Of course, every one was highly elated at the successful outcome of the ruse which Rawlins had suggested and all felt that at last the long chase was over, that the leaders of the gang of “reds” were prisoners under lock and key at Trinidad, and that soon the destroyer would be homeward bound with her mission successfully accomplished. And no one was more pleased at the outcome than Robinson, the chief officer of theDevonshire. At the suggestion of the officials in Dominica, it had been decided to keep him and his men on the destroyer until definite news was received of his ship’s whereabouts when, as he had pointed out to Mr. Pauling and Commander Disbrow, he and his men could be put aboard theDevonshireand could again assume the duties which had been so tragically interrupted by the rascals from the submarine. Moreover, as the Administrator of Dominica had reminded Mr. Pauling, the presence of Robinson and his men would be needed at whatever port theDevonshirewas held, in order to identify the pirates and to testify to the facts.
And now, knowing that he would soon be back on his own ship and would have an opportunity of telling his story to the British authorities and would have the satisfaction of seeing the murderers of Captain Masters and the radio operator receive their just punishment, Robinson and his men were, if possible, more elated than Mr. Pauling and his party.
“It means hangin’ for the bally blighters!” he declared. “Piracy ’twas--no less--and though I’ve never been to a hangin’ yet, it would do me good to go to theirs--when I think of Captain Masters and poor ‘Sparks’ shot down in cold blood.”
“Yes, they richly deserve it,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “But I’m afraid punishment for this crime will rob us of the chance to punish them for the other crimes they have committed. However, it makes little difference what government deals with them, I suppose.”
“Yes, you may be sure the British are not going to give them up,” declared Mr. Henderson. “We may think our English cousins slow in some things, but British laws and British justice are inexorable as well as swift and these rascals will curse the day they ran their stolen ship into a British port. Better for them had they given themselves up to us.”
“I suppose we’d better send a message to Trinidad saying we’re coming and have theDevonshire’screw and chief officer aboard,” said Mr. Pauling. “I should have done it before. No need of cipher now. Just see Bancroft, Rawlins, and give him this message.”
Presently the diver returned, a frown on his face. “He can’t send it, Mr. Pauling,” he announced. “Something’s wrong with his instruments. He says they went wrong just after we got the message this morning and he can’t locate the trouble. Just as soon as he gets the things fixed, he’ll shoot it off.”
“Too bad,” exclaimed Mr. Pauling, “but there’s really no hurry. Lucky it didn’t happen when we had really important matters to send--for example, when we notified the officials of theDevonshire’sseizure.”
“And if he doesn’t get his set fixed, we can send with ours, when we get nearer,” said Tom.
“To be sure!” assented his father. “I’d almost forgotten that--it’s been so long since you boys were called upon.”
Interested as they were in everything pertaining to radio, the two boys hurried to the radio room and found Bancroft busy at his instruments and thoroughly exasperated.
“It’s just got my goat!” he exclaimed, as he glanced up at the boys’ arrival. “I never ran up against anything like it. I’ve been over the antenna and the insulation, and I’ve worked back to the inductance and the condensers. Everything seems ship-shape and yet the whole blamed thing seems dead. Current’s all right, I’ve tried new tubes, and the wave meter and ammeter tests are O. K. and yet I can’t get a blessed reply.”
“Well, that doesn’t prove you’re not sending,” declared Tom. “How do you know the trouble isn’t in the station you’re trying to get? Maybe your messages are going out all right and they get them but can’t send back.”
“Oh, I’m not such a boob as not to think of that!” retorted Bancroft. “I’ve tried four different stations and not a reply from any. And the radio compass is in the same fix. It’s downright uncanny, I tell you. Look here! The filament oscillates and the ammeter registers and yet I’ll bet there isn’t a wave going out. It’s just as if the thing were short circuited somewhere, but I can swear it’s not. I’ve even hooked up a whole new set.”
“Say, I’ve an idea to test it and be sure you’re not sending,” cried Tom. “I’ll go over to the radio-compass and listen and you send and see if I hear anything. Then I’ll send and see if you can hear. If there’s even a trace of waves, we ought to get them at a few yards away.”
“That’s a great scheme,” agreed Bancroft enthusiastically. “And say, I wonder if your sets are all right.”
“We’ll try them too, after we do this,” said Tom as he left the room.
But Tom’s scheme was a dismal failure. Although the set at the radio compass seemed in perfect working order, he could detect no sign of a message from Bancroft’s instruments a few yards away and when: he returned to the wireless room, Bancroft reported! that he had heard nothing.
“Well, that does beat the Dutch,” declared Tom, “Now I’m going to test our sets. Perhaps everything’s hoodooed. You go to the radio compass, Frank, and Mr. Bancroft can stay here and I’ll go to our sets and we’ll try to get some sound or to send. If they’re all dead, it must be some atmospheric trouble. Perhaps the air’s full of electricity or something.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Bancroft, “That gives me an idea! Perhaps it’s due to that volcano over at Martinique--Mt. Pelee you know, the one that destroyed St. Pierre. It’s still active and it’s only a few miles from Dominica. If I could only get some dope from the station at Fort de France I could find out.”
“I don’t know,” replied Tom. “I read somewhere that active volcanoes did all sorts of queer things to ships’ compasses and if they affect magnets, I don’t see why they shouldn’t affect radio instruments. But if that’s it, then it’s mighty funny you got the message this morning.”
“But I didn’t!” exclaimed Bancroft. “I haven’t received any message since day before yesterday. That message your father got was a cable.”
“Gosh!” ejaculated Tom. “I thought all along it was a radio. I never asked, but just took it for granted. Then you don’t know how long these sets have been out of order?”
“Well, I know they were all right when we sent those messages off after we picked up theDevonshire’sboat,” replied Bancroft.
“Then perhaps it’s the volcano,” said Tom. “If it is, the sets will work all right after we get farther away.”
“And we’ve forgotten something else,” put in Frank. “How can we tell whether it’s the sending or receiving sets that have gone bad? Maybe they all send and won’t receive or all receive and won’t send.”
“Why, of course that’s so,” assented Tom. “If it’s the same trouble with all--the volcano or atmosphere or anything, then we may all be sending but can’t receive. But you’re wrong, in a way, because we know it must be in the receiving end anyway, or we’d hear some messages from ships or shore even if they didn’t get ours. So if we’re not sending, the things have gone wrong both ways. Well, I’m going to ours now, so listen.”
It was now night, a dark, inky black night such as only occurs in the tropics, with the darkness seeming to shut one in by a curtain and Tom had actually to feel his way along the decks. The sea was fairly smooth, and the destroyer, steadied by her swift rush through the water, was making easy weather of it, and by the vibration of her hull Tom knew that she was being driven at the greatest speed possible in her still crippled condition. The decks seemed deserted, although Tom knew that, hidden from view in the blackness, the watch was being kept and once he glimpsed a dim, white, ghostly figure as it passed through the rays of a running light forward and he heard faint voices from the direction of the chart room and bridge. But somehow he had a peculiar feeling of mystery or danger afoot and glanced nervously about. Then, realizing how foolish he was, he shook off the childish fears of the dark and reaching the stairs descended towards the little room where he and Frank had installed their radio outfits.
The steel-walled, narrow alleyway was dimly lighted by screened electric bulbs and reaching the door to the room, Tom turned the knob, swung it open, and stepped into the black interior. With groping fingers he reached for the switch beside the door and pressed the button. At his touch the place was flooded with brilliant light and dazed by the sudden glare Tom involuntarily turned his face and blinked. The next instant the steel ceiling seemed to crash down upon his head, his knees sagged limply, the light danced and spun about and he felt himself sinking into a bottomless black pit.
Slowly consciousness came back to him. First, as a dull, throbbing ache, then as a stabbing pain in his head and with the pain came the dim memory of the blinding light, the blow and oblivion. What had happened? What had fallen from above to strike him? Why was it so dark? Why did he feel suffocating? Had the lights gone out? Was he still pinned under the object which had hit him?
Perhaps, he thought, there had been an accident, a collision. Perhaps, even now, the destroyer was sinking. He strove to turn his head, to rise, and then, for the first time, he suddenly realized that his head was enveloped in the heavy choking folds of a blanket, that his arms were pinioned behind his back and with the discovery came the terrifying knowledge that he had been struck by some one; stunned, gagged, and bound by some enemy.
But, by whom? Who upon the destroyer could have done this? Who had been hiding in the room and for what reason?
Choking for breath, still dazed from the blow on his head, frightened and sick, feeling as if every breath under the smothering cloth must be his last, Tom nevertheless thought of the others. The vessel and his friends must be in danger; there must be mutiny afoot, and he groaned to think that he could not warn the others; could not even cry out. Then, suddenly he forgot all, forgot his aching dizzy head, his gasping, choking lungs, his terror and his plight, for through the folds of the blanket the sounds of a human voice came dimly to him. And, as Tom’s straining ears caught the words, he could scarcely believe he was not in a delirium. Terror froze the blood in his veins.
“Everything correct,” came faintly through the cloth. “We’ll fix the gear so she’ll go on the rocks in the Bocas. Yes, all out of it but this and I’ll fix this in a minute more. Oh, yes. Pretty near caught. Fool boy bobbed up unexpectedly. Knocked him out. Oh, no, toss him overboard presently. No, no trace.”
Then silence--and Tom, knowing his end was near, that in a few short moments he would be cast, bound, gagged and helpless into the black water, prayed for unconsciousness, prayed for oblivion that would end his sufferings. But the very terror of his fate kept his mind active and his senses alive, while each short, gasping breath he drew sent surges of awful, crashing pain through his temples and he felt as though his eyes were bulging from the sockets.
Then he felt himself roughly seized and being carried away bodily. He knew that in another instant he would find himself falling, would feel the cold waters close over him. Summoning all his fast ebbing strength, he uttered a piercing scream and once more lost consciousness.
Muffled by the blanket about his head, Tom’s last despairing cry could not have been heard ten feet away; but it was enough. Less than ten feet off, Sam the Bahaman was at that instant approaching the room, passing through the alleyway. At the boy’s smothered cry, he leaped to the door, flung it open and with a savage yell sprang at the figure about to throw the apparently lifeless boy through the open gun port.
So swift and silent had been Sam’s response to Tom’s cry that the negro’s yell was the first warning Tom’s captor had of the Bahaman’s approach. Startled, taken utterly by surprise, he dropped the boy’s body, whipped out a revolver and whirled about. But Sam, with head lowered, had hurled himself like a catapult across the room. Before the other could even aim his weapon, the negro’s head struck him squarely in the stomach with the force of a battering ram. With a gasping, awful gurgle the man doubled up and shot through the open gun port into the sea. Sam, carried forward by his own momentum, grasped the gun carriage and saved himself in the nick of time from plunging into the water after the writhing body of his victim.
The Bahaman gave one glance through the open barbette at the racing, black, foam-flecked waves and then, with a grin of satisfaction, he sprang to Tom’s side, whipped off the blanket, and tore loose the bonds about his wrists. Lifting the unconscious boy in his powerful black arms, he raced with him to the deck and to the room where Tom’s father and the others were chatting, all oblivious of the tragedy which had taken place beneath their feet.
To their frenzied questions as they worked feverishly over Tom, Sam could give but very vague and unsatisfactory replies. “Ah jus’ cotch tha’ soun’ of tha’ young gen’man’s cry, Chief,” he told Mr. Pauling. “An’ Ah knowed tha’ mus’ be trouble for he an’ burs’ into the room. An Ah seed tha’ Englishman jus’ mekkin’ fo’ to heave he out the gun po’t, Chief.”
“Englishman!” cried Mr. Pauling. “What Englishman?”
“Tha’ English sailor man, Chief,” replied Sam.
“You don’t mean Robinson!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “Where is he? What happened?”
“Yaas, Chief, tha’ officer we picked up in tha’ boat, Chief. He’s finish, Chief. Ah don’ rightly know where he gone, but Ah’ ’spec tha’ sharks got he.”
“Suffering cats!” cried out Rawlins. “Did you knock him overboard?”
Sam grinned. “Yaas, Sir,” he replied. “Leastwise, when Ah seed he mekkin’ to heave the young gen’man out, Ah jus’ butted he afore he could mek to shoot an Ah ’spec Ah butted he pretty hard, fo’ he jus’ mek one good grunt an’ scooned out o’ tha’ po’t like Davy Jones was callin’ he.”
“You old black rascal!” cried Rawlins, slapping Sam on the back. “I’ll say you butted him good--and I’ll bet he ‘scooned.’ Why, by glory, I’d rather be kicked by a mule than butted by that kinky head of yours.”
“Jove, but this is a mystery!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “The fellow must have gone crazy suddenly. Why on earth should he wish to injure Tom?”
“Perhaps Tom can tell us, when he comes to,” suggested Commander Disbrow. “Ah, he’s all right, he’ll be out of his faint in a moment.”
Presently Tom’s eyes opened and he looked about, a wild, uncomprehending expression on his face. Then, realizing that he really was among his friends, that his father was bending over him and that he had not been thrown into the sea, he smiled and closing his eyes, took a long deep breath.
When again he looked up, he was fully conscious and to his father’s anxious queries declared he felt all right except weak and that his head ached. Then, for the first time, the others discovered the great bruised lump upon his head and as it was being bandaged Tom told his amazing story.
“The scoundrel!” cried Mr. Pauling. “I can’t understand it. Whom was he talking to in the room?”
“In the room!” fairly shouted Rawlins. “Don’t you see it all, Mr. Pauling? He was talking to those blamed ‘reds.’ The whole thing’s a frame up. They weren’t shipwrecked at all. TheDevonshirenever was held up. It was all a trick and I said I had a hunch it was at the time. They just got aboard us to give them a chance to wreck the destroyer and get away. He put the radio sets out of commission and left the boys’ set ’til the last so he could call to his friends.”
Before Rawlins had uttered a dozen words, the Commander had slipped from the room and before the diver had ended he had given low-toned orders and commands.
“By Jove, I guess you’re right!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “But still, we got that cable from Trinidad this morning. TheDevonshiremust be there.”
Rawlins snorted. “Cable nothing!” he replied. “That was a fake--sent by the same bunch to head us for Trinidad. Didn’t Tom hear him say they’d fix our gear to put us on the rocks in the Bocas? Why, by gravy, they may be hanging around within sight of us now! There never was aDevonshire.They just dropped off from the sub in our course and pretended to be adrift. I’ll bet the old sub wasn’t fifty yards away when we took ’em aboard.”
“And we thought they’d fallen into our trap!” ejaculated Mr. Henderson. “And we were the ones who were caught.”
“A miss is as good as a mile,” Rawlins reminded him. “And we’re not caught yet. We’ll fool ’em still and land ’em if I have to follow them to Kingdom Come. Say, we’d better get the rest of that bunch rounded up before they do anything or get wise to Robinson being bumped off.”
“They’re attended to,” announced Commander Disbrow, as he reentered the room. “Every mother’s son of them is safe in double irons.”
“Bully for you!” cried Rawlins. “Now let’s put our heads together and see how we’ll nab the rest of the bunch.”
“There we’re up against it,” declared Mr. Pauling. “If we could make any of the prisoners confess, we might find out their plans, although I doubt if they know them. And we haven’t the least idea as to where the submarine is. I think it’s about hopeless.”
“I’ll be shot if ’tis,” declared the diver. “That fake British rascal was going to get off with a whole skin with his gang somewhere. You can bet he wouldn’t risk his dirty neck when we went on the rocks. All we’ve got to do is pretend to fall in with their plans, keep on for Trinidad, and watch developments. There was some plan to get this bunch off before we got there and we’re boobs if we can’t get on to it.”
“Yes, no doubt you’re right,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “But still I’m doubtful of success. The criminal always has the advantage in a case of this sort for he knows his own plans and makes them while knowing more or less of his pursuers’ plans and movements, whereas the authorities know nothing of his and must go largely by guess work. Possibly the boys might send some message--asking for further orders or pretending the exact plans had not gone through--and so get information.”
“No, that would give us away at once,” declared Rawlins. “They knew the radio instruments were all disabled and that Robinson, or whatever his real name was, intended to fix the boys’ set as soon as he was through talking, and now if we start butting in on radio again, they’ll shy off.”
“But what did he mean about fixing the gear and the Bocas?” asked Tom.
“The Bocas are the narrow channels leading into the Gulf of Paria from the Caribbean,” explained the Commander. “The tide runs swiftly and there are dangerous rocky shores on either side. If a ship’s steering gear or engines go wrong there, she’ll pile on the rocks in a moment. I expect the rascals planned to monkey with the steering gear--though how I can’t imagine. I’ve a gang of machinists and engineers going over every part of the ship now. No knowing but they may have done something already.”
“And to think we pitied them and thought them shipwrecked sailors!” exclaimed Frank.
“Yes, and I was fool enough to give away some of our plans,” lamented Mr. Pauling. “No doubt that confounded faker told them all to his friends on the sub.”
“But you didn’t tell him the secret cipher you used in notifying the authorities,” said Mr. Henderson. “How do you imagine they discovered it and managed to get the message to you?”
“I don’t think they did,” replied Mr. Pauling. “The cable came in in English and I had no suspicions. As long as theDevonshireand its crew were supposedly taken, I assumed that there was no further need for secrecy and that the officials used a plain message for that reason.”
“Hmm, I see,” mused the other. “I wonder where it was really sent from.”
“Probably not sent at all,” declared Rawlins. “More likely a plain fake from beginning to end, written right in Dominica and never saw the cable office.”
“Well, what are we going to do with this gang we’ve got in the brig?” inquired the Commander. “Take them to Trinidad?”
“I think the best and first thing is to question them,” replied Mr. Pauling. “By taking them one at a time we may learn something.”
Accordingly, the men were brought up, shackled and under guard, and Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson, who were past masters at the art of wringing damaging admissions from criminals, questioned each of the surly lot at length. But all their efforts to secure information amounted to but little. The men declared they knew nothing of the plans of their leaders; every one maintained that the story of the seizure of theDevonshirewas gospel truth and all professed entire innocence of any wrong doing. No amount of cross questioning or threatening shook their story and not one made a statement which conflicted with another’s.
“They’re the most accomplished set of liars I ever ran across,” declared Mr. Pauling, “and the worst of it is, we really haven’t an atom of evidence or proof against them. If theDevonshirenever turned up, they could claim that she had been sunk by the ‘reds’ and our own evidence as to the past activities of the villains would lend color to these fellows’ tale. Even the fact that Robinson plotted or planned to destroy us or that he was in league with those on the sub would not affect these men. They could hold that he was planted on theDevonshireand the rest of her crew knew nothing of it.”
“Yes, that’s very true,” admitted the Commander, “but I would suggest we put into Barbados and leave this crowd there. Possibly the Admiralty Courts may be able to hold them on some charge.”
“I would, but for the fact that if, as Rawlins thinks, the sub is watching us, our going to Barbados would arouse their suspicions and as long as there is a remote chance of getting the leaders I’m going to take it,” replied Mr. Pauling.
As he finished speaking, Bancroft and the boys appeared.
“We’ve found the trouble with the radio!” cried Tom. “And it’s all right now. They’d cut the lead-in wire where it passed through an insulating tube and had spliced the insulation together, and on the radio compass they’d taken out a section of wire and replaced it with a bit of stick covered with the insulation where it was connected to a binding post.”
“I’ll say they’re clever rascals!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Well, we can hear any messages they send now even if we don’t want to send.”
“Personally, I’m sorry that Sam butted that man Robinson overboard,” remarked Mr. Pauling who had been deep in thought. “He’s bobbed up twice in the nick of time to save your life, Tom, and each time he’s killed a man who would have been more valuable alive than dead. Not that I blame him--I owe him a greater debt than I can ever hope to repay--but I do wish that if he’s destined to rescue you from every scrape you get into that he could do it without always destroying our evidence. I’d give a great deal to have a chance to put a few questions to that Robinson.”
“And I’ll bet my boots to a tin whistle he wouldn’t have come across with any information,” declared Rawlins. “I’ve been putting two and two together and I’ve a hunch he’s the chap who called himself a ‘Yank’ when the boys heard him talking on the tramp back in St. John. He was too blamed clever to give away anything and maybe, after all, these menaretelling the truth and he was planted on theDevonshireand his friends seized the ship. That would account for their letting Robinson and a boat’s crew get away--just to board us you see. By glory, it’s such a mixed-up plot within a plot that it’s sure got me guessing.”
“Jove, that may be so,” cried Mr. Henderson. “If so, it would explain several puzzles. He may have intended to escape alone and let the rest of the crowd sink or swim with us. ’Twould have been fairly easy for him to do that--just drop over the side and be picked up by the sub at some prearranged spot--whereas a crowd of twenty-two men would have a hard job to clear out undetected.”
“Well, he dropped over all right,” chuckled the diver. “Only I’ll bet the sub wasn’t standing by to pick him up.”
“Perhaps we can solve part of the mystery when we reach Trinidad,” said Mr. Pauling. “If theDevonshireis overdue, we can be fairly sure she was seized. Whereas if she arrives with her real officers and crew, we’ll know it was all a frame-up. But we’ll owe an apology to her company in that case.”
Rawlins uttered an ejaculation and springing up rushed from the room.
“Well, I wonder what’s struck him now!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson.
“Another hunch, probably,” laughed the Commander. “He seems full of them.”
“And usually pretty near the truth at that,” put in Mr. Pauling.
Five minutes later the diver reappeared. “Some one please kick me for a blamed dub!” he exclaimed. “Here we’ve been backing and filling and talking and discussing and guessing and we might have found out the truth in a minute at any time.”
“If you’ll tell us what you’re driving at, we may understand,” said Mr. Pauling. “What’s this new discovery of yours?”
“That this bunch we’ve got on board are all blamed liars!” replied the diver. “There isn’t any such ship as theDevonshire. At least none that corresponds with their story. I’ve just gone through Lloyds’ Registry and there are only three British ships of the name. One’s a wooden bark, the other’s a little coasting steamer and the third’s a big liner.”
“By Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Henderson.
“You’d better kick me too!” laughed the Commander. “I’m ready to join your boob society at any time, Rawlins. I’d hate to have the rest of the navy hear of this. Here I’m supposed to use that registry for looking up ships and I never thought of it when the need came.”
“Well, we’re none of us infallible,” Mr. Henderson reminded him. “However, that’s one point settled. The next thing--”
At this instant a lieutenant dashed into the room and saluted. “Submarine on the starboard bow!” he announced.
At the officer’s words every one leaped up and dashed on deck, scarcely knowing what to expect, for the appearance of a submarine was the last thing any had dreamed of and all felt sure the sub-sea craft must be the one they sought. For a moment they gazed upon an apparently bare sea, then, half a mile away, they caught a glimpse of a dark object resembling the water-logged hull of a ship as it lifted against the sky on a long roller. Already the destroyer’s men were at the forward gun and with every one excited and expectant, the little ship bore down upon the submarine.
“By glory, they must be going to surrender!” cried Rawlins. “If they weren’t, they’d submerge.”
“Then why in thunder don’t they signal?” exclaimed the Commander.
Turning, he barked out an order and a moment later, a string of bright flags rose to the destroyer’s stubby mast.
But there was no response from the submarine,--no answering signal.
“There’s something fishy about her!” declared Rawlins. “Guess they’ve got something up their sleeves!”
“They won’t pull any monkey shines with me, hang them!” burst out Commander Disbrow. Then, to the expectant gunner, “Put a shot alongside of her!”
Hardly were the words uttered, when the decks shook to the roar of the gun and a huge column of water rose like a geyser a few feet from the submarine.
“That ought to wake them up!” cried Mr. Henderson.
“But it didn’t!” exclaimed the diver who was staring through his glasses. “By glory, they must all be dead!”
The destroyer had now drawn within a few hundred feet of the submarine and still there was no sign of life, no signal displayed upon the wallowing craft ahead.
“I don’t like to sink her out of hand,” mused Commander Disbrow, “but I’ll be hanged if I’ll board her until I know what’s up. See if you can chip a bit off her conning tower, Flannigan.”
The big Irish gunner looked up and grinned as he saluted. “Thot Oi will, Sor!” he replied as he carefully trained his gun.
And as, at the crashing report, the top of the submarine’s conning tower vanished in a puff of smoke and a spurt of flame, the watchers cheered lustily.
“I’ll be sunk!” shouted Rawlins when even this failed to bring any response from the submarine. “They are dead--or else she’s deserted!”
“Have a boat lowered away!” ordered the Commander turning to the young lieutenant, “and board that sub with an armed crew. Don’t take chances. If you find any one, take them dead or alive--and be sure you get the drop on them first!”
A moment later the boat was in the water, the armed bluejackets tumbled into her and in the lee of the destroyer rapidly bore down on the sub-sea craft while those on the destroyer watched them with every nerve tense with excitement. They saw the boat draw alongside the submarine, saw the officer and two men scramble on to the water-washed deck and saw them cautiously approach the hatch with drawn pistols. Then they disappeared and all waited breathlessly, expecting to see them emerge with their captives. But when, a moment later, they again came into view they were alone and gaining their boat headed back for the destroyer.
“I’ll say she’s deserted!” cried Rawlins. “By glory, those rascals are leaving a regular trail of deserted boats behind them. First the sub off New York, then the schooner in the Bahamas, then that sub in Santo Domingo and now this one! Suffering cats! They must have subs to burn!”
“Well, if they’ve abandoned this one, I’d like to know what they’re on now,” declared Mr. Pauling. “Perhaps theydidseize some other ship after all.”
“We’ll know in a moment what’s up,” said Mr. Henderson as the boat swept alongside.
“Forward starboard plates are stove in, Sir,” announced the lieutenant as he approached and saluted the Commander. “Appears to have been in collision. She’s half full of water and several bodies floating about inside.”
“By Jove!” cried Mr. Pauling. “They’ve met their deserts at last! Well, it’s saved us the trouble of following farther. I suppose you did not notice the bodies sufficiently to describe them, Lieutenant.”
“Unrecognizable, Sir,” replied the young officer. “Evidently suffocated by gas from the batteries when the water reached them. Not pleasant to look at, Sir, but appeared to be members of the engine room crew from their clothing.”
“Hmm, then I’m afraid we’ll never know if the leaders survived or not,” mused Mr. Pauling. “Too bad, but it can’t be helped. I guess there’s nothing else, Disbrow, except to land this gang we have in Trinidad--I suppose that’s the nearest port.”
“Yes, it’s the nearest,” agreed the Commander, “but we’ll sink that sub first. She’s a menace to navigation.”
A moment later the gun roared again and once again. Fragments of steel plates and twisted iron mingled with the upflung water as the bursting shells struck true and the shattered submarine sank to her last resting place to form the tomb of those who had come to their death within her. Now that the submarine had been destroyed there was no chance of hearing the truth of the plans which had been made to rescue Robinson and his fellow plotters from the destroyer and all possible speed was made for Trinidad.
But Rawlins was still skeptical. “I’ve a hunch that old boy with the monocle didn’t go down with that sub,” he declared as the blue waters changed to a dull muddy brown from the mouth of the Orinoco nearly one hundred miles distant. “I’ll bet he and Red Whiskers and some others got away and saved their hides. They may have been picked up or they might even have made land. And I’d like to know what became of that blamed seaplane.”
“If they were picked up they’ll be reported,” declared Mr. Pauling. “When we reach Trinidad, we can send out a general alarm to hold them wherever they arrive; but personally I believe they’re dead. If the sub was in collision, she must have been run down at night and in that case all below were probably suffocated. The fact that there were only a few bodies visible proves nothing, for there may have been many more in the rooms or out of sight. Of course, the plane is unaccounted for, but I imagine they left her somewhere and all took to the sub long before it was disabled. You see, we have no proof that it was used after leaving Aves--now that we know Robinson’s story was pure falsehood.”
“Maybe,” was the diver’s comment. “But I’m still from Missouri.”
When the boys came on deck the following morning, the lofty mountains of Venezuela loomed above the yellow-brown water ahead with blue-green hills stretching far to east and west.
“Gosh! it doesn’t seem possible we’re looking at South America,” exclaimed Frank. “Where’s Trinidad, Mr. Rawlins?”
“There to the east,” replied the diver. “Those mountains to the west are at the tip of Venezuela, those lower green hills dead ahead are the islands at the Bocas, and only the northern end of Trinidad and those faint misty mountains in the distance are visible from here.”
Gradually, the apparently solid land ahead seemed to break up; narrow openings of water showed between the hills and presently the destroyer was steaming through the famous Bocas leading from the Caribbean into the great Gulf of Paria.
“Golly, thiswouldbe a nasty place to have anything go wrong!” exclaimed Tom as the little ship passed between the jagged, rocky islands and reefs that lined the waterway. “Maybe I’m not glad I surprised that fellow.”
“Don’t think you’re the only one that is,” said Rawlins. “And Disbrow isn’t dead sure something may not be wrong yet. Look at the way he’s got men at the anchors and the way he’s just crawling along.”
But nothing happened, the destroyer passed through the Bocas in safety, and, as the great bulk of Trinidad loomed ahead, the boys forgot everything else in their interest in watching the beauties unfolding as they steamed across the Gulf towards Port of Spain. They could scarcely believe that the ranges of lofty, cloud-topped mountains, the far-reaching valleys and the interminable shores stretching away in the dim distance were on an island and not a continent. When they mentioned this, Commander Disbrow explained that Trinidad really is a bit of the tip of South America cut off only by the narrow Bocas at the two ends of the Gulf of Paria.
“It’s wonderful,” declared Tom, “but still I don’t like it as well as Dominica. Somehow it seems more natural for a place as big as this to have all those mountains, but Dominica’s so different from anything I ever imagined that it fascinated me.”
“And this is too much to take in,” added Frank. “Dominica was like a picture that you could see all at once. Are there any interesting things here?”
“There’s the Pitch Lake,” replied Rawlins. “Only it’s not a lake, but a big bed of asphalt, and oil wells, and some fine water falls, and the Blue Basin.”
“Well, I hope Dad lets us stay a day or two so we can see the place,” said Tom. “Is the Pitch Lake near the town?”
“No--down at the other end of the island,” replied the diver. “You can go by train and steamer or by motor car. You’ll find it a queer spot, but hotter than blazes. When I used to come down here with Father, he sometimes loaded asphalt at Brighton--that’s the port of the Asphalt company--and I was always mighty glad to get away. I’ll say it’s the hottest place in this world!”
They were now approaching the harbor and as Mr. Pauling had radioed ahead that he had prisoners to be turned over to the authorities, a police boat manned by gigantic black “bobbies” was waiting for the destroyer when she at last dropped anchor off Port of Spain.
As the pompous, florid-faced inspector, followed by his half-dozen black giants, boarded the destroyer the usual fleet of shore boats drew close.
“Here, you!” cried Rawlins beckoning to one darky. “Hand me up a paper.”
Tossing a shilling to the fellow, the diver seized theGazetteand turned eagerly to the column headed “Maritime News.”
“Here ’tis!” he exclaimed, as he ran his eye rapidly over the various items.
“Barbados, 29th. SteamshipTrident, La Guaira for European ports, put in with leak in port bow. Reports being in collision with what appeared to be a water-logged derelict on the night of 27th. Longitude 62° 58’ W. Latitude 12° 35’ N. Captain Donaldson states that he believes there were men clinging to the derelict as officer on watch insists he heard cries after striking, but no trace of men or of the derelict could be found although theTridentstood by and burned flares for half an hour.”
“Barbados, 29th. SteamshipTrident, La Guaira for European ports, put in with leak in port bow. Reports being in collision with what appeared to be a water-logged derelict on the night of 27th. Longitude 62° 58’ W. Latitude 12° 35’ N. Captain Donaldson states that he believes there were men clinging to the derelict as officer on watch insists he heard cries after striking, but no trace of men or of the derelict could be found although theTridentstood by and burned flares for half an hour.”
“But how do you know that’s about the steamer that struck the submarine?” asked Tom.
“I don’tknow,” admitted the diver. “But I’ll bet a five spot to a plugged nickel it is, just the same. It’s the same position--or at least within a few miles of it--as where we found the old sub. It’d be blamed funny if there was a derelict and that sub knocking about the same spot. Anyhow theTridentdidn’t pick any one up so I guess my hunch was wrong about Old Glass Eye getting off.” While Rawlins had been speaking, Frank had been examining the paper and suddenly he let out a yell that made the others jump.
“Jehoshaphat!” he cried. “Just listen to this!” Then while the others listened he read:
TO EXPLORE JUNGLES IN AIRSHIP
Demerara, Tuesday. The steamshipDevonwhich arrived yesterday brought to our shores Messrs. La Verne and Dewar who plan a unique expedition into the hinterland. Messrs. La-Verne and Dewar brought with them on theDevonthe latest type of hydroplane or flying boat with which they will explore the unknown interior of the Colony. Their aircraft excited the admiration and wonder of everybody as the two intrepid men got safely off and rising gracefully from the surface of the Demerara River soared like a great bird above the tree tops and disappeared in the direction of the unknown solitudes. We understand that Messrs. La-Verne and Dewar are conducting their expedition in the interests of a large British and American syndicate which is interested in the development of the Colony’s resources. We wish the gentlemen every success and a safe return.
Demerara, Tuesday. The steamshipDevonwhich arrived yesterday brought to our shores Messrs. La Verne and Dewar who plan a unique expedition into the hinterland. Messrs. La-Verne and Dewar brought with them on theDevonthe latest type of hydroplane or flying boat with which they will explore the unknown interior of the Colony. Their aircraft excited the admiration and wonder of everybody as the two intrepid men got safely off and rising gracefully from the surface of the Demerara River soared like a great bird above the tree tops and disappeared in the direction of the unknown solitudes. We understand that Messrs. La-Verne and Dewar are conducting their expedition in the interests of a large British and American syndicate which is interested in the development of the Colony’s resources. We wish the gentlemen every success and a safe return.
“By the great horn spoon, that’s them!” shouted Rawlins. “SteamshipDevon. Well I’ll be sunk! By glory! How that Robinson did fool us! And while those chaps were watching for theDevonshirewhich didn’t exist they let the blamedDevoncome in and those two devils fly away and never even smelled a rat!”
“Then you mean--” began Tom.
But Rawlins had grabbed the paper and had rushed to the room where Mr. Pauling and the others were talking earnestly with the Inspector of Police.
“I’ll say they lied after all!” he burst out, as the men jumped up in surprise at his unexpected appearance. “It was theDevonthey seized--not theDevonshire!And she’s got in and landed the confounded plane and those two precious scoundrels and got safe away again! Here ’tis, plain as can be!”
Eagerly, Mr. Pauling seized the proffered paper and read the despatch from Demerara and even the apoplectic inspector, who had seemed about to explode with outraged dignity at Rawlins’ impetuous interruption of the conference, forgot his ruffled feelings and scowled fiercely at the unoffending sheet over Mr. Pauling’s shoulder.
“Jove, you’re right!” declared Mr. Pauling at last. “A coincidence of that sort would be impossible. We’ve been tricked again, Henderson. Outplayed. But it may not be too late yet. Have Bancroft radio to hold theDevon.”
“No use now!” announced Rawlins. “She sailed day before yesterday. Look down in the Maritime News and you’ll find it. And there’s another item there--it was theTridentthat rammed the sub.”
“But, but, my good man!” spluttered the inspector. “You can capture her. She cannot be far away you know!”
“No?” replied the diver questioningly. “Not in miles perhaps, but where? Did she sail north, east, south or west? The sea’s a mighty big place and a ship’s a mighty small thing to find on it--especially when she don’t want to be found. And what’s her name now? You can bet your bottom dollar she isn’t theDevonany longer.”
“But really, really, my good man, I’m not accustomed to being addressed in that manner, Sir!” burst out the inspector. “I’d have you understand I’m the Inspector of Police, Sir. Why, who under the sun are you anyway, Sir?”
“I’m a poor boob that thought you fellows down here had common sense!” retorted Rawlins hotly. “Why the dickens didn’t they have brains enough to think ofDevonandDevonshirebeing too blamed much alike?”
“Come, come, Rawlins!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling in mollifying tones. “Major May is not to blame and I suppose there really was no reason for suspecting theDevonto be theDevonshire.”
Then, turning to the purple-faced officer. “Major,” he said, “let me introduce Mr. Rawlins. He’s our guide, philosopher, and friend, if I may quote a hackneyed saying. I don’t know what we’d do without him. He and the boys are really responsible for all we’ve accomplished and he’s famous for his hunches.”
Rawlins grinned and grasped the inspector’s hand and the latter, as quick to recover his temper as to lose it, smiled under his bristling white mustache. “Jolly glad to know you!” he declared. “Sorry if I offended you and all that. Bit peppery I expect--India and liver, you know. Curry, and all that sort of thing. Ah, yes--and the hunches--’pon my word, never heard of them. Sort of cocktail, are they not?”
The diver could not restrain his merriment and Mr. Pauling and the others grew scarlet.
“Not quite, Major,” Rawlins managed to reply. “Don’t know if I can explain it--Yankee term, sort of slang, meaning a premonition or something like it, a--well a hunch you know.”
But the splenetic old veteran could take a joke even if on himself and roared with laughter at his own error.
“Jolly good thing, that about theDevon,” he declared when all were on good terms once more. “Now we have a proper charge against these rascals you have. Couldn’t see my way before--with no such ship as the bally oldDevonshire. Couldn’t accuse them of doing away with a ship that didn’t exist, you know. All different now, though. Well, I must be off. Anything I can do, just call on me. Any plans in view?”
“I’ll say we’d better beat it for Demerara,” declared Rawlins before Mr. Pauling could reply. “If those devils are off in that seaplane, we may get ’em yet. They’ve got to land somewhere and they’ve got to come back. They can’t fly clean across South America without gas.”
“Righto!” agreed the inspector. “Cousin of mine inspector there, you know. Give him my regards. Good chap, Philip, rather new to his job, of course, and all that sort of thing--but smart chap. Yes, he’ll do anything to help you, rather!”
“Now, what’s this big idea about going to Demerara?” asked Mr. Pauling, after the inspector had left accompanied by his men and with the surly prisoners securely handcuffed.
“Why, my idea is just this,” the diver explained. “Those two rascals have beat it for the interior in their plane. Of course, they were that slick guy with the monocle and old Red Whiskers--but you know as well as I do that they’re not exploring or in the interests of any syndicate. But I will say they’ve got some sense of humor at that--‘big American and British syndicate,’ by glory! They’re half telling the truth at that--the ‘reds’ aresomesyndicate, I’ll tell the world! But that trip of theirs is just bluff. They’ve just gone up in the bush a ways to lie low until we’ve dropped off their trail. And I’ll say they had some everlasting nerve to use the nameDevonshireand run the risk of the bobbies over there getting suspicious when theDevoncame in. Expect it was so the crew wouldn’t have trouble in remembering it. Well, as I was saying, they’ll hide out in the bush or, by Jimminy, they may be headed for Dutch Guiana! But, whatever it is, a plane can’t go snooping around Guiana without attracting attention and we can trail ’em easy.”
“Admitting all that is true, as it no doubt is, whose attention is the plane going to attract and how do you propose trailing them?” asked Mr. Pauling.
“Also,” he added, “what makes you think theDevonwas seized? Perhaps, the two took passage on her from some port with their plane.”
“I’ll answer the last question first,” replied the diver. “A couple of chaps don’t go touring around the West Indies carrying a seaplane in their handbag and if they’d appeared suddenly at some port, as if flying around, the paper would have mentioned it. Trust the skipper of theDevon--if he’d been genuine--to make a good yarn out of it. Besides, if they hadn’t seized the ship, how the deuce would Robinson have thought of using the same name and just tacking a ‘shire’ on it? If he’d been straight--or rather if they’d just boarded theDevonas you suggest--he’d have saidDevon. And there’s that Anannias Club we just sent ashore. We know they lied because there wasn’t anyDevonshireor I’d think they were survivors from theDevon. But as long as they weren’t, then they’re part of the gang. The only thing that gets me is where they stowed away a big enough crew on the sub to send twenty-two men aboard us and have enough left to man theDevon.And now about the other questions. The Indians are the ones who’ll see the plane and you can bet your boots they’ll all see it--think the Great Spirit himself’s coming I expect. By talking to a few of the Indians, we can trail that old plane as easy as if they were blazing their way.”
“But you forget Guiana is a big territory and a plane can hide anywhere on the rivers,” objected Mr. Pauling. “No, Rawlins, I’m afraid they’ve given us the slip for good.”
“Yes, I agree with you there,” declared Mr. Henderson, “but I do think it may be well to run over to Demerara. We can have a talk with the officials and leave them to apprehend the plane--and theDevon, if it comes back.”
“Very well,” assented Mr. Pauling. “It’s two to one, so I agree. Disbrow, we might as well get under way for Demerara.”
Although the two boys were woefully disappointed at not being able to see anything of Trinidad, yet the fact that they were going to Demerara and would actually have a chance to see something of South America more than made up for it.
Rawlins assured them that in British Guiana they would find a far more interesting spot than Trinidad and the boys plied him with questions.
“Isn’t that the place the blow gun and those poisoned arrows came from?” asked Tom.
“Sure thing,” replied the diver. “I don’t know much about the country--except what I’ve read and been told--but I’ve been at Georgetown, or Demerara as it’s called, and you’ll find enough to keep you busy right there.”
“Gosh, then there must be wild Indians there--if they use blow guns,” said Frank. “Will we be able to see any of them?”
“Country’s full of them,” declared Rawlins. “But they’re all peaceable. If we go trailing that plane into the bush as I want Mr. Pauling to do, you’ll see Indians all right. If we don’t, you may see a few in town. I’ve always wanted to get into the interior myself. It’s a wonderful place--most of it unexplored--and there’s gold and diamonds and wild animals and the highest waterfall in the world.”
“Now don’t get these boys all worked up over it, Rawlins,” laughed Mr. Pauling. “If we don’t look out, they’ll mutiny and refuse to go home until they’ve had their fill of sightseeing. I admit I’d like nothing better than to stretch my legs ashore for a time and see something of the country, but this is no pleasure jaunt, you know.”
“But if those men are there, we could go after them and then it wouldn’t be a pleasure trip,” argued Tom.
“You can be sure it would not,” replied his father. “It’s bad enough trailing those scoundrels all over the Caribbean, let alone trying to run them to earth in a tropical jungle. No, I think our chase ends at Georgetown.”
But Rawlins was not to be readily discouraged. He was a most persistent character and having once made up his mind to follow the “Reds” to “Kingdom Come,” as he put it, he was not easily to be dissuaded. “I’ll say it would be a blamed shame to give up now,” he declared. “We’ve got ’em narrowed down to two and the plane (the bunch on theDevondon’t count) and those two are the chaps you want, Mr. Pauling. We’ve got ’em on the run--smoked ’em out of every hole they had--chased ’em into the sea and under it and into the air. Now they’ve played their last trump. We’d be a lot of boobs to let ’em get away with it now.”
“But you seem to forget that we haven’t the least idea where they are and that Guiana’s a big country,” Mr. Pauling reminded him. “I’ve been going over the maps with Henderson and Disbrow and it’s hopeless. Why, they may be in Dutch Guiana or Brazil or Venezuela by now. While we were paddling up a few miles of jungle river, that plane could be flying a couple of hundred miles. It would be worse than chasing a bird with your hat.”
“Just the same I’ve a hunch that we’re going to get ’em,” declared Rawlins. “And by glory, if you won’t go after ’em, I’m going to drop off and go it alone!”
Mr. Pauling laughed. “Any one would think you had a personal grudge against them,” he chuckled.
“So I have--confound them!” cried the diver. “Didn’t they cop my diving suit idea and didn’t they play a dozen low-down, dirty tricks on us? And weren’t they trying to stick a wurali-tipped dart in me back there at St. John? Besides, I’ve never gone back on one of my hunches yet and it’s too late to begin now.”
“Well, we’ll see what we find out over at Georgetown, before we decide,” said Mr. Pauling. “After I talk with the officials we can make plans for our next move. For all we know they may have important information.”
The destroyer had now left Port of Spain far astern and was passing out through the Bocas to the open sea. Throughout the afternoon she steamed steadily eastward through the muddy water and when the boys came on deck early the following morning there was still no sign of land.
“Where’s Demerara?” asked Tom of the lieutenant in charge. “Commander Disbrow said we’d be in by breakfast time, but I don’t see a sign of land.”
“Straight ahead,” replied the officer. “There’s the lightship--see, that little schooner there.”
“Yes I see it,” said Tom, “but what is it out in the ocean here for?”
The lieutenant laughed. “It’s not!” he replied. “We’re in the river now. The lightship’s on the bar. We’ll be slowing down to take on the pilot in a few moments.”
“In the river!” exclaimed Frank. “Oh, you’re just fooling! How can this be a river when there are no banks?”
“Honest Injun, ’tis though,” declared the officer. “The banks are there all right, but they’re so low you can’t see them and the river’s thirty-five miles wide.”
“Jimminy crickets!” cried Tom. “Thirty-five miles wide! Say, I thought the Amazon and the Orinoco were the only big rivers down here.”
“Oh, this is just a brook compared to the Amazon,” said the lieutenant, “but it’s wider than the Orinoco. It’s really the mouth of two big rivers--the Demerara and the Essequibo. Look, there comes the pilot.”
A small boat had put off from the lightship and came bobbing towards the destroyer, which had slowed down, and presently a grizzled old negro came scrambling over the side.
With all the pomposity and dignity of an admiral he saluted the lieutenant and climbed to the bridge and a moment later the destroyer was steaming once more on its way under the guidance of the incongruous old negro. Presently, far ahead, the boys saw bits of hazy detached land. Then tall chimneys of sugar mills and the slender towers of a wireless station became visible; the detached bits of dull green, which the boys had taken for islands, joined and formed a low green bank, and before they realized it, the boys found they were passing up a wide muddy stream and that roofs, buildings and spires of a large town were just ahead.
“Gosh, isn’t everything flat!” exclaimed Frank. “I don’t see a hill or a mountain or anything but that line of low brush anywhere. And the town looks as if it were below the water.”
“So it is,” replied Commander Disbrow. “Or rather it’s below the water level. There’s a dyke or sea wall to keep the water out, there are canals running through the streets to drain the place and there are big tide gates, or ‘kokers’ as they call them, which are closed at high tide and opened at low water.”
“Why, it must be like Holland then!” exclaimed Tom.
“It used to be Dutch,” explained the Commander, “and the Dutchmen always seem to like to build towns below sea level--sort of habit, I guess--though why they didn’t put it on high land up the river a bit gets me. You’ll find Dutch names everywhere, too, and old Dutch buildings, and if you went a hundred miles or so up the Essequibo you’d find an old Dutch fort.”
The destroyer had now drawn close to the town and a few minutes later was being moored to the government dock.
From the height of the vessel’s decks the boys could look right over the buildings. Beyond the sea of roofs and spires they could see waving palms, long avenues of green shade trees and busy, interesting streets and they were fairly crazy to go ashore.
The arrival of an American warship at Demerara was such an unusual event that a huge crowd had collected at the pier and among the multicolored throng of black, white, and yellow were the gold lace and uniforms of officers.
Knowing that his father and the others would be thoroughly occupied in the formalities of an official welcome, Tom asked permission to go ashore with Frank and Rawlins and scarcely was the destroyer moored when the three darted down the gangway and edging through the crowd came out on the noisy, busy street.
“Gee, this is some town!” exclaimed Tom as the three glanced about. “They’ve automobiles and trolley cars and everything.”
“Sure it’s some town!” agreed Rawlins. “Come on, let’s take a carriage and drive about. We’ll see it quicker and better that way.”
Tumbling into a rubber-tired Victoria driven by a grinning negro, the diver told him to drive them about Georgetown and out to the botanic station.
The boys were wildly enthusiastic over everything and Rawlins, who was almost as much of a boy as themselves, pointed out the more interesting features of the place. The picturesque Hindu men and women, who, garbed in their native costumes, swarmed everywhere, fascinated the boys. They were delighted with the shady streets, with the cool houses half-hidden in masses of strange tropical flowers, and they reveled in the calm canals spanned by Oriental-looking bridges and filled with pink lotus and water lilies.
“It’s the quaintest, prettiest place I’ve ever seen!” declared Tom. “And so foreign looking.”
“And these bright red roads!” exclaimed Frank. “And all those East Indians! Why, it’s like being in another world!”
“And just look at the way all the houses are built on posts or brick pillars!” put in Tom.
“Yes, that’s to keep them dry,” Rawlins explained. “In the rainy season the streets get flooded at times and so they build their houses on stilts.”
But all the other sights they had seen were forgotten when at last they came to the huge botanic station. Here they drove for miles through a veritable tropical forest among gigantic trees, under trailing lianas, beside jungle streams, all of which, as far as appearances went, might have been in the very heart of South America. But everywhere the red earth roads were as smooth and well kept as asphalt, the grass was green and velvety, beds of gorgeous flowers were all about, and all the trees and plants were carefully labeled. Only such things were in evidence to show it was a park or garden and not the untamed wild and when, to the boys’ delight, they saw a flock of gaudy parrots feeding overhead and caught a glimpse of huge-billed toucans, they felt as though they were actually in the “bush.” Everywhere, too, were canals filled with the gigantic leaves and huge flowers of the Victoria Regia lily and at one spot was a lily and lotus-filled lake, bordered with thickets of palms and fairly swarming with herons, egrets, and boat-bills, with a pair of great, scarlet macaws screeching from a dead limb over the water.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Frank. “It’s like a zoological garden, only better. Oh, look, look there! What’s that?” As he spoke, a great, dark object had risen through the water and with a hissing noise slowly disappeared.
“Only a manatee,” laughed Rawlins. “Didn’t you recognize it? It was one of those fellows that led you astray in Santo Domingo, you know.”
“But I never expected to see one here, right in the town,” declared Frank.
“Lots of ’em in here,” said the diver, “and plenty of alligators too. But everywhere you go about Georgetown you’ll find wild animals and birds. See herons and egrets feeding beside the roads and scarlet ibis on the mud flats alongside the docks. The city’s just at the edge of the jungle, you might say, and you could go right through to the Amazon without ever seeing a sign of civilization.”
“Golly, I do hope Dad goes after those fellows!” cried Tom. “After seeing this place I’m just crazy to see the real jungle.”
“And Indians!” added Frank.
“Well, I’ve a hunch he’s going,” declared Rawlins. “I’ll bet a dollar to a sixpence we’re all in the jungle inside of three days.”
From the gardens they drove through a picturesque village, swarming with East Indians, to the seawall, then through the town to the market, out to a big sugar estate with miles of enormous royal palms bordering the road, and finally to the museum where they spent an hour or more looking at the collections of native birds, animals, insects and Indian curios.
When at last they boarded the destroyer in time for lunch, they found Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson in earnest conversation with a tall, lean-faced, quiet man dressed in spotless white and a short, roly-poly, red-faced officer who wore a gorgeous uniform and whose enormous, fiercely twisted mustaches belied the merry twinkle in his eyes.
“It’s all right, Tom, come in, and you too, Frank, and you, Rawlins,” cried Mr. Pauling, as Tom, who had burst impetuously into the room, saw that his father was engaged and hastened to withdraw. “This is Colonel Maidely,” he continued, introducing the officer, “and this is Mr. Thorne. We’ve been discussing Rawlins’ idea of going into the bush after those rascals. By the way, Rawlins, I told the Colonel your opinion of him for letting theDevonslip by and he’s prepared to take a good dressing down!”
The jovial officer laughed heartily. “’Pon my word I deserve it!” he declared. “Jolly stupid of me, eh? Fact was we were all so interested in the two chaps with the plane we were careless--yes, I’ll admit it. Wager you if it hadn’t been for that we’d have suspected her. Jolly clever idea that--pulling the wool over our eyes with the airship! And my word! What nerve, as you Yankees say--using a name as much likeDevonasDevonshire! But we’ll get her yet, old dear--don’t worry.”
“And I’m beginning to think your idea is worth trying, Rawlins,” went on Mr. Pauling. “Mr. Thorne here is an explorer--just came in from a long trip through the interior, and the Colonel says he knows more about the bush than the Indians themselves. He says it will be easy to trace the plane--just as you did--and he seems to think that in all probability they landed somewhere and will await word from their confederates that we’ve abandoned the chase when they can safely come out of hiding.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Tom, quite forgetful of the strangers’ presence. “Then wearegoing into the bush!”
“Provided I can induce Mr. Thorne to accompany us,” said his father. “None of us knows anything about the interior and we’d be helplessly at sea.”
“Oh, you will go, won’t you?” begged Frank. “We’re crazy to see Indians and wild animals and everything.”
The explorer smiled at the boys’ enthusiasm. “I’m inclined to think I will,” he replied. “I had hoped to go to the States next week--my work is done--but I’m anxious to be of any service I can to Uncle Sam, as well as to my British Colonial friends, and I’m still young enough in spirit, if not in years, to love adventure and excitement, and this trip promises both. Yes, Mr. Pauling, you can count on me and the sooner we get off the better.”
“Hurrah! Hip hurrah!” yelled the two boys, fairly dancing with joy.
“Bully for you!” cried Rawlins grasping Mr. Thorne’s hand. “I’ll say you’re a good sport. Didn’t I tell you we’d be in the bush in three days, boys?”
“Well I hope the rest of your hunch comes true as quickly,” laughed Mr. Pauling. “I’ve been telling the Colonel and Mr. Thorne about your famous hunches and the way they’ve saved the day so many times.”
“Bet you didn’t tell them about the inspector over at Trinidad thinking they were a new Yankee drink!” chuckled the diver.
“My word, thatisrich!” choked Colonel Maidely when the laughter had subsided, “Jolly good joke! Just like old May--wait ’til I tell that to His Excellency and to Philip! By Jove, yes!”
Mr. Thorne rose. “I’ll be starting things going,” he announced. “Can you gentlemen be ready to leave to-morrow morning? I think my Indian boys are still here--at least some of them are, and if we get off on to-morrow morning’s steamer so much the better.”
“We can be ready,” Mr. Pauling assured him. “I suppose we had better take a radio outfit along.”
“By all means,” replied the other. “Doubtless these men with the plane are in touch with events by radio and I count largely on trailing them by that means. I understand you boys have a radio compass outfit.”
“Better than that,” declared Tom. “We’ve got a resonance coil.”
“Well, take it,” directed the explorer. “Don’t bother about the rest of the outfit--except arms and ammunition and old clothes. I’ll see to supplies and camp kit.”
“Gosh, isn’t it great?” exclaimed Tom after Mr. Thorne had gone. “Just to think we’re really going into the jungle!”
“You bet!” agreed Frank.
“And when we get back we can go looking for that loot that they hid,” went on Tom, “unless these rascals confess and tell us where it is.”
“Jehoshaphat! I’d forgotten all about that,” exclaimed Frank.
“You might just as well forget it, once and for all,” declared Mr. Pauling, laughing at the boys’ enthusiasm. “I don’t think even Rawlins has any idea of being able to recover that.”
“I’ll say I have!” cried the diver. “But it will take some figuring with what we have to go on. But I’m more keen on getting the old High Muck-a-Muck and his mate than finding that loot just now.”
Throughout the rest of the day the boys busied themselves with preparations for their trip, going over their radio instruments and packing the few belongings they were to take with them. Finally, in the evening, when Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson left for the reception at Government House, they took another long drive about the town and outlying country with Rawlins. Early the next morning, Mr. Thorne arrived, accompanied by two short, stockily built, broad-faced, brown men, who shouldered the party’s baggage and carried it to a waiting cart.
“Everything’s arranged,” the explorer told Mr. Pauling. “Most of my boys have gone up the river, but I telegraphed for them to be ready and I found a couple of them still in town.”
“Why, were those men you brought Indians?” asked Tom in surprise. “I thought they were Chinese or something.”
“Akawoias,” replied Mr. Thorne. “All the Indians here have a Mongolian appearance.”
“Gosh, if I’d known that, I’d have been more interested,” declared Frank.
“You’ll see them and a lot more for day after day,” laughed the explorer, “and you’ll find them very decent boys. They’ve been with me for months.”
“Do they talk English?” asked Tom.
“Well, not exactly,” replied Mr. Thorne. “They have a queer jargon they call ‘talky-talky’--something like Pigeon English. You’ll learn to speak it easily enough. Now if you’re all ready, let’s be off. The boat leaves in half an hour.”
“By the way,” remarked the explorer, as the party left the destroyer and walked up the street towards the dock or “stelling” where the river steamer was moored, “I’ve a bit of news for you. The seaplane passed over Wismar and was headed almost due south. I think that rather does away with the idea that they were making for Venezuela or Dutch Guiana.”
“Hmm,” muttered Mr. Pauling. “Is there any place in that vicinity where they could hide?”
“It’s the least known district in the entire colony,” Mr. Thorne assured him. “Until I explored it, the upper reaches of the Demerara were absolutely unknown--even the source of the river had never been discovered--and between the Berbice and the Essequibo rivers above the Demerara is a vast area of absolutely unexplored territory. They could come down anywhere in that district without the slightest chance of being seen--except by Indians--and it’s near enough the coast to be in radio communication with a confederate here or a ship at sea. But my own opinion is that their friends are over in Dutch Guiana. Judging by your experiences, they have a particular fondness for the Dutch and Dutch colonies.”
“Could they communicate with people there at this distance?” asked Mr. Henderson.
“I don’t see why not,” replied the explorer. “In a direct line, Paramaribo, the capital and port, is a little over two hundred miles distant. Of course, I do not know the sending range of the plane’s outfit, but they could certainly receive and I suppose that’s just as important.”
“If they’ve got as good an outfit on the plane as they had on the sub and at St. John they could send twice that distance,” declared Tom. “Do you understand radio, Mr. Thorne?”
The explorer smiled, “As Colonel Maidley would say, ‘rawther’,” he replied. “I don’t suppose I’m up-to-date, but it is something of a hobby with me.”
“Gee, that’s bully!” cried Tom. “Did Dad tell you about our subsea radio?”
Once started on this subject the two boys and Mr. Thorne forgot all else and held an animated conversation which continued without cessation until they reached the little river steamer and the boys’ interests were aroused by new sights.
Never had the two boys seen such an odd, many colored cosmopolitan crowd as thronged the “stelling” and the boat. Swathed in cotton, bare-legged and with their heads covered with immense turbans of red, white, or green the East Indian men stalked about. There were Parsees with their odd embroidered hats; Brahmins with the painted marks of holy men upon their foreheads; fakirs in rags, with long matted hair and beards, carrying their highly polished brass begging bowls and their goatskins as their total possessions; fat, sleek “Baboos” in silk, protecting their turbaned heads under huge, green umbrellas; and East Indian women by the score, ablaze with color and laden down with heavy barbaric jewelry, their wrists, ankles and arms encircled by scores of heavy bands and rings of beaten silver and gold, their sleek, black hair bound with dangling silver and jeweled ornaments, huge golden hoops in their noses--clad, besides, in brilliant embroidered jackets, fluttering gauze veils and silken draperies. A chattering, dark-hued throng that transformed the spot to a bit of India. Back and forth among them, elbowed the big, burly negroes--“pork knockers,” as Mr. Thorne called them--each carrying his “battell” or gold pan strapped to his pack and all bound for the gold and diamond diggings. Chinese there were too, prosperous merchants in European garments; farmers with huge, saucerlike hats, loose trousers and blouses; Chinese women in flapping, pajamalike costumes, and toddling Chinese kiddies that might have stepped from an Oriental screen. To swell the crowd and add to the multiplicity of nationalities there were sallow Portuguese, mulattoes, quadroons, and octoroons; bronzed English planters; dark-eyed Venezuelans; broad-shouldered, mighty-muscled “Boviander” rivermen; and half a dozen short, deep-chested, stolid-faced native Indians or “bucks,” as the explorer told the boys they were called.