Days and nights followed. All the time the boat continued to head into
the south, and leagues upon leagues were placed behind them. Sometimes
they were able to pick up glimpses of land far away to the west; and
one night the boys were told that the flashlight they watched, so like
a distant star, was Jupiter Light situated at the lower extremity of
the Indian River in Florida. Off somewhere in the opposite quarter lay
the Bahamas, and Old Nassau, of which they had read so often.
They were now getting down to a warm climate, and on this account
spent as much time on deck as possible. Here the ocean breeze fanned
their already ruddy cheeks, and they could watch the white-winged
gulls and other sea birds flying in eccentric fashion here, there, and
everywhere, now dipping to snap up a fragment of food cast overboard,
and anon wheeling high overhead, or following the course of the
speeding submarine as though keeping time with its progress.
Occasionally they met some vessel bound north. Now it might be a
lumber schooner, and then again a coastal steamer. When one of the
latter passed not far away the side seemed to be black with people,
all staring at the strange, squatty craft, for doubtless the officers
passed the word around that it was one of those species of undersea
boats that had been creating such terrible havoc across the Atlantic.
So the time slipped along, and one sunny day they drew near an island
in the Caribbean Sea where the palms hung low over the water, and made
a picture that set Jack busy with his camera, for it was really his
first chance to do anything along that favorite line.
“Seems that we’re meaning to lay by here a short spell,” Ballyhoo
announced, as the ardent photographer was busying himself with his
camera.
“What’s the scheme?” asked Oscar. “Have we arrived at the first pocket
where they believe they can strike a rich bonanza?”
“Not yet, along those lines,” he was informed by the wise Ballyhoo,
evidently seeking to let them know that he had been interviewing
Captain Shooks. “Our port engine doesn’t work as it should, you see,
and our careful skipper believes in taking time by the forelock, so
he’s going to spend a few hours in overhauling it. You see, they’re
putting out an anchor in the lee of this island. If we only had time we
might get the collapsible boat out and go ashore.”
“It would hardly pay us,” ventured Oscar. “We’ll have plenty of other
chances to stretch our legs on a tropical cocoanut island, I imagine.”
“Then I wonder if it wouldn’t be a bully good idea to have a swim?”
continued the other, evidently bent on making some sort of dent in the
monotony of the programme.
“Better ask the captain about that first,” suggested Oscar.
“But why should he care, when I can swim and dive like a duck?”
objected Ballyhoo.
Just then the commander coming up from below the Jones boy put the
question to him, and in such a wheedling way that the grizzled old
skipper chuckled as he went on to say in reply:
“Well, I can feel for you, Ballyhoo, because when I was young swimming
was my best hold. I’d go any distance just to get in the water. It’s a
fine day for a duck, too, with those clouds sailing over, and dimming
the hot sun part of the time. So I guess you can enjoy yourself for
half an hour or so. But stick close by, son, and if you hear a shout
make for the boat like greased lightning.”
Ballyhoo looked curious on hearing him talk in that way.
“Who’s going to bother with me here, sir?” he asked. “I can see a
couple of natives in canoes headed out this way, but the Indians are
only bent on trade of some sort; most likely they’ve got cocoanuts or
oranges or bananas to sell. What should I be afraid of here, Captain?”
“Oh! I don’t really believe there’s any danger, lad, but in these
Southern waters it’s always wise to keep an eye to windward for
squalls, and by that I mean sharks.”
“Gee whiz! I forgot that!” exclaimed Ballyhoo; and then thinking that
he saw Jack laughing in his sleeve he hastened to add: “but that
doesn’t faze me one little bit. I guess I could get out of the way of
a lazy old shark any time.”
Accordingly, Ballyhoo commenced to undress. He was a regular water duck
when it came to all such aquatic sports as boys delight in, and could
both swim and dive in a way that no other fellow in all Melancton ever
equalled.
Somehow neither of the others seemed to care to follow his example,
though he called out to them to “come in, the water’s fine.” Jack was
too much interested in his camera just then, while Oscar didn’t feel
like it. The thought of any peril hovering around did not keep him from
copying Ballyhoo’s example; but he had suffered terribly from sunburned
shoulders not a great while before, and hardly liked the idea of taking
the risk again.
While Ballyhoo and two of the crew frisked in the water, seeming to be
having a glorious time, Jack and Oscar sat there on the upper deck and
talked.
“How little we dreamed when we first read that wonderful book of Jules
Verne,” the former was saying, “that the time would come when all of us
might experience many of the very sensations he described so well.”
“That’s a fact,” his chum admitted, “yet here we are aboard an
undersea boat, and bound on an enterprise almost as romantic as that of
the _Nautilus_. The combination of searching for lost treasure at the
bottom of the sea, and also taking motion pictures of the ocean depths,
is something worth while.”
“Look at Ballyhoo cutting up in the water, will you, Oscar. That chum
of ours can give a big lead to either of those two men, and then make
circles around him. Hey! Ballyhoo, better not get too far away, you
know!”
“Oh! that’s all right, Jack,” answered the other, who had gone a third
of the way toward the palm-fringed shore of the island; “nothing doing
along the danger line. You fellows don’t know what you’re missing, I
tell you.”
The boys busied themselves in purchasing some tropical fruits from one
of the natives who had paddled out in their canoes for barter. They
also had shells and some nautical curios, but the boys did not purchase
any of these.
“I’m afraid the captain would toss everything overboard if he found us
loading up with such stuff,” laughed Oscar. “The boat is crowded as it
is; and what little space they have left is for something worth a heap
more than just marine shells, and such junk.”
From down below could be heard the clinking sound of hammers as the
engineer and his assistant worked at the engine to put it in better
condition for business. The day was sultry and both boys felt relieved
that these clouds mercifully stood between the pitiless rays of the
sun and themselves.
“We must be getting somewhere near our first stop,” remarked Oscar,
after another little spell had gone by; “for I saw the skipper
overhauling his charts this morning, and that looked like business.”
“None of us will be sorry,” Jack went on to say, “because we’re fairly
wild to learn what it really looks like down there among the sea ferns,
and the queer forests they say grow on the bottom of the ocean. Then
again there are all kinds of queer monsters that you’re likely to come
on, most of them never seen near the surface. Oh! I’m clear daffy with
wanting to click off some of those sights.”
Just then the captain came up the ladder again. Oscar was about to ask
some question that had occurred to him when he held his tongue. The
skipper was seen to shade his eyes with his hand, and stare earnestly
toward the shore. Ballyhoo was still almost a third of the way across
the open water lying between the boat and the palms.
Then they heard Captain Shooks utter an exclamation. It thrilled them
both, and brought them to their feet, as though touched by a galvanic
battery.
Turning swiftly, the skipper snatched up the megaphone that had been
lying close by, and this he raised to his mouth.
Across the water his heavy voice rang like the brazen notes of an alarm
bell.
“Sharks! Ahoy, Ballyhoo, swim for the boat, lad, swim for the boat!”
And looking beyond the spot where their chum was idly floating on his
back, Oscar and Jack caught sight of an ugly black fin cutting the
water in eccentric curves.