Loe raamatut: «The Radio Boys Under the Sea: or, The Hunt for Sunken Treasure», lehekülg 4

CHAPTER IX
“MAN OVERBOARD!”

“Off at last,” exclaimed Benton, as he leaned back in the luxurious seat of the Pullman. “I can hardly believe that my plans are really beginning to work out the way I’ve been dreaming about for months.”

“Just wait till you get on board ship and find out you’re skipper of the craft,” grinned Phil. “I suppose you’ll get so haughty that you won’t care to notice us. We’ll only be the foremast hands.”

“By the time we get back, I’m willing to wager that you all will have learned a good deal about sailing,” asserted Benton.

“Even if you have to knock it into our heads with a belaying pin, I suppose,” grinned Tom.

“I hope it won’t be necessary to use such strong persuasion,” smiled Benton. “Still, that’s the time-honored method at sea, you know.”

“It must make a difference when the crew are part owners in the vessel, though,” remarked Dick.

“Oh, that makes all the difference in the world,” laughed the ex-marine. “If I get rough, I suppose you’d fire me at the first port of call, so I’ll have to try and act nice.”

“You’d better,” threatened Phil. “We may get to be experts at handling belaying pins, too.”

“Stow that talk, you swabs,” exclaimed Tom, assuming a fierce scowl. “Heave a bucket over the side and scrub down the decks. Step lively, you slab-sided sons of sea cooks. Shiver me toplights, but you’re slow. I’ll – ”

“You’ll dry up, that’s what you’ll do,” said Phil, as he and Dick landed on Tom and proceeded to shove his head into the soft seat cushions. “See if that will take some of the saltiness out of you.”

Sounds of muffled expostulation came from the depths of the seat, and at last Tom struggled free with a face that was fairly crimson from partial suffocation.

“Why don’t you throw me out of the window and kill me quick?” he asked in an injured tone. “I was just trying to get you a little familiar with nautical language, and that’s what I get for my trouble. I’d be better off if I left you steeped in ignorance.”

“We don’t mind being ignorant,” Dick assured him. “We can’t all hope to know as much as you.”

“You can hope to, but you never will,” retorted Tom, and slipped nimbly into the aisle as he saw Dick getting ready to jump for him again. For a few seconds the latter hesitated, but then dropped back into his seat with a laugh.

“Wait till we get you on board the ship and we’ll soon find out how much you know,” he said. “How about it, Jack?”

“Well, I guess we’re none of us apt to know too much about nautical matters,” answered Benton.

“By the time we get back we’ll know more anyway,” said Phil. “Come on and sit down, Tom. We’ll forgive you.”

“I don’t need to be forgiven for telling you the plain facts,” said Tom, resuming his seat, though at the same time keeping a cautious watch on the others. “I wish I were going to be skipper on this trip. Believe me, you’d step around lively before I got through with you.”

“After we got through with you, you’d never step again,” grinned Phil, “lively or slow either. Eh, Dick?”

“You told it,” agreed his friend emphatically. “Some dark night he’d go over the rail so fast he’d think he was flying, and that would be the end of old Skipper Tom.”

“I’ll have to watch my step and keep away from the rail,” laughed Benton. “You fellows seem to have everything doped out in case of need.”

“Oh, don’t mind them,” said Tom loftily. “They wouldn’t have the nerve to throw a blind pup overboard.”

“Be nice now, or you’ll get another dose of the cushions,” warned Dick.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” Tom serenely assured them, with such calm conviction that they had to laugh.

When they arrived in New York, Steve was waiting for them at the railway terminal, and after the first joyous greetings were over he was introduced to their new friend, with whom he was soon on the most cordial terms. Steve insisted that they all stop at his home during their stay in the “Big Town,” which they did up to the day of sailing.

This soon arrived, and one fine sunny morning they found themselves steaming past the Statue of Liberty, outward bound for San Domingo and the sunken treasure ship.

The first two days passed uneventfully, but not without the keenest interest and pleasure to the Radio Boys, whose sailing had been confined mostly to inland waters.

On the third day when they were well on their way to their destination, they were lolling in their steamer chairs close to the starboard rail when they heard a shriek, followed by a loud splash in the water alongside.

Leaping to their feet they rushed to the rail just in time to see a scared black face with rolling eyes that swept past in the froth of the steamer’s wake.

With Phil, action followed like lightning on the heels of thought. He tore off his coat, leaped to the rail, balanced himself for an instant, then straight as an arrow dove into the sea.

He rose some distance away, dashed the water from his eyes and made for the woolly black head that showed clearly against the foam of the wake.

In the meantime the cry “Man overboard!” had been raised on the steamer and echoed by a score of throats. It was heard on the bridge, and in a few seconds the steady beat of the engines ceased, and then the whole ship shuddered and shook as they went into reverse. Quickly the speed was checked and a boat was lowered. The oars dipped and the boat sped toward the two figures in the water.

Phil, using the crawl stroke in which he was an expert, and which fairly ate up the distance was quickly at the side of the struggling figure. Not a second too soon either, as the negro’s eyes were glassy and he was evidently at the last gasp. Perhaps this was fortunate, as otherwise in his frantic fear he might have embarrassed his rescuer.

Phil grabbed him from the back by his shirt and held him so that his head was well above the surface. For a moment he trod water, and then with his helpless burden struck out toward the oncoming boat.

That boat was now coming at a tremendous rate. And there was need for haste. For the keen eyes of the mate standing in the bow had seen something behind the swimmer that thrilled him with horror.

Cleaving the water two hundred yards in the rear was the dorsal fin of a shark. The pirate of the seas had scented prey and was coming toward it with terrible speed.

“Row, men, row,” shouted the mate. “A shark! For God’s sake, row! Put your backs into it. Row! Row!”

The men toiled feverishly at their work and the oars almost bent double.

They were so near now that Phil heard the shout of the mate and looked behind him. He saw that ominous fin, and for an instant his heart stood still. But he never dreamed of relinquishing his burden. With savage energy he lunged forward, straining every muscle in what he knew now was a race for life.

Nearer and nearer came the shark, and nearer and nearer came the boat. Phil set up a tremendous splashing that he hoped would keep the enemy at bay. For an instant it did daunt him, but only for an instant. He was too near victory thus to be balked of his prey. There was a flash of white as he turned on his back and opened his horrible jaws.

Down into those jaws went crashing the end of a heavy oar driven by the brawny arms of the mate. At the same instant, ready hands reached over and dragged Phil and his burden into the boat, where they lay panting and exhausted.

“A close call, son,” gasped the mate, and his men grinned their satisfaction and relief. “You’ve never been so near death as you were that minute. Thought that shark had you sure.”

“And he would have had, if it hadn’t been for you and your men,” said Phil, so exhausted that he could only speak haltingly. “It was your hard work and quick thinking that saved my life, and I can’t thank you enough for it.”

They were soon on the steamer’s deck, where Phil was welcomed almost as one from the grave by his pale and rejoicing companions, and lionized by the passengers to an extent that embarrassed him beyond measure.

As for the man he had rescued, or boy rather, for he seemed to be about nineteen or twenty years old, he had soon so far recovered as to be able to answer some of the questions of the passengers who crowded around him.

“Huccome ah fall ovahboa’d?” he said, with a feeble grin. “Kain’t rightly say, ’ceptin’ Ah wuz leanin’ too fur ovah de rail. Ole ship guv a roll an’ Ah fin’s mahself tryin’ ter drink de whole Atlantic Ocean. Kain’t nebber res’ on dis ole ship dat sumfin doan’ happen ter spoil mah fun.”

“That fun would have been over for good, if that young fellow hadn’t jumped over for you,” said one of the ship’s officers. “You’d better find out who it was and thank him.”

“Dat’s jes’ whut Ah aims ter do ef Ah kin fin’ him. Dah he is now,” he added excitedly, as his eyes fell on Phil’s dripping clothes. “Dah’s de young gemmun whut saved mah life,” and running forward he fell on his knees in front of Phil and tried to catch his hand.

Phil flushed at this action and at the murmur of admiration and applause that came from the onlookers.

“Shucks” he exclaimed. “You don’t have to thank me for simply doing what anyone else might have done. I happened to be near the rail and had the chance.”

“Jes de same you did it, an’ Ah’m plumb grateful,” declared the negro. “Dis darky wud hev been shark’s meat by dis time ef ut hedn’t been fur you. Ah doan’ know whar you-all ez goin’, but whareber et is, Ah’ll go wiv you, ef you let me.”

“Well, well talk it over later,” replied Phil, hardly knowing what reply to make to the offer. The darky seemed to take the matter as settled, however and after he had gone below and got on some dry clothing, he appeared on deck again and hung around Phil and the rest of his party, much after the manner of a faithful dog. At first they were in a quandary, but after considerable discussion they decided to include the negro in their trip. According to his own account, he was a good cook, and they knew that they could find use for some one in that capacity after they had secured their boat. Then too he was as strong as a bull, and might prove an important addition to their little party in case of danger.

Bimbo, as the negro was named, was overjoyed when told that he would be allowed to accompany them, and executed an impromptu buck and wing dance that gave them a new idea of his quality as an entertainer. From the very first he made himself exceedingly useful, and before many days had passed they wondered how they had gotten along without him.

One afternoon, as they were nearing the end of their voyage, Benton called the boys together on a deserted part of the deck. They could tell from his agitated appearance that something was wrong.

He did not keep them long in suspense. It seemed, that shortly after dinner he had been strolling along the decks when suddenly, in a group of several men working at a windlass, he had seen Ramirez, the half-breed.

Benton’s first impulse had been to leap for the rascal and avenge the attempt the halfbreed had made to stab him. But even as his muscles had tensed, another thought had flashed across his mind and caused him to desist. Apparently, Ramirez had not seen him, and Benton withdrew to think the matter over. It seemed improbable that the halfbreed’s presence on the boat was a mere coincidence, and Benton’s face wore a worried expression as he told the boys of the encounter.

“The chances are that he found out in some way that I was taking passage on this ship and joined the crew in the hope of stealing the map which he knows that I always carry with me,” concluded Benton. “From now on we must all be on the alert, for he will know that you are with me and may suspect each one of having a copy of the map. So watch your step and keep away from dark places on the deck after nightfall.”

For the rest of the trip, the boys kept their eyes open, but the halfbreed made no hostile move, and for a time they believed that Benton must have mistaken his man. Life on shipboard followed the usual routine and the boys made many friends among the passengers.

With their knowledge of radio, they also got in the good graces of the radio operators on board ship, and once Phil stood an entire watch in the radio room, receiving and sending messages in a way that evoked the unqualified admiration of the professionals.

One message that came during that watch illustrated again the beneficent properties of radio. Word came from a town on the shore where an accident had happened to one of the workmen erecting a sugar mill. There was no doctor at hand and the superintendent of the mill sent out a radio call for help that Phil caught. He summoned the ship’s doctor, and at his dictation told the superintendent just what to do in order to save the man’s life. The interchange of messages lasted for over an hour and when the doctor arose from his chair it was with the information that his orders had been followed to the letter, and that the patient was resting easily with every prospect of complete recovery.

Radio concerts also were held in the salon of the steamer, and helped to beguile the time most pleasantly. The hours passed quickly until one day a speck appeared on the horizon that grew into an island as they approached it and a few hours later the ship had dropped anchor in San Domingo.

CHAPTER X
LURKING IN THE SHADOWS

Early the next day they set out in search of a suitable craft for their expedition. It was no easy task to find what they wanted, but at last they chanced on a trig little sloop, of which after considerable bargaining and red tape they became the proud owners. All this was not accomplished without the passage of many days, and while Benton was interviewing ship owners and harbor masters, the boys employed the time in mastering the mysteries of the diver’s art.

Benton had looked up the old diver that he had previously spoken about to the boys, and had little difficulty in getting him to agree to give the boys practical lessons in his profession. So thoroughly did he do his part that in a little while the boys became proficient enough to feel that they could get along reasonably well in the shallow waters in which they supposed the wreck to be lying.

Of course the old fellow who instructed them was somewhat curious, but he was being well paid for his trouble, and was not in the habit of worrying much about other people’s plans. By the time the craft was provisioned and in shape for the voyage, the boys felt at home in the greenish depths and were looking forward impatiently to the time when they could put their newly acquired knowledge to use.

At length all was in readiness, and when they went ashore one night their eyes were shining with excitement, for with the dawn they were to start on the voyage after the treasure. But as they left the dock and walked toward the hotel, first one and then another became uneasy, for no apparent reason. Phil especially felt unmistakably the impression of being followed, and more than once he glanced uneasily over his shoulder.

They were in a poor section of the town, the narrow streets being lighted only at rare intervals by a flickering oil lamp. Not a soul was to be seen following them, but nevertheless the feeling of being dogged clung to them, and refused to be shaken off. At length Phil’s keen eyes made out a skulking figure just diving into a black patch of shadow, and at his warning word they all stopped.

“If you’re sure you saw someone following us, we’ll turn back and see who it was,” said Benton, and, suiting the action to the word, he started for the black shadow at top speed, the others close at his heels. But he had hardly gone ten steps, when something-whizzed past his head and struck with a sharp ring against the wall of a house that he was passing. At the same time could be heard the swift beat of retreating footsteps, and Benton pulled up short.

“No use chasing the fellow,” he said. “In these dark alleys we’d never find him, and likely enough we’d get a knife through our ribs for our trouble. That was a knife that fellow threw, and it just grazed my head.”

He groped on the ground, and presently found the knife. It was long and deadly sharp, and on the handle were two initials – “P. R.”

“It doesn’t require much guessing to tell whom that knife belongs to,” said Benton, grimly. “Those initials stand for Pasquale Ramirez, the murdering hound!”

“No doubt of it,” agreed Phil, soberly. “You had a narrow escape, Jack. The sooner we get out of this town and on the clean blue ocean the better I’ll like it.”

“Well, it won’t be long now, thank goodness!” said Dick. “To-morrow we sail for the Spanish Main, and leave that dirty halfbreed here. This town seems just made for sneaking dogs like him.”

They hurried along the dark and winding streets, until they reached the better quarter of the city, and eventually their hotel. But here another unpleasant surprise awaited them.

When they left that morning all their belongings had been neatly packed, but now they were strewn wildly about the rooms. With exclamations of astonishment and anger they gathered the things together and compared notes to see what was missing.

Fortunately they had left nothing of great value in their rooms, and the map and papers Benton always carried on his own person. None of their clothing had been taken, and at first they were somewhat at a loss to understand the motive of the outrage, but Phil soon supplied the clue.

“This couldn’t have been the work of an ordinary thief,” he said. “The man who did this job was looking for something special – something that he knows we have and that he wants badly. It looks to me as though Ramirez had gotten into our rooms someway, ransacked our trunks, and then, when he was convinced that we must have the map with us, he laid for us when we came off the boat.”

“That’s about the size of it, I guess,” nodded Benton. “Well he got fooled both ways, but I only wish I could get my hands on him! He wouldn’t bother us again for some time to come, I promise you!”

Judging from the working fingers and flashing eyes of their friend that probably in that case the halfbreed would never bother anybody again, the boys were silent for a few minutes. Then, as there seemed little immediate prospect of meting out punishment to the rascal, they set about repacking their belongings, and making ready for the early start in the morning.

The Fleeting, as they had named their boat, looked very neat and businesslike as they rowed out to her, and the adventure of the previous evening was forgotten as they gazed at her trim lines and felt a freshening wind that kicked up a thousand sparkling waves on the gleaming water. With shout and laughter they climbed aboard, where breakfast awaited them, prepared by the faithful Bimbo. He said he was a good cook, and that meal fully justified his claims. Then they rushed upon deck, hoisted the sails, and lifted the anchor. The sloop headed into the freshening breeze, and chopped through the water at a pace that spoke well for sailing qualities. In a few hours the land had faded into a distant speck, and then disappeared altogether.

Benton was at the wheel, and he gazed aloft at the trim sails and taut cordage with pride and exultation. Soon the wind veered a few points and came more abeam, and the vessel heeled over and fairly hissed through the water, her lee scuppers dipping under every now and again as an especially strong gust caught the sails. The boys enjoyed the rush and heave of the vessel as it rose to the long swells, riding them easily and throwing showers of spray from the sharp bows. The tang of the salt breeze was more exhilarating than wine, and they shouted and sang as their craft raced along toward her goal.

For a time they headed due south, but later veered to a more westerly course. For the first day or two the weather held fair, and they covered many miles of sparkling blue sea, all the time keeping a sharp lookout for an island like the one described in the old Spaniard’s papers.

At night they hovered about in circles under easy sail, as they did not want to run the risk of passing it in the darkness. In a few days they had reached the approximate latitude and longitude indicated on the map, but although they saw many islands, none of them appeared to answer the description of the one they were looking for. At first this did not greatly disappoint them, as they knew the old map was not likely to be very accurate. What bothered them more than anything else was the increasing cloudiness of the weather, and the falling barometer. Every indication pointed to a coming storm, and Benton lost no time in preparing for it. He and the boys double reefed the mainsail, and securely lashed everything to the deck that they could not carry below. They worked fast, for the gloom deepened every moment, and the breeze, which had been fresh all the morning, died down to a dead calm, leaving the sails idly flapping.

The western sky was black as night, except when it was rent by darting forks of lightning. At times they could hear the dull mutterings of thunder, and Benton’s face wore a worried frown as he gazed over the livid green ocean toward the approaching storm. From experience he knew how fierce were the sudden tempests that sweep over the Caribbean Sea, and he had never seen one that looked more threatening than that now brewing.

Suddenly the sails flapped a few seconds, and then dropped limp again. From the distance they heard a faint whistling sound, that grew rapidly louder, and then they could see a white line of hissing foam sweeping over the water and approaching them at terrific speed.

“Stand by to let the mainsheet run!” yelled Benton, but even as the boys sprang to obey, the wind was upon them. It struck with appalling force, and the Fleeting heeled over – further and further, until the deck slanted down at a sharp angle to the boiling waters, and the boys had to hang on to ropes and stays to keep from sliding down the steep incline.

It was a terrible moment, while their lives hung in the balance. A little further, and the Fleeting would surely have capsized, but just at the second when this seemed inevitable, the first furious gust of wind abated a trifle, and their craft slowly righted herself, while the wind whistled and shrieked in her rigging.

Benton had managed to retain his place at the wheel, and as the gallant little craft picked up steerage way, he headed her into the wind and the rising sea. At the first stroke of the raging gale the ocean was covered with spume crested waves, and lashed by its fury, they mounted higher and higher, until the ocean was an endless succession of mountainous rollers, bearing down hungrily on the devoted little ship, as though eager to batter and overwhelm her. Great waves thundered down over her bows, raced aft, and carried away everything movable on the deck. It was only by dint of clinging desperately to ropes that at such times the boys avoided being swept overboard.

The Fleeting was tossed about like a chip in the tremendous welter of waters, and Benton soon saw that he could not hold a course into the wind. His only alternative was the run before it, and he shouted to the boys to lower the mainsail. They could not hear him above the noise of the storm, but they knew from his gestures what he wanted.

To get the mainsail down and furled, even though it was reefed, was a gigantic task, but the boys tackled it bravely, and after a protracted struggle amid flying spray and wildly lashing canvas, they got the sail snugly stowed. Then Benton let the bows fall off before the wind, and soon they were scudding along at a furious rate with the wind astern.

Their staunch little craft rode easier on this course, her stern rising high in air as a mountainous sea lifted it, while her bows slanted dizzily down into the green depths ahead. Then, in the full grip of the big comber, she would go shooting forward, the water boiling and hissing along her sides, until the wave had spent its force and passed on. The sea presented a terrible aspect, and when Bimbo staggered on deck with a potful of steaming coffee that in some mysterious fashion he had managed to make, his dusky face turned a dull ashen hue.