Rival ocean divers

ON THE SHIP ONCE MORE

"We are in for it now!" cried Dave, as he watched the approach of the two war canoes loaded down with savages.

"It certainly looks like it," muttered Captain Broadbeam, grimly. "Well, a man can die but once, and we had better fight to the bitter end."

"That is true," came from Doctor Barrell. "But I am afraid that three against two dozen or more will make a poor showing."

The savages now became aware that they were discovered, and they set up a fierce shout. Those at the long sweeps began to row more swiftly than ever, as if thirsting for the blood of the whites.

"If we only had a gun or two," said Dave. "But we haven't a thing."

"Only the oars, and they'll make poor weapons," answered Captain Broadbeam. "I'm afraid it's all up with us, lad. We must look for the worst."

"Can't we outdistance them by rowing?"

"I think not."

"But we might reach shore again and take to the jungle. That will be better than being slaughtered on the ocean."

"Yes, yes, let us try for the shore!" burst out the doctor. "We have at least a fighting chance of reaching it."

As quickly as possible the rowboat was turned about, and its bow pointed to a distant headland. All pulled with might and main, the perspiration pouring down their faces and backs.

But it was useless. The war canoes crept closer and closer.

And now, as if to make doubly sure of them, there suddenly appeared upon the beach another crowd of natives, brandishing knives and war clubs.

The din was hideous, and the cry from the shore was echoed and re-echoed by the savages in the canoes.

They felt certain that the whites would become their prisoners.

Captain, doctor, and young diver looked at each other with blanched faces.

They felt that their last hour on earth was at hand.

Swiftly the war canoes came closer.

Then of a sudden something happened which came as a great shock to our friends and as an even greater shock to the savages.

Boom!

Dull and sullen a ship's gun boomed out and a shot sped across the bow of the foremost of the canoes.

"A shot!" ejaculated Captain Broadbeam, leaping to his feet. "What can it mean?"

"It means that there is a steamship in sight!" cried Dave. "See the smoke around the bend of the island. Here she comes!"

"It is the Swallow!" came from the doctor. "Heaven be praised!"

The physician was right; it was indeed the Swallow, and now another shot boomed out.

The ball struck the stern of the leading war canoe, and the craft began immediately to fill with water.

The yelling was terrific, for the natives were taken completely by surprise.

As the first of the canoes began to sink, those on board leaped into the water.

Some started for the other canoe, but the majority swam toward shore, thinking that the second craft would soon be served like the first.

But the natives on the shore were not yet daunted, and with another yell they let fly a shower of arrows at those in the rowboat.

"Down!" cried Captain Broadbeam, and all hurled themselves to the bottom of the craft.

It was well that they did this, for the arrows must otherwise have killed one or more of them.

Boom! A third shot from the Swallow was now directed at those on shore.

The aim was a good one and two natives were seen to pitch forward, to rise no more.

Seeing this, the others took to their heels with all speed and disappeared into the jungle.

It was the last of the attack upon our friends.

The savages had had enough of the contest and now thought only of saving themselves.

The second canoe was beached in a great hurry and the occupants disappeared as if by magic.

As soon as they felt free to do so, our friends resumed their oars and rowed in the direction of the Swallow.

On the deck they saw the lieutenant of the ship, Amos Fearless, and several other familiar faces.

Soon the steamship and the rowboat came together, and then Bob and Pat Stoodles were hoisted aboard the larger craft. Dave, the captain, and the doctor followed.

"Father!" cried Dave, and rushed into his parent's arms.

Amos Fearless could not speak, but his face showed plainly his great joy.

"And how are you, father?" went on his son.

"He is doing nicely," answered the first mate of the Swallow. "But his speech has not yet come back to him."

Bob and Pat Stoodles were carried to state-rooms, and here Doctor Barrell proceeded to minister to their comforts through the stock in his medicine chest.

While this was going on Captain Broadbeam started in to learn if Pete Rackley had shown himself.

"Why, certainly; he is on board," said the mate. "He's a poor, down-hearted castaway, isn't he?"

"He's a rascal!" burst out Captain Broadbeam. "Where is he? I'll put him in irons!"

A search was at once instituted and at last Pete Rackley was found hiding in the forecastle.

He was the picture of misery when brought before Captain Broadbeam.

"It's all a mistake," he said, in a trembling voice. "All a mistake."

"It is no mistake," said the captain, sternly. "Dave Fearless is here to testify against you."

"But—but——"

"You need make no more denials, Rackley. You have played the game and lost. Now answer me truthfully: Have you done any harm as yet to the Swallow?"

"No! no!"

"You are telling the truth?"

"I am—I swear it."

"I will order a strict investigation. If anything is wrong——"

And the captain ended with a stern shake of his forefinger at the rascal.

Pete Rackley was then bound and cast into the brig of the ship.

The assistant engineer was closely questioned, and he said Rackley had been seen frequently around the engine room.

Then the entire machinery of the ship was inspected.

At one point several bolts were found filed almost in two.

At another point an oil cup was broken, so that the part might get dry and thus cause considerable delay.

These things were all mended, and Captain Broadbeam ordered that Rackley be chained up in the brig because of his falsehoods.

The day was spent in the vicinity of the island, looking for the Raven, but that vessel failed to appear.

By the next morning both Bob and Pat Stoodles were pronounced out of danger by the doctor.

A conference was held and it was decided that the Swallow should now proceed with all haste to the spot where the Happy Hour had gone down with the treasure.

Nothing of special interest happened for several days.

Bob Vilett grew better rapidly and was able to be around at the end of a week.

Pat Stoodles' recovery was slower. But to the satisfaction of the friends he had made it was seen that the Irish castaway's mind was becoming clearer every day.

"He'll be as clear-headed as any of us when he gets on his feet once more," said Doctor Barrell, and his statement proved correct.

Day after day went by and the Swallow kept steadily to her course.

Amos Fearless was now as well as ever excepting for his voice.

He could occasionally speak a few words in a hoarse whisper, but that was all; and he would sometimes break down in the midst of a sentence.

This grieved Dave very much, but he could do nothing for the sufferer.

"It is time alone can do it," said Doctor Barrell, encouragingly.

But Dave was downcast. What if his father should never be able to talk again as of old?

"I'd rather let the fortune go than have that happen," he told himself, over and over again. He was afraid that the affliction might grow worse, so that his parent would not be able to make any sound at all!