“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!”