it is of little consequence in comparison with getting word to the
boys. I’m about ready to abandon the attempt to locate the men anyway.
Our information is too indefinite to rely upon.”

As time slipped by and still there was no sign of the missing boys and
no word came by radio, Mr. Pauling became terribly worried and even
Rawlins’ optimism became shaken.

Finally, as the afternoon shadows lengthened, Tom’s father could stand
it no longer and he told Bancroft to call their names and see if he
could get in touch with them. But when, after fifteen minutes, the
operator reported that no response had been received Mr. Pauling grew
frantic.

“Something’s happened,” he declared. “They’ve either gone too far to
hear or to reply or they’ve been drowned or have met with some
accident. We must set out on a search at once.”

Accordingly, the boat was manned, a radio set was placed in it and Mr.
Pauling, Rawlins and Bancroft embarked, leaving Mr. Henderson, who was
the only remaining member of the party who understood radio, in charge
of the submarine. Sam also went along, for, as Rawlins explained, he
had eyes like a cat and at Mr. Henderson’s suggestion Smernoff was
included.

“You may hear those rascals talking,” he said, “and if you do you’ll
need him.”

Rawlins remembered hearing the boys speak of the island they wished to
explore and knew more or less the direction they had gone. It was no
easy matter to find an island in the swamp largely by guesswork, but
luck favored and just before dark they sighted the higher trees and
firm land of the island where the boys had lunched. Calling
frequently, both by voice and by radio, the searching party pulled
around the island and came to the beach. Something white upon the sand
attracted Rawlins’ attention and landing they found the paper
wrappings of the boys’ lunch.

“They stopped here to eat,” announced the diver. “Now the question is
in which direction they went. They might have gone up any one of these
creeks or they might have started for the mainland. It’s all
guesswork.”

It was now dusk and the swamp was black with impenetrable shadows, but
as they circled around the swamp in vague hopes of finding some clue
or of hearing the boys by the radio instruments, Sam’s sharp eyes
caught sight of a bunch of water plants.

“Tha’ boat parsed by here, Chief,” he announced, pointing to the
bruised and bent stems. “Ah’m sure of that, Chief.”

Rawlins examined the plants carefully. “Yes, either their boat or some
other,” he agreed. “We’ll follow up this channel.”

By the time they reached the open lagoon it was pitch dark and their
only hope lay in getting in touch with the boys by radio.

“If we don’t look out we’ll get lost ourselves,” announced Rawlins.
“You watch the compass, Quartermaster, and keep track of our course
and the bearings.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” replied the old sailor, and once more the boat
proceeded through the black swamp, Rawlins peering ahead and
occasionally shouting, Bancroft constantly speaking into the
instruments and listening at the receivers and Mr. Pauling, nearly mad
with worry, fears and regrets.

For hour after hour they continued, following waterway after waterway,
traversing lagoon after lagoon, forcing their way through the dense
swamps to the mainland of the island and even emerging on the broad
calm bay.

“If they’re lost and unable to get back they’ll probably camp,” said
Rawlins. “They have matches and can make a fire. In fact they’ve sense
enough to think of making a fire for a signal. I believe it will be a
good plan to go ashore; I’ll ascend a hill, and Sam can climb a tree
and look about. If there’s a fire anywhere in sight we should see it.”

All agreed this was a good plan and accordingly the boat was headed
towards the nearest point and at last grated upon the rocks. With Sam,
Rawlins pushed into the brush, stumbling over roots, bumping into
trees in the darkness, barking shins and tearing clothes, but
steadfastly clambering up the steep slope until they reached the
summit. Selecting a tall palm, Sam proceeded to “walk” up the trunk in
the native Indian fashion and soon reached the huge leafy top.

Straddling the base of an immense frond, he slowly and carefully swept
the horizon with his eyes. From his lofty perch, nearly one hundred
feet above the earth and fully two hundred feet above the water, the
entire swamp, the numerous lagoons and even the broad bay lay spread
before him like a map. Although the moon would not rise until
midnight, yet the sky was bright with myriads of stars which cast a
faint glow upon the water and served to distinguish; it from the
darker masses of mangroves and land. At first he could see nothing
that resembled the glow of a fire, but after several minutes his eyes
detected a faint light among the trees several miles away and
apparently on the mainland across the bay.

As he watched, the spot grew brighter, it took on a pinkish tint and
seemed to spread, until at last, it was a distinct ruddy light which
he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt was a fire. Carefully taking
bearings by the stars and the dark masses of the swamp, he slid to the
ground.

“Tha’s a fire yonder, Chief,” he announced. “Ah’ seed it plain an’
clear, an’ it’s just started, Chief. Ah seed it fla’in’ up an’
a-makin’ brighter all the time. Ah reckon tha’ young gentlemens ’s
a-makin’ it fo’ a signal, Chief.”

“That’s blamed good news!” exclaimed Rawlins. “You say it’s over on
the other side of the bay and you’ve got its bearings. All right,
we’ll get over there, but how the deuce those kids got across the bay
without knowing it, stumps me.”

Reaching the boat, Rawlins reported their success and with all
possible speed the boat was pulled through the winding channels of the
swamp in the direction Sam indicated. But it is one thing to take a
sight and bearings from a tree top on a hillside and quite another
matter to follow those bearings and directions through a mangrove
swamp filled with twisting, devious channels. How Sam could manage to
keep the general course at all was little short of marvelous, but as
the boat turned bend after bend, doubled on its track, found its way
blocked and made detours, the Bahaman never missed his general sense
of direction, and at last the searching party emerged from the swamp
and on the broad expanse of the bay.

Sam glanced about, squinted at the stars and indicated the course to
follow. As they rowed swiftly across the bay towards the opposite
shores, Rawlins spoke.

“Say!” he exclaimed. “It may not be the boys after all. I’ve been
puzzling all along how they could get over there and I’m beginning to
think it’s those chaps we’re after and not the boys.”

“Jove! you’re right,” cried Mr. Pauling, “and, good Lord! perhaps
they’ve found the boys and taken them prisoners! If the boys used
their radio to call us the others may have heard it and located them.
What an addle-headed fool I’ve been to take such risks! No wonder we
haven’t heard them or got them. Probably they’re helpless—bound and
gagged and those devils are chuckling to themselves as they hear our
calls and are luring us into a trap.”

“Well, if they’ve touched those kids I’ll say there’ll be some
rough-house work when we step into that trap,” declared Rawlins, “and
they’ll find they’ve bitten off a darned sight bigger hunk than they
can swallow without choking. We’ve got arms, I slipped ’em in the
boat, and we’re no crew of tenderfeet. Sam’s some little scrapper and
the quartermaster was champion middle-weight of the Atlantic squadron,
old Smernoff’s itching for a fight with those whiskered friends of
his, and I guess you and Bancroft can take care of yourselves and I’m
no quitter myself.”

“Yes, yes, Rawlins,” replied Mr. Pauling, “but you forget that if they
have the boys they can protect themselves by threatening harm to Tom
and Frank. They can make their own terms and they are ruthless
beasts.”

“Well, Mr. Pauling, don’t let’s cross our rivers till we get to ’em,”
said the diver. “We don’t know if the boys are prisoners yet. We’ll go
easy and find out how the land lays first. Remember we can see their
fire and what’s going on a long time before they can spot us. That’s
the worst of a fire. The other fellow can see you, but you can’t see
the other fellow.”

“Yes, but the great trouble is, if we call for the boys by radio we’ll
warn our enemies instead,” Mr. Pauling reminded him.

“If they _are_ prisoners it won’t be any use hollering for them,”
replied Rawlins sagely. “I guess the best plan is just to lie low,
keep quiet and sneak in. If the boys are alone and it’s their fire
we’ll find them just as well without calling and if it’s the ‘reds’
fire and the boys are not there we’ll spring a surprise.”

A few minutes later the boat had gained the shelter of the trees
beyond the bay and, still guided by Sam’s almost uncanny instinct or
skill, they pushed into the nearest channel among the mangroves. On
this side of the bay, however, there was much more open water; the
trees were more scattered, and, instead of being made up of
innumerable creeks flowing through dense masses of mangroves, the
swamp consisted of large lake-like expanses dotted and interrupted by
narrow belts and isolated clumps of trees.

They had proceeded for an hour or more and felt that they must be
approaching the spot where Sam had seen the fire when they noticed
that the darkness was less dense, that there was a subdued light upon
the water, and that the clumps of trees were sharper and clearer.

“Hanged if the moon isn’t rising!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Crickey, it
must be near midnight.”

Mr. Pauling looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven,” he announced.
“We’ve been searching for five hours.”

“I’ll say those kids are some little travelers!” declared Rawlins.
“They must have thought they were rowing for a bet to get clean over
here.”

“Ah 'spec’ tha’ tide made to help them, Chief,” remarked Sam. “It
makes right strong an’ po’ful up these creeks.”

“Yep, that must have been it,” agreed Rawlins. “Hadn’t thought of it
before, I’ll bet they got caught in a strong current and couldn’t pull
against it. Hello! What the——”

Instantly the men stopped rowing. From far away, as if from the air
itself, came a low throbbing vibration, a sound felt rather than
heard, and those in the boat stared at one another questioningly.

“Thunder!” suggested Mr. Pauling, in a low tone.

Rawlins shook his head. “Nix,” he replied crisply. “Thunder doesn’t
keep up like that and it doesn’t throb that way. Sounds to me more
like a ship’s screw half out of water.”

“Some bird then,” suggested Mr. Pauling. “Bittern or owl, perhaps.”

“I’ll say it’s _some_ bird—if ’tis a bird!” exclaimed Rawlins.
“What is it, Sam?”

The quartermaster spat into the water and before the Bahaman could
reply he remarked: “’Course 'taint possible, Sir; but if I was
a-hearin’ o’ that 'ere soun’ an’ was in the South Seas 'stead o’ here
in the West Injies—I’d say as how ’twas a tom-tom, Sir—you knows
what I means, Sir—savage drum such as they uses for a-havin’ of a
cannibal feast, Sir.”

“Well we’re not in the South Seas,” returned Rawlins, “and there
aren’t any cannibals here. Say, what the devil’s the matter with you,
Sam?”

It was no wonder Rawlins asked. The Bahaman was staring open-mouthed
across the water, his eyes rolling, his face drawn and awful fear
depicted upon his black features.

“Here, wake up! Seen a ghost?” cried Rawlins, shaking the negro
roughly. Sam’s jaws came together, he licked his dry lips and in
terror-striken, shaking tones murmured, “Voodoo!”

Something in his tones, in the way he pronounced the one word, sent
shivers down his hearers’ backs.

“Voodoo?” repeated Rawlins, recovering himself. “What in thunder are
you talking about?”

“Ah knows it!” replied the negro, in a hoarse whisper. “Tha’s the
devil dance! Yaas, Sir, tha’s Voodoo goin’ on!”

“Well, I’ll be sunk!” ejaculated the diver. “A Voodoo dance! By glory!
I didn’t think they had ’em over here. I’ve heard of 'em in Martinique
and Haiti, but I never took much stock in the yarns. Are you sure,
Sam?”

The cowering negro had sunk to his knees in the boat. All the
long-dormant superstition of his race, the soul-racking fear of the
occult and supernatural which was the heritage of his African
ancestors had been stirred into being by the throbbing pulsations
borne through the night, and he was an abject, terror-stricken
creature.

Rawlins jerked him to athwart. “Brace up, you fool nigger!” he
commanded. “No one’s hurting you yet! You’re a blamed coward, Sam!
What if ’tis Voodoo? What in thunder are you scared of?”

Slowly the negro came back to his senses; shaking like a leaf, sickly
ashen with fright, he steadied himself. “Ah aint 'fraid,” he
stuttered, his tones belying his words. “Ah was jus’ flustrated,
Chief. But Ah don’t mek to meddle with Voodoo, Chief. Better go back,
Chief.”

“You bet your boots we’ll go back—not!” declared Rawlins. “I’d like
right well to see a Voodoo as you call it. And if there’s any folks
around here—black or white, tame or savage, we’re out to find ’em and
have a pow-wow with ’em. Maybe the boys saw their fire and made for
it, and maybe the fire’s nothing to do with the tom-tom, and more
likely than all it’s not a devil dance at all but just those blamed
Bolsheviks having a vodka spree all on their own—celebrating the
boys’ capture or something. Come on, men, let’s get a move on.”

“Perhaps we’d better try to call the boys,” suggested Mr. Pauling.
“Your hint that they may have seen the fire, or that they may have
heard the drum is reasonable, but they are cautious and might be near,
hesitating to approach the fire or the sound. The noise of that
drum—supposing it should be the ‘reds’ and not from a negro
dance—would prevent others from hearing us.”

“Sure, that’s a good idea,” agreed Rawlins. “Maybe they’re near, right
now.”

As Rawlins spoke, Bancroft was adjusting his instruments and the next
instant gave an exultant cry.

“I hear ’em!” he announced.

Then: “Tom! Frank!” he called into the microphone. “Can you hear me?
It’s Bancroft! We’re near! We can hear a drum and are making for a
fire! Where are you? Can you see the fire or hear the noise?”

Faint and thin, but clearly distinguishable, now the throbbing rumble
of the drum had ceased, Bancroft heard Tom’s voice.

“We hear!” it said. “Come quick! We don’t know where we are, but we’re
here by the fire—we’re prisoners—a lot of savages have us!”

Bancroft, in a strained voice, repeated the words.

“Good Lord!” cried Mr. Pauling, “they’re captives of those crazy
devil-worshipers.”

“Attaboy!” yelled Rawlins. “Lift her, boys! Pull for your lives!”




CHAPTER XI

THE DEVIL DANCERS


Perhaps the two terrified boys swooned, perhaps they were literally
frightened out of their wits. Neither could ever be sure, but
whichever it was, everything was a blank from the moment when they
felt the hands of the savage figures grasp them until they found
themselves surrounded on every side by a ring of half-naked men and
women in the full glare of a huge fire under immense trees.

But they were unharmed, not even bound, and as they realized this
their courage in a measure returned and they glanced about, still
terribly frightened, shaking as if with ague, and marveling that they
were still alive.

Then for the first time they realized that their captors were not
Indians. They were hideously daubed with paint to be sure, they were
nearly nude, but they were not bedecked with feathers and their black
skins and wooly heads left no doubt as to their identity. They were
negroes, mostly coal black, but a few were brown or even yellow and
the dazed, scared boys looked upon them with uncomprehending
amazement. To them, negroes were civilized, harmless, good-natured
people and why these blacks should be acting in this savage manner was
past all understanding.

And still more puzzling was the fact that they were talking together
in a strange, unintelligible jargon. To the boys’ minds, all colored
people spoke English—either with the broad soft accent of the
American negro or the slurring, drawling dialect of the West Indians,
and yet here were blacks chattering shrilly in some totally different
tongue.

The boys felt as if they had been bereft of their senses, as if, by
some magic, they had been transported to the middle of darkest Africa
and they wondered vaguely if their fears and worries had driven them
mad and the whole thing was a hallucination.

But at this moment four more blacks arrived and to the boys’ further
amazement deposited their radio sets upon the smooth, hard-beaten
earth beside them. These were real; they seemed somehow to link the
boys with the outside world, with civilization, and at sight of them
the boys knew they were not dreaming, were not mad.

And the little cases with their black fiber panels and shining
nickel-plated knobs and connections had a strange effect upon the
circle of negroes also. With low murmurs and sharp ejaculations they
drew a step farther from the boys and looked furtively at the
instruments, while the men who had brought them from the boat leaped
nimbly away the instant they had set them down as if afraid the
harmless things might bite them.

“Gosh!” murmured Tom, finding his voice at last. “They’re afraid of
us!”

“I believe they are,” responded Frank, who, finding that the
savage-looking crowd seemed of no mind to harm them, had regained
confidence.

Scarcely knowing why he did so, Tom reached forward, connected the
batteries and turned the rheostat. The result was astounding. As the
tiny filament in the bulb glowed at his touch an awed “Wahii!” arose
from the negroes, and with one accord they retreated several yards.

“Say, we’ve got ’em going!” exclaimed Tom jubilantly. “They’re as much
afraid of us as we are of them. It all gets me, Frank. I wonder——”

What Tom wondered Frank never knew, for at this moment the surrounding
blacks uttered a weird wailing cry and flung themselves upon the
ground.

“Gee!” ejaculated Frank, “look there.”

Over the prostrated blacks, approaching through a lane between their
bodies, came an amazing, fantastic, awful figure. Naked, save for a
loin cloth, painted to resemble a skeleton, with great horns bound to
his head and with a cow’s tail dragging behind him, he came prancing
and leaping towards the fire and the boys, shaking a rattle in one
hand and waving a horse-tail in the other.

Speechless with wonder, the boys gazed at him. They realized that he
was the leader of the crowd, a chief probably, and in his fantastic
garb they recognized a faint resemblance to pictures they had seen of
wild African tribesmen, but that such a being should be here—here in
an island in the West Indies and only a few miles from railways,
cities, great sugar mills, wireless stations and even their own
submarine, seemed incredible, monstrous, absolutely unbelievable—as
dream-like and amazing as the savage-looking figures who had captured
them.

But they had little time to think. Suddenly the tom-tom burst forth in
thunderous sounds, deep, sonorous, blood-curdling, savage, wild, and
to the deafening “turn—turn, turn, turn—turn—turn, turn, turn,” the
huge horned figure pranced and danced about the two boys, chanting a
wailing song, keeping time to his steps with his gourd-rattle and
shaking and waving his horse-tail.

Nearer and nearer he circled, stooping low, leaping high, working
himself into a frenzy; twisting, swaying, contorting, while,
fascinated, almost hypnotized, the two boys watched speechless and
rooted to the spot. Then, so abruptly that the boys jumped, the drum
ceased, the dancing figure halted as if arrested in mid-air, with one
foot still raised, and then, with a wild yell, he darted towards the
boys.

With a startled cry they cowered away. Surely, they thought, he was
about to seize them, to kill them. But the next instant the man
stooped, and grasping the shining copper resonance coil whirled it
about, facing the ring of negroes and waving the coil about his head,
while, upon the copper wire, the firelight gleamed and scintillated as
though living flames were darting from it.

And then a marvelous, a miraculous thing happened. As the gigantic
negro slowly swung the coil, a great hush fell upon the others and
clear and distinct in the silence a voice seemed to issue from the
black box upon the ground.

“Tom! Frank!” came the words.

At the sounds, pandemonium broke loose. With a wild, terrified scream
the horned man flung down the coil and with a tremendous bound burst
through the circle of onlookers who, screaming and yelling, turned and
fled in every direction. In a breath, the boys were alone. Alone by
the fire and their instruments while, crouching behind trees, flat on
the ground, wailing like lost souls, the negroes watched from a
distance with wildly rolling eyes and terror-stricken faces.

But the boys at the time gave little heed to this. At the sound of
their names from the receiver they had been galvanized to life and
action. Their friends were near, they were calling them! They were
saved! Leaping to the coil, Frank grabbed it up and moved it slowly,
until again to Tom’s anxious ears came the sound of a human voice.
“It’s Bancroft!” came the words. “We’re near! We can hear a drum and
are making for a fire. Where are you? Can you see the fire or hear the
noise?”

“Can we?” muttered Tom, his sense of humor coming to him even in his
excitement. “I’ll say we can, as Rawlins says.”

Then, scarcely daring to hope that he could send his voice through
space by the coil, he adjusted the sending instruments and called into
the transmitter.

“We hear!” he cried. “Come quick! We don’t know where we are, but
we’re here by the fire—we’re prisoners—a lot of savages have us!”

Breathlessly Tom listened. Had they heard? Would the resonance
coil—that marvelous instrument which had worked the miracle—act as a
sending antenna? Tom wondered why they had never tried it, why they
had been so stupid, why it had never occurred to them. Had Bancroft
heard? Would they come? All this flashed through his mind with the
speed of light. And then came another thought. Of course they’d come.
Even if they had not heard they would come. Bancroft had said they
were making for the fire. They would be there anyway and as Tom
realized this a tremendous load lifted from his mind. Whether or not
their coil had served to send the waves speeding through the ether,
they were sure of being rescued. But the next instant a still greater
joy thrilled him. Again from the receiver came Bancroft’s voice. “Hold
fast!” it said, “we’re coming! We hear you!” Even Frank had heard.

The boys’ tensed strained nerves gave way. The coil dropped from
Frank’s hand, he staggered to Tom’s side and, throwing their arms
around each other, the two burst into wild hysterical laughter.
Suddenly they were aware of some one speaking near them. In their wild
delight, the terrific reaction, they had forgotten their captors, had
forgotten the weird dancer whose act had saved them. But at the low
moaning voice close to them they came back to earth with a start and
wheeled about. Within a few paces, his head bobbing up and down
against the ground, flat on his stomach, was the giant negro, and from
his lips, muffled by their contact with the earth, came the pleading
wail which had roused the boys.

“What on earth does he want?” asked Tom, who could make nothing of the
words.

“I don’t know, but he’s scared to death like all the others,” replied
Frank, “and I don’t wonder. That voice from the phones was enough to
scare any savage. I think he’s begging forgiveness or something.”

“Gosh! I wish he understood English,” said Tom, and then, in a louder
voice, “Here, get up!” he ordered. “Can you speak English?”

Slowly and hesitatingly the man raised his wooly head and with wildly
rolling eyes gazed fearfully at the boys. His lips moved, his tongue
strove to form words, but no sound came from him. So abject, so
thoroughly terror-stricken was his appearance that the boys really
pitied him, but now, at last, he had found his voice again.

“Messieu’s!” he pleaded. “Messieu’s! Moi pas save. Moi ami, Beke. Ah!
Ai! Beke no un’stan’. Moi spik Eenglees liddle. Moi mo’ sorry! Moi
fren’ yes! Moi no mek harm Messieu’s! Ai, Ai! Moi mek dance, moi
people mek fo’ Voodoo! No mek fo’ harm Beke! Pa’donez Moi, Messieu’s!”

“Gosh, I can’t get it!” exclaimed Tom. “He’s asking us to forgive him
and wants to be friends, but what he means by ‘Beke’ and ‘Voodoo’ and
those other words I don’t know. But I’m willing to be friends.” Then,
addressing the still groveling negro, “All right!” he said. “Get up.
You’re forgiven. We’ll be friends. But stop bumping your head on the
ground and take off those horns. You give me the shivers.”

Whether the devil-dancer understood more than half of Tom’s words is
doubtful, but he grasped the meaning and with unutterable relief upon
his black face he grinned and tearing off his fantastic headdress cast
it into the flames and rose slowly to his feet.

As he did so, his watching companions also rose and edged cautiously
from their hiding places, but still keeping a respectful distance and
eyeing the black radio sets with furtive, frightened glances. Very
evidently, to their minds, these white boys were powerful Obeah men,
they possessed magic of a sort not to be despised or molested, and
with the primitive man’s simple reasoning they felt that to propitiate
such powerful witch doctors was the only way to insure their own
safety. Although, to the boys, they had appeared savages yet, had Tom
and Frank happened upon them at any other time, they would have found
nothing at all savage about them. Indeed, they would never have had
reason to think them other than happy-go-lucky, good-natured colored
folk, harmless and as civilized as any of the West Indian peasantry,
for they were merely French West Indian negroes, and aside from the
fact that they spoke only their native Creole patois were
indistinguishable from others of their race. But like the majority of
the French negroes they were at heart firm believers in Voodoo and
Obeah and when worked into a fanatical frenzy at one of these African
serpent-worshiping orgies they became temporarily transformed to
fiendish savages, reverting to all the wild customs and ways of their
ancestors and drawing the line only at actual cannibalism.

But of all this the boys knew nothing. They did not dream that such
people or such customs existed, and they could not fathom the reasons
or understand what to them were the mysterious and almost incredible
sights they had witnessed.

And of a far more important matter the boys were equally ignorant. Had
they but known, they would have thanked their lucky stars that they
had stumbled upon the Voodoo dancers and, had they been able to
understand and speak Creole and thus been able to converse with the
negroes, they would have made a discovery which, would have amazed
them even more than the savage dance and the remarkable results
brought about by their radio instruments.

But being unable to carry on any but the most limited conversation,
the boys sat there by the fire waiting for the sound of the expected
boat and surrounded by the colored folk who now had discarded their
paint and fantastic garb and were clothed in calico and dungaree. Even
the chief, or rather the Obeah man, was now so altered in appearance
that the boys could scarcely believe he was the same being who had
pranced and danced with waving horse-tail and rattlebox before them
and when, timidly and half apologetically, he brought them a tray
loaded with fruit and crisp fried fish with tiny rolls of bread
wrapped in banana leaves, they decided that it must all have been some
sort of a masquerade and that their imaginations had filled them with
unwarranted and ridiculous fears.

They were terribly hungry and never had food been more welcome; both
boys ate ravenously.

“He’s a good old skate after all!” declared Tom, nodding towards the
big negro who sat near. “I guess they were just trying to scare us.”

“Well, they succeeded all right,” replied Frank. “Say, I thought we
were going to be roasted and eaten when they grabbed us.”

“Yes, but our radio scared them a lot worse,” said Tom. “Gosh! that
_was_ wonderful, the way the old boy grabbed up the coil and
those words came in just right. I’ll bet Dad’s worried though. We
ought to call them and tell them we’re all right.”

“Golly, that’s so!” agreed Frank. “I’d forgotten we hadn’t.”

Still munching a mouthful of food, Frank rose to pick up the coil, but
at that instant several of the negroes jumped up, their voices rose in
excited tones and they turned wondering faces toward the waterside. At
the same instant the boys distinctly heard the splash of oars.

“They’re here!” yelled Tom, and with one accord the two rushed towards
the landing place.

Before they had reached it a boat shot from the shadows, its keel
grated on the beach and Mr. Pauling and Rawlins leaped out, each with
a rifle in his hands, while behind them, armed and ready for battle,
came Sam, Bancroft, the quartermaster and Smernoff.

But as the shouting, laughing boys dashed toward them, free and
unharmed, the gun dropped from Mr. Pauling’s hand and clattered on the
pebbles and the next instant he was clasping the boys in an embrace
like a bear’s.

Behind the boys, gathered in little knots and chattering excitedly
like a flock of parrots, the surprised negroes had gathered at the
edge of the forest and as Rawlins stared at them and then at the boys
a puzzled expression was on his face.

“Say, what’s the big idea?” he demanded, as the boys capered and
danced about, talking and laughing. “You said you were the prisoners
of savages and here you are free as birds and no sign of a savage.
Just a bunch of ordinary niggers. It gets me!”

“But we thought they were savages,” Tom tried to explain. “And we
_were_ prisoners.”

Then in hurried, disjointed sentences the two boys related the gist of
their story while the others listened in amazement.

“Hello!” cried Rawlins. “Is this the old Bally-hoo coming?”

As Rawlins spoke, the big negro was approaching and with a rather
sickly grin on his face he spoke to the new arrivals in his odd jargon
of Creole and broken English.

“Yep, I guess so!” grinned Rawlins. “Here you, Sam. You’ve lived in
the French Islands. Can you understand this bird?”

Sam, still suspicious and with the memory of Voodoo and devil dancers’
tom-toms in his mind, stepped forward.

“Yas, sir, Chief,” he replied, “Ah can talk Creole, Chief.”

“Well, get busy and spiel then,” Rawlins ordered him. “Ask him what he
says first and then we’ll give him the third degree for a time.”

Rapidly Sam spoke to the other in Martinique patois and at the sounds
of his native tongue the other’s face brightened.

“He says he’s sorry,” Sam informed the waiting men and boys. “He says
he’s a mos’ good friend an’ tha’ young gentlemen were safe from
molestation, Chief. He says he an’ his people were makin’ to have a
spree, Chief, an’ thought as how the young gentlemen were enemies, at
the first, Sir. He mos’ humbly arsks yo’ pardon an’ forgiveness,
Chief.”

“All right,” said Rawlins. “He’s forgiven. Ask him if we can stop here
for the night and if he has anything to eat. I’m famished and I’ll bet
the others are. It’s nearly morning.”

In reply to Sam’s queries the negro, who Sam now informed them was
named Jules, assured them that everything was at their disposal and
with quick orders in patois he sent a number of the women scurrying
off to prepare food. Leading the way, he guided the party to a cluster
of neat, wattled huts in a small clearing and told them to make
themselves at home.

Then, the first excitement of their meeting over, the boys began to
give an intelligible and sane account of their adventures.

As they told of the submarine and their spying on the men Mr. Pauling
uttered a sharp exclamation and Rawlins made his characteristic
comment.

“I’ll say you had nerve!” he cried. “Too bad they saw you though. Now
they know we’re here.”

“Not necessarily,” declared Mr. Pauling. “They may have seen that the
boat contained merely two boys and they may have thought them natives
or from some vessel. They probably know where the destroyer is and
they imagine our submarine is lying at the bottom of the Caribbean. In
that case they would hardly connect Tom and Frank with members of the
Service. Unless they have heard our calls tonight I doubt if the boys’
presence alarmed them.”

“That may be so,” admitted Rawlins, “and by the same token if they
heard us to-night it wouldn’t scare ’em. They’d think ’twas some of
the boys’ friends searching for ’em, same as ’twas. We didn’t say
anything that would give them a hint and radio’s too common nowadays
to mean much—as long as it’s not under-sea stuff. By glory! Perhaps
we can get ’em yet. Can you find that place again, boys?”

“I don’t see how we can,” replied Tom. “We were too scared to notice
where we went and we haven’t any idea where we drifted with the tide
while we slept.”

“That’s dead rotten luck,” commented Rawlins. “But by the Great Horn
Spoon we can find ’em if they’re here! This swamp’s not so
everlastingly big and a sub can’t hide in a mud puddle. I’ll bet my
hat to a hole in a doughnut we find ’em!”

“But who do you suppose that man on the bank was?” asked Tom. “He
didn’t look like a ‘red’ or a Russian or a crook. He looked like a
real gentleman.”

Mr. Pauling hesitated a moment. “Boys,” he said, lowering his voice,
“that was the man that of all men we want. That was the head, the
brains, the power of the whole vast organization. The man who has
schemed to overturn nations and carry a rave of fire and blood around
the world! He is the arch fiend, the greatest criminal, the most
coldly cruel and unscrupulous being alive! He is the incarnation of
Satan himself!”

The boys’ eyes were round with wonder. “Gosh!” exclaimed Tom. “Gosh!”

“Jehoshaphat!” cried Frank.




CHAPTER XII

SMERNOFF PAYS HIS DEBT


While the boys had been relating the story of their astonishing
experience, Sam had been talking with Jules and other members of the
village. Now, as some of the women approached bearing trays of food
for the strangers, he rose and, accompanied by Jules, walked over to
the hut where the boys and the others were seated.

“Ah been havin’ a extended conversationin’ with Mr. Jules,” the
Bahaman announced, in his odd stilted manner which invariably amused
the boys, “an’ Ah’s fo’med the opinion that th’ info’mation he’s
imparted is mos’ highly important an’ wo’thy o’ consideration, Chief.”

“Yes, well, what is it, Sam?” inquired Mr. Pauling as he helped
himself to the smoking viands.

But at Sam’s first words Mr. Pauling, and even the famished Rawlins,
forgot all about their hunger and the appetizing food before them, for
the Bahaman’s story was to the effect that Jules and his fellow French
West Indians were just as keen on getting the “reds” as were Mr.
Pauling and his party. According to Jules’ tale, a number of their
friends and members of their families had settled on Trade Wind Cay
and had been living a peaceful happy life, raising goats, fishing and
cultivating tiny garden plots, when a party of white men had arrived
and without warning or reason had butchered the West Indians and
burned their homes, exactly as Smernoff had described when questioned
in New York.

It was not this story of cold-blooded massacre which was of such
intense interest to the Americans, but the Fact that Jules calmly
informed them that he not only knew where the “devil boat” was hidden,
but that he could actually lead them to the cave where the murderers
lived.

“Phew!” whistled Rawlins. “I’ll say you tumbled into the right camp,
boys! So old Frenchy here’s into their hangout! If that isn’t the
all-firedest piece of luck! Lead us to ’em, old sport, lead us to
’em!”

“By Jove! if it’s true everything is coming our way,” declared Mr.
Pauling, “but let’s be absolutely sure first. Ask him how he knows his
friends were killed, Sam. And why he has not complained to the
authorities and demanded justice. Ask him why, if it is true and he
knows where these men live, he has not tried to avenge his friends’
death. Ask him what they look like, tell him to describe some of them
and the ‘devil boat’ as he calls it.”

Sam turned and began talking to Jules and the others in patois.

“Well, true or not I’m going to have grub,” declared Rawlins. “I don’t
eat with my ears, though; I’m almost sorry I can’t, I’m that hungry.”

For several minutes the negroes chattered and gesticulated, their
voices often rising excitedly and vehemently. Then, at last, Sam
seemed to be satisfied and addressing Mr. Pauling explained that Jules
said that two men had escaped from the Cay. They had been fishing and
when returning, saw the massacre and realizing resistance was hopeless
got away from the place in their boats unseen. He then went on to
state that Jules had complained to the Dominican authorities, but had
been laughed at; strange negro squatters—in the minds of the
Dominicans—were of too little consequence to bother with and had no
legal standing; and moreover, Trade Wind Cay did not belong to Santo
Domingo. In fact, it was a port of No Man’s Land claimed by Haiti,
Santo Domingo, the Dutch and a British corporation and its real
ownership had never been settled. Jules and his followers had never
avenged their friends merely because they feared to injure any white
man knowing that summary arrest, a farcical trial and death would
follow and so, as the next best thing, they had worked spells, had
placed Obeah and had danced Voodoo in the vain hope of bringing
disaster on their enemies. Indeed, Jules declared that their dance of
that night had been for this purpose and that when the boys had first
arrived the negroes had felt sure that their heathen gods had
delivered their enemies into their hands, but that the “devil box” had
spoken in English and they knew their enemies used another tongue.

Jules’ description of the submarine was too accurate to leave room for
doubt that he had seen it and the boys, at least, were convinced that
he had seen the “reds” when Sam repeated Jules’ description of the
red-bearded giant, the dark man with the earrings, the thin fellow
with the Kaiser-like mustache, and several others.

“I’ll say he’s got a line on ’em, all right!” declared Rawlins, as Sam
finished his translation of Jules’ description and statements, “and by
glory! I’d hate to be in their shoes if these buckos ever get their
hands on ’em. Say, did you notice that one of the bunch he described
would be Smernoff to a ‘T.’ Wonder if any of ’em recognized him?”

“By Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Pauling. “I hope not, I’d forgotten he was
one of the murderers. If they see him and recognize him we’ll be
looked upon as spies and enemies. Better run down and warn him,
Rawlins. He’s in the boat, asleep probably. Tell him to keep his face
hidden or to daub it with mud; or anything and tell the quartermaster
to see that he does it.”

Rising slowly and stretching himself as if nothing unusual had
occurred, Rawlins strolled off towards; the landing place while Mr.
Pauling kept Jules and his friends busy with questions and suggesting
plans by which they could aid the Americans.

When the negroes discovered that Mr. Pauling and his friends were
looking for the murderers and would make them prisoners if found, they
were highly delighted, and Jules assented instantly to guiding the
Americans to the cave and the submarine and offered to bring a number
of his men along to help.

They were still discussing these plans and Rawlins had almost reached
the edge of the clearing when a shot rang out, there was a savage
yell, and the next moment Smernoff appeared at the edge of the trees,
waving a pistol in his hand and backing away as if from an unseen
assailant.

The next instant, he leveled his pistol, there was a flash, another
report and then, before the wondering onlookers could move, before
they could utter a cry, a figure hurled itself from behind a tree.
There was a flash of descending steel, a dull thud, and the Russian
plunged forward on the ground. Standing over him, whirling his
bloodstained machete about his head and yelling in fiendish glee was a
huge gaunt negro.

With two bounds Rawlins was upon the man from behind; before another
blow could fall he had pinioned his arms in a vise-like grip and as
the others raced towards the scene of the tragedy Rawlins struggled
and strained to wrest the deadly machete from the negro’s grasp.

Mr. Pauling was the first to reach Smernoff’s side. That the fellow
was mortally wounded was evident at a glance. Across neck and shoulder
extended a deep, gaping gash that had almost severed the head, but the
man was still breathing and Mr. Pauling bent over him.

Suddenly the Russian’s piglike eyes opened and into them flashed a
look of such malignant, unspeakable hatred that Mr. Pauling drew back.
As he did so, the gasping, dying man hissed a curse between his
blood-covered lips, and with a last superhuman effort drew up his arm,
aimed the pistol at Mr. Pauling’s head and pulling the trigger dropped
back dead. So close to Mr. Pauling’s face was the weapon that the
blast of blazing powder singed his hair and filled his eyes with
acrid, smarting smoke and burnt powder and with a hoarse, choking cry
he reeled backward. But before the horror-stricken boys could cry out
he was upon his feet, wiping his eyes, coughing, shaken, but unhurt.
Death had missed him by the fraction of an inch, by a split second.
Smernoff had waited a thousandth of a second too long to wreak his
treachery; death had robbed him of his vengeance; life had flown from
him at the very instant he had pressed the trigger and he had paid his
debt without adding another to his long list of crimes.

It had all happened in the twinkling of an eye. From the moment when
Smernoff’s first shot had startled them until he had breathed his
last, not half a minute had elapsed and now all was over. The negro
who had settled his score with the murderer of his family no longer
resisted Rawlins, but stood regarding the mutilated body of the
Russian with much the same expression that a hunter might wear when he
has brought down a tiger or a lion. Sam was trying to convince Jules
that Smernoff was a prisoner who had escaped; Bancroft and the boys
were hovering about Mr. Pauling striving to make sure that he was not
even scratched; and Rawlins was explaining matters to the
quartermaster who had come from the boat on the run at sound of the
shots.

“I’ll say he was a dirty skunk!” declared Rawlins, “And I thought he
was straight and reformed. Guess once a ‘red’ always a ‘red.’ Blamed
if I ain’t sorry I didn’t let him drift. By glory! for all we know
he’s been tipping his friends off by radio or something. Well, that’s
that for him.”

Then, turning towards the negro executioner, he gave that individual
the surprise of his life by slapping him heartily on the back.

“Guess you saved us the trouble!” he cried to the amazed man who had
expected nothing short of being summarily killed for taking a white
man’s life. “Here, shake!”

Although the negro understood not a single word, yet Rawlins’ tones
and gestures were unmistakable and with a surprised grin he seized the
diver’s outstretched hand and pressed it firmly.

“I guess he’ll be a good boy to have along with us,” Rawlins
commented, as he picked up Smernoff’s pistol and pocketed it.

“Rum lot, them Russians,” remarked the quartermaster as he spat
contemptuously into the bushes and regarded Smernoff’s body
impartially. “I never trusted of him, Sir, and I kept me weather eye
on him. I’m thinkin’ he no more than got his reward, Sir.”

The boys, now that they were convinced that Mr. Pauling was unharmed,
glanced at the dead Russian and turned away with a shudder.

“Just the same I’m rather sorry for him,” declared Frank. “Of course
he was a beast and tried to kill you, Mr. Pauling, but somehow it
seems terrible to see a man cut down that way!”

“Death’s a terrible thing in any form,” said Mr. Pauling as he led the
boys away. “But don’t waste pity on him, Frank. He was a murderer many
times over and would have ended on the gallows or in the electric
chair if he had not met death here. He richly deserved his fate and
you cannot blame the negro for killing him. I thank God that his dying
effort to murder me was frustrated by his own violence.”

Sleep was out of the question after the exciting events and the final
tragedy of the night, and now the first faint light of dawn was
showing in the east.

“We’ll start as soon as it’s light enough,” announced Mr. Pauling.
“Jules and a few of his men will go along. He’d like to send a crowd,
but they’re of no use. They have no arms and I have no intention of
taking any chances or undue risks. I wish to locate the submarine and
the hiding place of these men. There is a remote possibility that we
may take them unawares or find but a few there, but I trust mainly to
locating them, then sending for Disbrow and his bluejackets and
attacking the rascals’ lair with an overwhelming force.”

“Well, of course you know best,” assented Rawlins. “But personally,
I’d like to take along this bunch of wild men and sail into those
‘reds.’ I’d back these bush niggers with machetes against any
sneaking, bomb-throwing Bolsheviks that ever grew whiskers.”

“Undoubtedly,” smiled Mr. Pauling, “but I’m not leading any party into
peril with the boys along.”

“Yes, you’re dead right there,” agreed Rawlins earnestly. “Some one
would most likely get hurt and we can’t risk the boys. Well, any time
you say the word, I’m ready.”

Half an hour later, the party set forth. Jules with four men—among
them the powerful negro who had cut down Smernoff—led the way in a
narrow dugout and Rawlins chuckled as he noticed that every man
carried a naked, razor-edged machete beside him and that two were
armed with old muzzle-loading guns. Unknown to Mr. Pauling, he had
slipped Jules the Russian’s pistol and he felt confident that, should
occasion arise, the Martinicans would, as he put it, “give the ‘reds’
some jolt.”

Silently as ghosts, the West Indians paddled through the waterways of
the vast swamp, following, with unerring instinct, the channels and
leads they knew, but leaving the white men hopelessly confused as to
the direction in which they were traveling.

They had proceeded steadily for more than two hours, the sun was high
in the heavens and the boys were wondering how on earth they could
have drifted so far while they slept, when Jules’ canoe swung sharply
to the left, his men ceased paddling and an instant later it grated
upon a low clay bank with the boat close behind it.

With a signal for silence and caution, Jules stepped ashore, gave a
few whispered orders to his men, and led the way up a narrow, almost
invisible trail.

Close at his heels followed Rawlins, Mr. Pauling, the two boys and
Sam, while the quartermaster and Bancroft remained in the boat beside
the canoe in which Jules had left two of his men.

“Guess there won’t be any fighting just yet,” Rawlins remarked to
himself. “Just a bit of scouting likely.”

Noiselessly as shadows the negroes slipped along the trail with the
leather-shod white men striving to make as little sound as possible
and ever climbing higher and higher up the steep hillside. Finally,
after ten minutes’ steady walking, Jules halted, crouched down and
crawled forward on all fours, signaling for the others to do the same.

As they reached his side they found themselves at the summit of a high
hill with a precipitous side facing the swamp and thus leaving an
unobstructed view of all below and before them, while they were
effectually hidden among the dense growth of ferns and broad-leaved
plants.

Jules pointed and in a low whisper muttered “devil boat!” Hemmed in by
the labyrinth of mangroves and winding channels, and apparently
completely surrounded by the swamps, was a large lagoon and towards
the side nearest them a large dark object loomed above the placid
water.

All this they took in at a single glance. Before them, there upon this
hidden lagoon within the fastnesses of the mangrove swamps, was the
long-sought submarine.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” exclaimed Rawlins under his breath. “Blamed
if the darned sub isn’t sunk!”

“Sunk?” repeated Mr. Pauling inquiringly. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you see?” muttered the diver. “She’s wrecked, sunk, on the
bottom. Look how she’s keeled over. Must be full of water! Look at
that smashed conning tower; the hatch is open and the water’s half
over it. Say, I’ll bet that shot of mine bumped ’em more than I
thought. Must have ripped things loose. How the dickens they got in’s
a puzzle to me. Must have had emergency hatches or bulkheads or
something. Whatever ’twas the old sub’s done for now. Say, they’re
trapped! They can’t get away! I’ll say that’s luck! By glory, we’ve
got ’em right by the neck!”

“You’re right,” affirmed Mr. Pauling, after carefully scrutinizing the
submarine. “She’s evidently deserted and useless. Yes, they’re
certainly trapped—that is, unless they clear out overland. As soon as
we locate them we can summon Disbrow and make the raid. They certainly
cannot escape by water.”

Elated at the thought that luck was with them, that the “reds” were
marooned, and that within a short time they would be on their way home
with their prisoners, the party followed Jules down the hill to the
boats.

“Now for the big secret!” remarked Rawlins as they embarked. “If old
Uncle Tom here’s got the right dope we’ll be there in time to look in
on ’em at breakfast. Hope they’ll be at home.”

Jules grinned, chuckled, and significantly patted his keen-edged
machete. Only now and then could he grasp the meaning of an English
word, but he knew, with the African’s primitive instinct, what the
diver was talking about. He had proved the accuracy of his statements
by showing them the “devil boat” and he rejoiced to think that he
would soon see the murderers of his friends led away as captives to
meet their just punishment.

“You bet!” nodded Rawlins as he noted Jules’ gesture, “I’ll say you’d
like to use that pig-sticker, old boy; but hold your horses. Don’t go
losing your head and rushing in where angels fear to tread and
spilling the beans before they’re ready to serve. Just make him savvy
that, Sam!”

“He say he understand, Chief,” replied the Bahaman when he had, after
some difficulty, translated Rawlins’ speech into the limited
vocabulary of Martinique Creole. “He say he mos’ careful an’
circum-spec’, Chief. He quite assimilate the importance of carry in’
out yo’ comman’s mos’ precisely, Chief. Ah’ve impressed it upon he an’
he nex’ fr’ens. Yaas, Sir, Ah’ni sure he quite comprehen’s, Chief.”
Tom chuckled. “You _are_ funny, Sam!” he exclaimed. “If you use
as big words in patois as you do in English I’ll bet he didn’t
comprehen’ a bit.”

But whether or not Jules understood the importance of being
cool-headed and obeying orders, it was certain that he had assimilated
the necessity of proceeding with caution and in silence and his
upraised hand and low “Psst!” warned the boys that even whispers must
cease. Very slowly and carefully, avoiding the least splashing of
paddles, bending low as they passed beneath overhanging branches, the
negroes crept along the narrow channel—a slender ribbon of water
scarcely wide enough to accommodate the boats—until, when it seemed
as if they could go no farther, the canoe slipped into a mass of lily
pads and reeds and Jules, stepping into the shallow water, drew it
silently upon a shelving bank. When all had disembarked, he turned,
crouched low, squirmed through the fringe of underbrush and with the
others at his heels came out into fairly open forest. Once more he led
them along a game trail, but this time the way led up a gently sloping
ridge and in a few moments he came to a halt.

Creeping forward, he beckoned to the Americans, while his negro
companions melted into the shadows. Before them was a narrow valley
with a small stream flowing through the center and directly across
from where they lay among the bushes was a conical hill, its farther
side lapped by the waters of a small semicircular bay or estuary that
cut deeply into the land. Along the banks of the stream were
cultivated lands; plots of banner-leaved plantains and bananas, small
gardens of cassava, beans, yams and corn; numerous fruit trees and the
dark foliage of coffee; while upon the sides of the hill were groves
of coppery-tinted cacao trees with here and there lofty coconut palms
towering over all. Half-hidden in the greenery, the roofs fallen in
and evidently deserted, were the remains of once large buildings; a
stone bridge spanned the stream, and at the edge of the bay were the
tumble-down remnants of a dock.

Evidently, at some former time, the place had been a well-kept and
prosperous plantation, but now everything appeared abandoned and
deserted, although the gardens were carefully cultivated and attended
to.

“Humph!” muttered Rawlins. “Don’t look as if our friends lived there.”

Jules whispered a few words to Sam.

“He says as how tha’ men mek they abidin’ place in the hill yonder,
Chief,” interpreted the Bahaman.

“In the hill?” murmured Mr. Pauling. “Ah, of course, in a cave! But
where _is_ the cave?”

Sam put the question to Jules.

“Tha’s the entrance, Chief, tha’ dark spot beyon’ tha’ clump of
cabbage pa’m, Chief,” announced Sam in whispers.

“Well, I’d like to have a closer squint at it,” declared Rawlins. “I
vote we go over and say ‘howdy’ to ’em.”

“Odd that there’s no sign of life or smoke,” commented Mr. Pauling. “I
don’t see a soul. Surely they must have a boat.”

“He says as how tha’ boat goes out an’ in tha’ cave by water, Chief,”
explained Sam. “Tha’s a’ openin’ on tha’ water side also, Sir.”

“Foxy old guys, eh?” muttered the diver. “Don’t intend to be caught in
there like rats in a trap. Well, I won’t rest easy till I know they’re
there. I’ve a hunch our birds have flown.”

“You’ll never get there without being seen—that is, if there are any
men about,” declared Mr. Pauling.

“Not down this way, I admit,” replied Rawlins. “But we can sneak down
around the head of the valley, keep back of those thick rose-apple
trees that make that hedge above the yam field and work around the
base of the hill until—— Thunderation! What’s that?”

From just beyond the brow of the hill, cutting through the clear
water, leaving a tiny trail of bubbles behind it, a small object was
moving swiftly from the land across the bay. The next instant it was
gone.

“Shark!” declared Mr. Pauling.

“Shark nothing!” cried Rawlins leaping up. “It’s another sub! I’ll be
jiggered if they haven’t cleared out! Given us the slip! Come on,
who’s afraid! Atta boy! I’m going to that cave!”

Before any one could stop him, the diver had burst through the foliage
and was tearing down the hillside and so contagious is excitement
that, without stopping to think, Mr. Pauling dashed after him with the
boys close behind, while Jules and his men, thinking apparently that
the signal for an attack had been given, sprang from their hiding
places, and with waving, flashing machetes and blood-curdling shouts
bounded down the slope with the quartermaster, blowing like a porpoise
and crashing through the brush like a herd of elephants, bringing up
the rear.

The sudden appearance of the company, the flashing blades, the savage
yells, the glint of sun on rifle and pistol would have proved most
disconcerting to any one lurking in the valley or the caves, while the
noise made by the two-hundred-pound sailor lumbering through the dense
undergrowth must have sounded like the onslaught of a score of men. In
fact, it was the sudden rush, the surprise, the reckless charge which
Rawlins had counted on to win the day, for he had seen the value of
such tactics on the Flanders battle front and on one occasion, with
but two companions, had captured a German machine gun and crew without
a scratch, by just such methods.

To reach the bottom of the hill, dash across the valley, cross the
bridge and rush up the short slope to the mouth of the cave took less
time than to tell of it, but before the bridge was gained Jules and
his men were beside Rawlins, Mr. Pauling was at his heels, and the
boys were but a few paces in the rear. Heedless of shots that might
come from the cave at any instant, Rawlins and the half-crazed negroes
tore up the slope, dodged back of the palms, and with a yell leaped
into the cavern with upraised blades and cocked weapons. But not a
shot echoed through the rocky chamber, not a blow was struck, not a
voice answered Rawlins’ demand for surrender. The cave was empty,
deserted, silent as the tomb!

For an instant Rawlins stood gaping about, while the negroes lowered
their weapons, drew back a step as though afraid, and jabbered
excitedly among themselves. Then the diver grabbed off his hat, hurled
it on the floor of the cave and swore volubly and vehemently.

“Of all the rotten luck!” he cried as Mr. Pauling and the others
reached the cave panting and out of breath. “They’ve gone! Vamoosed!
Cleared out! Given us the slip! That _was_ a sub we saw. Another
one. They were wise to us.”

As he spoke, he strode into the cave and the next instant gave a
shout. “Look here!” he yelled. “Regular hang-out! Electric lights,
beds, billiard tables, and by Jiminy! even a phonograph and a piano!”

It was perfectly true. Just within the entrance of the cavern, a heavy
curtain was hung across and beyond this the great, vaulted,
subterranean chamber was furnished with every luxury and convenience.
There were no partitions—merely draperies and curtains of rich
tapestry, satin and plush, but no palace on earth could boast such a
ceiling with its vast arches, its thousands of gleaming, snow-white
and cream-tinted stalactites and no millionaire’s mansion ever had
such walls of scintillating, multicolored dripstone that gleamed and
sparkled like myriads of jewels in the light of the clusters of
incandescent lamps.

The floor, covered with upjutting stalagmites, had been chiseled and
chipped smooth, leaving the shorter columns as supports for tables,
stands for rare vases and beautiful statuary, while the great columns
where stalactites and stalagmites joined were surrounded by luxurious
cushioned seats and hung with pictures. At one side was a grand piano,
in a corner was a Victrola, and in two smaller chambers were brass
beds and luxurious bedroom furnishings. At every step the boys and
their elders exclaimed in wonder and admiration at the luxury and
richness of the furnishings of the great cavern. Beyond the first hall
was a smaller, narrower chamber, equipped with a huge range and the
latest cooking and kitchen devices; beyond this was a small connecting
cave where a dynamo and gasoline motor were installed, while far
overhead, in the most remote corner, was a tiny aperture in the roof.
Presently Rawlins, who had been nervously and hurriedly searching
everywhere in the hopes of routing out at least one member of the
gang, gave a ringing cry which instantly brought the others to his
side.

“There’s the secret to the place!” he announced triumphantly, pointing
down from a ledge of rock whereon he stood. “There’s their get-away.
I’ll say, they’re clever!”

At this spot, the floor of the cabin came to an abrupt end, dropping
in a sheer precipice some fifty feet to a huge pool of dark blue
water. But from the verge of the wall a slender ladder led down, its
foot resting on a narrow ledge of rock in which several large
ringbolts were set. Scattered upon the ledge were coils of rope,
tackle blocks, a broken oar, some wire cables and other boat-gear,
while beyond, and so perfectly reflected in the glass-like pool that
it appeared like a complete circle, was an arched opening with a
sunlit strip of water visible through it.

“Get the idea?” asked Rawlins, as the others gazed about. “There’s
their dock and there’s where they came in and went out with their sub.
But not with that big one that’s knocked galley west out in the
lagoon. No, this old boy lived in some style I’ll say—didn’t practice
all the socialist Bolshevist stuff he preached, I guess—and had his
own private sub, instead of a limousine, tied up handy at his back
door. Hello! There’s a paper down there! By crickey! perhaps they
dropped something!”

Hurrying nimbly down the ladder, Rawlins stooped, picked up the bit of
paper which had caught his eyes and a mystified, puzzled look spread
over his face. Slowly and with an odd expression he climbed the
ladder.

“Hanged if that don’t beat all!” he declared, as he gained the top and
extended the paper towards Mr. Pauling. “It’s a letter, and I’ll be
swizzled if it isn’t addressed to you!”

“What?” exclaimed Mr. Pauling as he took the envelope. “By Jove! This
_is_ amazing!”

Ripping open the envelope Mr. Pauling drew forth a single sheet of
paper. One glance sufficed to read all that was upon it, for there was
but a single line.

    “Good luck in your search. Sorry not home to receive you.
    Remember Mercedes.”

There was no signature, but none was needed. The words were
typewritten and the machine which had printed them was the one which
had typed the inflammatory, revolutionary Bolshevist propaganda which
had flooded the States.

Once more the arch criminal had slipped through their fingers. But it
had been a close shave.




CHAPTER XIII

THE TRAMP


“Looks as if the game’s up,” commented Rawlins, when he too had read
the brief message. “Guess they held the last trump. Well, I suppose we
might as well be getting back to our folks—they’ll begin to think
we’re lost as well as the boys.”

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “There’s nothing more we can do until we
get some hint or clue to where they’ve flown. But we’ll have to
destroy this lair before we leave. It seems a terrible waste and a
shame to do it, but I don’t intend having them come back after we go.
We can bring some explosives from the submarine and blow the place
up.”

“No need to do that,” declared Rawlins. “Just tell Jules and his gang
here to help themselves and there won’t be much left for the
Bolsheviks, if they do come back. When they get through looting they
can build a rattling big fire in here and that’ll finish it. It’s
limestone and after it’s heated it’ll crumble to bits.”

“Good idea!” replied the other. “Sam, tell Jules that he and his men
are welcome to anything they want in the cave. But make him promise to
build a huge fire inside after they’ve taken what they want.”

As Sam interpreted this to Jules, the latter’s eyes fairly bulged with
wonder and a wide grin spread across his countenance as it gradually
dawned upon him that the white man had made him a present of all these
treasures. Already, in his mind’s eye, he could picture the dusky
belles of his village strutting about in gowns of silk and satin
brocades, he could see their earthen jars and battered iron pots
giving way to those shiny cooking utensils, he could imagine how
dressed up his huts would be with those deeply cushioned chairs, the
pictures and the statues.

“I’ll say he’ll’ be heap big chief now,” chuckled Rawlins, as he saw
Jules’ eyes roaming greedily over the furnishings as if at a loss what
to seize first. “And say, won’t it be a scream when some chap comes
along and finds a bunch of French West Indian niggers all dolled out
with billiard tables, grand pianos and marble Venuses!”

Then, a sudden whimsical idea seized him, and grasping Jules’ arm, he
exclaimed, “Here, old sport, come along and see what you think about
this for a devil box.”

As he spoke, he led the negro towards the Victrola, but at the words
“devil box” the black’s eyes took on a frightened look and he drew
back.

“Oh, it’s all right!” Rawlins assured him, “it won’t bite.”

Still hesitating, but somewhat reassured by the diver’s tones, and
putting on a brave front, Jules accompanied Rawlins and stood silently
watching as the latter wound up the machine, placed a record under the
needle and set it in motion. But as the first sounds of a singer’s
voice burst from the horn, Jules uttered a frightened yell and leaped
away.

Every one burst into a hearty roar of laughter and the negro, with a
hasty terrified glance about, halted in his precipitate retreat,
ashamed to exhibit his fear before the white men. Then, with the odd,
quizzical, half-puzzled, half-frightened and wholly wondering
expression of an ape, he leaned forward, turning his head first to one
side and then the other as he listened to the song, peering at the
mahogany cabinet as if expecting to see the hidden singer step out at
any moment. But finding that nothing happened and that the others
seemed in no dread of the affair, he drew nearer and nearer,
absolutely fascinated by this new form of witchcraft. Never in his
life had he beheld a phonograph, and while he realized that the
“Bekes,” as he called the whites, were capable of performing almost
any miracle or of making most marvelous and incomprehensible things,
yet this, he was sure, was something quite beyond their power and must
be some most powerful form of Obeah. But evidently the “devil” or
whatever it contained was most securely imprisoned and compelled to
serve the white men, and when he saw that Sam was not in the least
afraid, and even picked up and examined the flat, round objects that
Rawlins drew from the cabinet, he decided that this particular devil
was even harmless to men of his own color. Here indeed was a treasure.
With this he would be truly a king and he could imagine what a
sensation he would create when, in the light of the Voodoo fire, he
ordered the devil in the box to sing and talk and produce music.

His fears had now completely vanished and, drawing close to the
instrument, he stood absolutely fascinated as Rawlins placed record
after record in the machine.

“Tell him to try it himself, Sam,” said Rawlins, and very reluctantly
and gingerly Jules obeyed Sam’s instructions, wound the crank, placed
a record, and uttered a yell of mingled triumph and delight as he
found the imprisoned devil obeyed him as readily as it did the
American.

“Well, he’s all set up for life,” laughed Rawlins. “All the rest of
the whole shooting match can go to blazes as far as he’s concerned.
He’ll wear the blamed thing out making it work overtime. But let’s be
going. Sam, tell Jules he and his bunch’ll have to show us the way out
of here. I’m all twisted and couldn’t find the bay in a month of
Sundays.”

But Jules absolutely refused to leave. He had no intention of giving
his new acquisition any opportunity of getting away and, as the
Americans departed, following the other negroes whom Jules had ordered
to guide them to the bay, the old fellow was squatting on his haunches
at the mouth of the cavern, a broad grin on his wrinkled black face
while, from within, came the strains of the overture from Faust.

“Pretty good ringer for old Mephisto himself!” chuckled Rawlins, as
they scrambled down the hill towards the boats.

Pushing through the water plants and into the narrow channel, the
canoe, followed by the boat, moved rapidly among the mangroves. Soon a
wider waterway was reached, and for a time this was followed, then
they slipped into a small lagoon completely encircled by an apparently
impenetrable barrier of trees, but, without hesitation, the negroes
headed their craft across the little lake. With swinging strokes of
their paddles they urged their craft forwards with redoubled speed and
then, with a sharp cry of warning to the white men behind them, they
crouched low in their dug-out. Straight for the dense foliage shot the
canoe, there was a swaying of low-growing branches, the negroes’ craft
disappeared from sight and the next instant the boat had slipped
through the screen of leaves and was floating on open water in a dark,
tunnel-like passage through the trees. Just ahead was the canoe, with
the negroes again paddling forward.

“Well I’ll be hanged!” cried Rawlins, “so this is their front gate,
eh? Wonder how the dickens they ever found it!”

Straight as a canal, the channel led and five minutes later a second
wall of foliage blocked the way. But, as before, the canoe was urged
ahead and crashed through the barrier followed by the boat. As the
last branches swayed back into place behind them, the boys and their
companions glanced about in surprise. They were floating upon the
broad waters of the bay; an unbroken line of close-growing trees
without a trace of opening stretched in their rear and far ahead they
could see the row of palms upon the bar which marked the hiding place
of their submarine.

“Well, I’ll be shot!” cried Rawlins, as he swept his eyes about.
“We’ve passed this place a dozen times and never knew it. No wonder we
couldn’t find their hang-out. Why, I thought that was all solid land!”

A moment later they were pulling, across the open bay. The Martinicans
had vanished as if by magic in the dark green foliage and two miles
away were their waiting friends.

Half an hour afterwards they were clambering aboard their sub-sea
craft and regaling the amazed and wondering Henderson with the story
of their adventures, their discoveries and the escape of the men,
while below, the quartermaster, surrounded by his mates, was relating
a yarn which put the Arabian Nights to shame.

“All gold an’ jools b’ cripes!” he declared. “With a gran’ pianner an’
a funnygraf an’ electric lights. Aw, I ain’t yarnin’, ye can ask Mr.
Rawlins—an’ statooary like them youse sees up to the art muse’ms, an’
velvet curtains. Soak me if 'twan’t a reg’lar joint! Fit fer a king
that’s what ’twas, an’ I’ll be blowed if Mr. Pauling didn’t up an’
give the whole bloomin’ outfit to a bunch o’ wild Frenchy niggers!
Struck me fair 'tween wind and water to hear him a-doin’ of it! Blow
me if it didn’t, an’ then up an’ tol’ ’em to burn the blessed place
after they was done lootin’ of it! But say! You’d ’a’ bust your-sel’s
laffin to a-seen that old gazooks of a nigger a-squattin’ on his black
hams in his ragged dungarees a-grinnin’ like a bloomin gorilla an’
a-listenin’ to gran’ opery!”

“Aw, stow it, Bill!” yawned one of the engineers. “Tell that gaff to
the marines. Why didn’t ye cop some o’ them things if they was there?”

The quartermaster snorted. “I aint no bloody thief o’ a greasy wiper!”
he replied contemptuously. “Think I’d a-got myself in Dutch by
a-swipin’ stuff under Mr. Pauling’s nose? But jes’ the same I did
bring along a bit o’ a sooveeneer. Look a-here, you sons o’ sea
cooks!” Fumbling in his blouse, the quartermaster drew forth a
glittering object and placed it on the mess table triumphantly.

“Holy mackerel! Stow me if 'taint a ring!” exclaimed one of the men.
“An’ a reg’lar shiner in it! What youse goin’ to do with it, mate?
Give it to your best girl?”

“None o’ your business,” retorted the quartermaster pocketing the
ring. “An’ mind youse don’ go blowin’ the gaff neither. I picked her
up ’longside o’ one o’ the beds an’ none the wiser. Might as well be a
havin’ it as one o’ them black monkeys.”

While Bill was thus entertaining the crew, the boys and their friends
on deck were still talking, retelling their stories, putting and
answering innumerable questions and gradually imparting a coherent
account of all that had transpired to Mr. Henderson.

Presently Rawlins grasped Tom’s arm and pointed towards the hills
across the bay.

“Look there!” he exclaimed. “There goes the last of the Panjandrum’s
palace!”

The others turned at the diver’s words and saw a thick column of smoke
rising in curling blue clouds against the green jungle.

“Guess old Jules made quick work of looting it.” continued Rawlins.
“Say, I can just see the old boy and his mates dancing and prancing
around to the music of that phonograph and watching the place go up in
smoke. Must do their hearts good! Wonder if they’ll learn to play
billiards or hammer jazz music out of that piano!”

“Well, let’s get down to business,” suggested Mr. Pauling, when the
laughter over Rawlins’ quaint conceit had subsided. “I suppose we’d
better notify Disbrow and leave here. No use of delaying longer. The
trail is blind now.”

“I vote we all turn in early and light out to-morrow morning,”
suggested the diver. “I’m dead tired myself and the boys must be all
in. They haven’t slept since night before last, you know, and it’s
pretty near sundown now. How about grub, too?”

This seemed the wisest plan, and as Bancroft sat at his instruments
rapidly sending a cipher message to the destroyer the steward served a
belated but hearty meal.

“He’s received the message, Sir,” announced the operator as he joined
the others. “Here’s his reply.”

“H-m-m!” said Mr. Pauling, as he glanced over the apparently
meaningless figures and letters. “He’ll stand in and wait for us in
the morning. Hasn’t seen any signs of a sub, or anything suspicious.”

Now that their appetites were satisfied and the excitement was over
all realized how tired, exhausted and sleepy they were and gladly
sought their bunks at an early hour.

It seemed to Rawlins that he had scarcely closed his eyes when he
awoke with a start, the sound of a shout still ringing in his ears.
For a brief instant he thought he had been dreaming and then, as the
cry again echoed through the night, he realized it was no dream, that
something was amiss, and wide awake leaped to the floor.

The next instant he uttered a yell of shock and surprise. Instead of
landing on the rubber mat his feet had plunged into cold water!

“Get up! Wake! Hustle!” he screamed at Bancroft who occupied the other
bunk. “The boat’s full of water!”

Without waiting, he dashed from the room, shouting and yelling,
switching on lights and starting the alarm gong as he plunged,
splashing, through the water that covered the steel plates of the
floors.

Instantly all was in an uproar. Hoarse shouts and cries came from the
crews’ quarters. The boys, with frightened faces and still rubbing
dazed and sleep-filled eyes, rushed from their cabin with Mr. Pauling
and Mr. Henderson at their heels and through the din of the clanging
gong, the excited questions and warning shouts, Rawlins, with the
quartermaster by his side, hustled the men and boys up the ladder to
the deck, checking them off one by one as they passed.

“All up?” demanded Rawlins as a drowsy oiler stumbled through the
fast-rising water to the foot of the ladder.

“Aye, aye, Sir!” responded the old sailor. “Better be gettin’ aloft,
Sir.”

The water was now up to the men’s hips and as they reached the outer
air Rawlins and the quartermaster found the waves lapping the edges of
the deck. But perfect order prevailed. The two boats were manned and
ready and as Rawlins and the sailor sprang into them the men bent to
the oars and a few moments later the boats’ keels grated on the sand
beach under the ghostly palms.

“I’ll say we’re lucky!” were Rawlins first words. “Wonder what in
blazes burst loose!”

But no one could offer an explanation. The man who had been on watch
and whose cry had roused Rawlins declared that the first thing he had
noticed had been that the submarine was settling. The engineers
insisted that no sea-cock or valve had been left open. There had been
no blow, shock or explosion and, huddled together on the beach,
shivering and shaken, the men and the boys waited for the dawn.
Presently a fire was started and the survivors, glad of its warmth in
the chill night air, gathered close about it, discussing the disaster,
surmising as to its cause and thanking their stars that they had all
escaped and that help was not far away.

“If we don’t turn up, Disbrow will suspect something is wrong and send
a boat in,” declared Mr. Pauling. “We won’t have to wait here many
hours.”

“Perhaps we could call him,” suggested Mr. Henderson. “Are those radio
instruments still in the boats?”

“One is.” replied Rawlins. “I noticed it as we came ashore.”

“But we haven’t any aerial,” said Tom. “The resonance coil was on
board the submarine.”

“I don’t think it matters,” his father assured him. “Disbrow’s sure to
investigate.”

“For that matter, we can row out and meet them,” suggested Rawlins.
“We’ve got perfectly good boats.”

“Of course,” agreed Mr. Henderson, “although it would be more risky
than waiting here. Disbrow might not sight us and then we’d be worse
off.”

“Yes, we’ll wait here a reasonable time at any rate,” declared Mr.
Pauling, “Ah, I believe it’s getting lighter.”

Very soon the eastern sky grew bright and presently there was enough
light to distinguish surrounding objects clearly.

“There she is!” exclaimed Rawlins, pointing towards the spot where
their submarine had been moored. “Didn’t go clear under. Too shallow
for her.”

Above the water, the top of the submarine’s conning tower was visible
with the slender aerial wires faintly discernible in the soft morning
light.

“We’re all right!” declared the diver. “We can get that aerial off the
sub, rig it up between a couple of these palms and get the destroyer
here in double quick time. But I _would_ like to know what sunk
the old tub.”

Acting on Rawlins’ suggestion, the boats rowed over to the wreck and
the men busied themselves stripping the aerial from the submarine. By
the time this was accomplished it was broad daylight and the warm sun
was shining brightly upon the water and beach.

“Sam,” said Rawlins, turning to the Bahaman who, up to his waist in
water on the submarine’s deck, was unfastening a wire. “What do you
think of diving down and having a look around. I’m blamed anxious to
know how the old sub got full of water.”

“All right, Chief,” grinned the negro, dropping the wire and stripping
off his scanty garments. “Ah’ll mos’ surely ascertain, Chief.”

The next instant he had plunged off the deck and all waited
expectantly for his reappearance. After what seemed a tremendously
long interval his wooly head bobbed up close to the stern and shaking
the water from his eyes he swam easily to the submerged deck and
pulled himself up.

“Tha’s nothin’ wrong this side, Chief,” he announced as he recovered
his breath. “Ah’ll go down tha’ other side an’ have a look.”

Presently he rose, felt his way along the deck with the water to his
armpits and reaching a point near the bow again dove.

Again he reappeared near the stern and the satisfied grin upon his
face assured Rawlins that he had news.

“Yaas, Sir!” he announced as he drew himself onto the boat. “Ah foun’
it, Chief. Tha’ a big hole aft, Chief. Looks like it been bored in
tha’ plates, Chief.”

“Well, what in thunder!” cried Rawlins. “Come on, Sam, I’m going to
have a look. Show me where ’tis. I’m no fish like you, but I can stay
down long enough for that.”

Poising himself on the boat’s thwart with Sam beside him, Rawlins
waited for the word and together the two figures, one white, one
black, plunged into the sea.

Presently the two heads bobbed up side by side and breathing hard
Rawlins scrambled into the boat.

“I’ll say it’s bored!” he exclaimed. “Burned! Cut clean through with
an acetylene torch!”

The others fairly gasped with amazement.

“But how _could_ any one burn a hole through steel,—under
water?” cried Tom.

“Easy!” retorted Rawlins. “A good torch’ll burn as well under water as
in air. Used right along by divers. It’s those blasted, dumbfoozled
‘reds’! I can see it all now. They sneaked down here in that little
sub of theirs, laid on the bottom, sent a diver out with a torch and
burned the hole. Thought they’d drown us like rats in a trap—blame
their dirty hides!”

“By jove! it doesn’t seem possible,” declared Mr. Pauling. “I’m
surprised, they——”

His words were cut short by a shout from Rawlins. “Look there!” he
fairly screamed, leaping up, and pointing towards the bay. “Look at
’em! The low down, sneaking swine!”

All turned instantly towards the bay and at the sight which greeted
them jaws gaped, eyes grew round with wonder and hoarse exclamations
of anger, amazement and chagrin arose from a dozen throats.

Traveling swiftly seaward through the calm water was a small
submarine, her deck just awash, and standing upon her superstructure
and waving their hands in derisive farewell were two men. One was
heavily built with a huge red beard, the other slender, immaculate in
white flannels and with a stiffly upturned, iron-gray mustache.

The next moment they disappeared in the hatch. An instant later only
the conning tower showed above the water and ere the amazed onlookers
could recover from their astonishment the placid bay stretched
unbroken even by a ripple to the distant shores.

Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson exchanged rapid glances.

“It was!” muttered Mr. Pauling in a low voice.

The other nodded. “Absolutely!” he rejoined.

Rawlins, who for once had been rendered absolutely speechless with
surprise, anger and chagrin now found his voice.

“Lively, men!” he shouted. “Get that aerial up quick! We’ll nab those
devils yet! Get a message to Disbrow to go for ’em! Drop depth bombs
or anything else! He can’t be far off.”

At his bidding, thoroughly aroused to the necessity for action, the
men fell to work. Hastily the antennae from the submarine was rushed
ashore. Up the palms scrambled Sam and a sailor and in an incredibly
short space of time the slender wires were stretched between the
lopped-off tops of the lofty trees and the boys adjusted their
instruments. Excitedly they called the destroyer and presently sharp,
and clear, came back the answering call.

“Tell him to watch for a sub,” ordered Mr. Pauling. “Don’t bother over
cipher. Give it to them in English. Tell him she’s just slipped out.
If he sights her sink her, disable her, anything! Drop depth bombs if
necessary!”

Then, as the boys hurriedly and excitedly flashed these orders to the
destroyer and the “dee dee dee dah dee” (“we understand”) came back,
Mr. Pauling continued. “Now tell him our sub has sunk. Have him send a
cutter for us and tell him to hustle.”

Slowly the minutes slipped by. Breathlessly, filled with excitement,
those upon the beach beneath the palms listened, expecting each moment
to hear the distant boom of a gun, the low rumbling roar of an
exploding depth bomb. But no sound broke the low swish of the palm
fronds and the soft lapping of the waves upon the sand.

An hour went by and then, from the direction of the bay, came the
faint staccato beat of a motor’s exhaust and a moment later a trim
navy cutter came into view. Shouting and waving their hands, those
upon the beach attracted the cutter’s attention, it spun around, came
swiftly towards them and ten minutes later was headed seaward leaving
the sunken submarine deserted and alone.

A mile or two offshore, steaming in great circles, was the lean, gray
destroyer and as those in the cutter ran up the gangway and gained the
decks Disbrow met them.

“Seen anything of that sub!” demanded Mr. Pauling, ignoring the
officer’s cheery greeting.

“Not a sign,” declared the commander. “Had men aloft and been swinging
in circles ever since we got your message. Haven’t sighted a craft of
any sort since daylight. Only thing we’ve seen was an old Dutch tramp
over by Trade Wind Cay.”

Rawlins, who had just reached the deck, sprang forward.

“Dutch tramp!” he cried. “What did she look like? Did you board her?”

“Of course not!” replied Disbrow icily. “Why should we? Ordinary tramp
painted pea-soup color with bands two blue and one yellow, on her
funnel.”

“I’ll say she’s not an ordinary tramp!” exclaimed the diver. “If she
is, what the blazes is she hangin’ around there for? She was there a
week ago—we saw her—and Dutch tramps or any other tramps don’t hang
around Trade Wind Cay for a week! Rotten luck you didn’t board her!”

“Humph!” snorted Disbrow. “I’d get myself in a pretty mess if I
boarded every steamer I saw. It’s none of my business if a Dutchman
wants to kill time cruising about here. The sea’s free.”

“Yes, and I’m beginning to think some naval men are blamed idiots!”
cried Rawlins, overcome with excitement. “I know one that boarded a
square-head fishing smack and didn’t think ’twas any of his business
because she was a Bahaman schooner. Darned near finished us on account
of it, too!”

The commander flushed scarlet. “If you’re going to insult me!” he
began; but Mr. Pauling interposed.

“Here, here, boys!” he exclaimed. “Don’t get excited. We all make
mistakes and we’re dealing with most elusive and resourceful
scoundrels. Rawlins has a hunch of some sort, Disbrow, and his hunches
are usually, right. Now what it is, Rawlins? The sooner we get to an
understanding the quicker we can act.”

“Sorry, old man!” apologized the diver, extending his hand to Disbrow
who instantly grasped it. “Was a bit jumpy, I guess. But that tramp’s
got to be overhauled. I’ve an all-fired hunch she’s part of the game.
They deserted a sub once and took to a schooner and I’ll bet my last
dollar to a plugged cent that that tramp’s just waiting for ’em now.”

Disbrow wheeled and gave a crisp order and the next moment the
destroyer, throbbing and shaking like a leaf, a huge wave rising high
above her sharp bows, was tearing like an express train towards Trade
Wind Cay.

As they neared the little islet and rounded its jutting point, Rawlins
gave a cheer. Wallowing slowly along, her rust-streaked sides rising
and falling to the ocean swell, was the tramp, with the flag of the
Netherlands fluttering at her stern and the blue and yellow stripes
plainly visible on her funnels.

Up to the destroyer’s mast fluttered a string of bunting, but the
Dutchman paid not the slightest heed, continuing placidly on his
course.

“Confound him!” exploded Rawlins. “Doesn’t mean to stop, eh?”

“Run alongside and hail him,” quietly ordered Mr. Pauling. “I’ll take
all responsibility if there’s any trouble. But we’ll board that chap
if we have to fire on him.”

There was no need of any such drastic measures, however. As the
destroyer came near and Disbrow’s hail through the megaphone reached
those upon the tramp, a huge, burly figure appeared upon the bridge,
waved an arm in assent and a moment later the ill-kept vessel lay
motionless, as the cutter from the destroyer bobbed alongside. Over
the tramp’s wall-like sides dangled a rope ladder and followed by
Rawlins and Mr. Pauling a white clad ensign ran nimbly up and leaped
over the battered iron rails.

At the break of the bridge-deck the ponderous man lounged upon the
rail awaiting them, a big pipe projecting from an enormous yellow
mustache, a weather-beaten cap upon his tow-colored hair and greasy,
faded blue garments hanging loosely on his immensely fat figure.
Placidly, with pale, expressionless blue eyes, he watched the officer
and the civilians approach and as they drew near slowly withdrew the
pipe from his mouth.

“Vat you vellers vant?” he demanded in thick greasy tones. “Vat vor
you sthob mine shib?”

The boyish ensign touched his cap. “Compliments of Commander Disbrow,
Sir,” he announced. “His orders are to have a look at your papers and
search the ship if we think necessary. Are you the captain?”

The Dutchman drew himself up in what was a ludicrous attempt at
dignity. “Yah, me der gapdain!” he rumbled. “But vat de deffil you
vellers link? Dondt you know dot der var vas over? Vat vor you vant to
see mine babers, eh?”

“Just as a matter of form, Captain,” replied the ensign crisply.
“Won’t take a minute.”

For a space, the fat skipper eyed the other suspiciously. “Ach! All
right,” he exclaimed at last. “Gum on! Dis vay an’ pe tarn qvick apout
id!”

Rolling like a barge in a gale, the Dutchman led the way across the
deck and into his disorderly cabin under the bridge. Then, rummaging
among papers and letters, he drew out a package snapped together with
rubber bands and handed it to the ensign.

“Seem to be all right,” commented Mr. Pauling, as he glanced over the
officer’s shoulder with Rawlins beside him. “‘Steamship _Van
Doerck_, 11,345 tons, general cargo, Rotterdam for St. Thomas,
Hirschfelt, master and owner.’ Don’t see anything suspicious there,
Rawlins. Last cleared from Curacao. Health and port papers O. K. Guess
your hunch was wrong this time.”

Rawlins scratched his head and looked sheepish, but there was still a
questioning, puzzled expression in his eyes. “Maybe,” he admitted,
“but I’d like to have a look at his crew. Just ask him to line ’em up
on deck, Ensign.”

At first, the Dutchman vehemently objected, but finally, with a
muttered curse in his native tongue at the pigheadedness of the
Yankees, he ordered his second officer to summon all hands on deck.

Carefully Rawlins, Mr. Pauling and the ensign went along the line of
dirty faces, checking them off by name in accordance with the ship’s
papers, but they were all there, no more, no less.

“No use looking under hatches,” declared the ensign who began to feel
that he had made a fool of himself. “They haven’t been up for a week,
I’ll swear.” Then, as an afterthought, he added sarcastically, “Don’t
suppose you’d care to search the engine room and bunkers?”

“I’ll say I will!” exclaimed Rawlins, and without another word hurried
aft.

A few minutes later he reappeared, grimy, perspiring and greasy.

“Nothing doing there!” he announced. “Say, ask the old boy what he’s
been hanging around here a week for.”

Reluctantly the ensign put the question.

“None of your tamt pizness!” replied the skipper. “Put id’s no segret.
Ve drobt a sbar offerboard in der night an ve been hunding vor id. Ve
vasn’t here vor a veek—id vas night before ladst ve gum pack.”

Rawlins raised his eyebrows. “All right, Ensign,” he said. “Guess it’s
a false alarm. Might as well be going.”

“Sorry to have troubled you, Captain,” said the ensign, touching his
cap. “Expect you’re not the ship we were looking for.”

The skipper’s only reply was a low, rumbling bellow from his chest and
stumping up the ladder to the bridge he jerked the bell for “stand
by.”

No sooner were the boarding party again on the destroyer than Rawlins
beckoned Mr. Pauling aside.

“You may think I’m an ass, Mr. Pauling,” remarked the diver. “But
there’s something crooked about that Dutchman. He’s a blamed liar in
the first place, because you know as well as I do he was here six days
ago. In the second place, can you imagine wasting even two days
steaming along and hunting for a lost spar, and how the blazes could
he lose a spar? The sea’s been like glass.”

Mr. Pauling smiled. “You’re unduly suspicious, Rawlins,” he declared.
“I admit the tramp was here a week ago and we saw her, but he may have
gone on and then come back two days ago searching for a spar or he may
have lied just because he wouldn’t give us the satisfaction of telling
us his business. No, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. If
you suspect every ship we see we’ll have our hands full and every
nation in the world will be after our scalps.”

“Well, Mr. Pauling,” replied Rawlins, “I hope you won’t be insulted if
I say so and I don’t mean it that way; but you’re no seaman and you
may be a mighty good detective on land, but you’re not when aboard
ship. That old whale of a Dutchy has been anchored there and hasn’t
been hunting for a blamed thing! And what’s more, he hasn’t been in
Curacao for a year!”

“What?” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “How do you know? Explain yourself,
Rawlins.”

“If that cockey little ensign hadn’t been so stuck on himself, he’d
have noticed it,” declared the diver. “Why, the anchor chains were
thick with wet mud, the steam winch was still hot, there was mud and
water on deck and some of the crew had fresh mud on their jumpers.
What’s more, the fires in her furnaces hadn’t been going an hour.
They’d been banked and the ashes were still on the plates where they’d
been raked out. That old hooker hadn’t been under way half an hour
when we came up. And now how do I know she hadn’t been at Curacao?
I’ll tell you. The papers looked all right, I’ll admit—Curacao stamps
and signatures and everything O. K. But they were dead crooked, I’ll
say! They were a whole year old!”

“Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Pauling, beginning to be convinced that Rawlins
had grounds for his suspicions. “How do you know? I saw nothing
wrong.”

Rawlins chuckled. “No, and the old guy didn’t expect you would. He or
his friends are darned clever birds, but they slipped up on those
papers. They’d changed the date under the signatures, but they forgot
about the stamps—they were canceled with a rubber stamp and the date
was ’21 not ’22!”

“Rawlins!” cried Mr. Pauling. “I’ll take it all back! You’re a
wonder—told you you should be in the Service. What’s your idea?”

“Well, I don’t know just where the Dutchy comes in with those reds,”
admitted Rawlins, “but I’ll bet they’re cahoots somehow. I think we’d
better follow the boys’ motto—hear everything, see everything and say
nothing and keep the other fellow guessing—I’d suggest we trail the
old porpoise and see if he _does_ go to St. Thomas. If he does,
we’ll bob up there too. I’m ready to follow along his wake if he
wallows round the world, but St. Thomas is an American port and we can
do pretty near anything we like there. If we hang around we may get a
line on something. We’ve had pretty good luck all together and I’ve
got a hunch we’re ‘hot’, as they used to say when we played hunt the
thimble.”

A few moments later Mr. Pauling was speaking to the commander in the
privacy of the latter’s cabin.

“You’ll make for St. Thomas, Disbrow,” he said. “Keep that tramp
within sight, but don’t let her think we’re following her. No, don’t
ask questions, I don’t really know myself. Rawlins has a hunch, and so
far his hunches have come mighty near being right. I’m backing them to
the limit.”

THE END




By A. HYATT VERRILL

  THE RADIO DETECTIVES
  THE RADIO DETECTIVES UNDER THE SEA
  THE RADIO DETECTIVES SOUTHWARD BOUND
  THE RADIO DETECTIVES IN THE JUNGLE
  THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS
  THE BOOK OF THE MOTOR BOAT
  ISLES OF SPICE AND PALM






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