“Please don’t scold, Oscar,” Ballyhoo was saying soon afterwards. “I
understand I was a silly fool to take such big chances. The captain
knew what he was talking about when he told me to stay near the boat.”
“We all know now,” Jack remarked, “that the thrilling yarns told you by
your Uncle Abner Crawley were founded on truth. He’d seen those East
Indian pearl-divers stick sharks many a time; yes, and he even said
he’d learned to do the same himself while out around Ceylon.”
“I think we’ll be moving along pretty soon,” Oscar remarked, not
wishing to add to the repentant Ballyhoo’s confusion, “for I heard the
engineer tell Captain Shooks that he had things shipshape once more.”
“Then we can expect to be at our first destination any old time,” Jack
went on to say, with an eager gleam in his eye; for he was yearning to
see some of the wonderful submarine sights that had been so vividly
described to them by the old deep sea master-diver.
Within ten minutes they discovered that the engines had started working
again, and a little while later their propeller began to churn the
water at the stern.
It was now late in the afternoon. They had really spent several hours
behind the island instead of the short space of time at first intended;
but then no one felt that it mattered to any great extent, since they
were in no particular hurry.
“Let me have that glass, please, Oscar?” Ballyhoo asked. “There’s a
vessel off to the southwest, low down, and I’ve got a sneaking notion
she looks a whole lot like that same _Dauntless_ we gave the slip to.”
This, of course, aroused considerable interest on the part of the other
boys. Oscar obediently handed the marine glasses over, for they had
been lying close beside him on the little upper deck, which Ballyhoo
persisted in describing as the “hurricane deck” of the undersea boat.
Jack, on his part, ceased handling his camera, and also turned his eyes
in the direction indicated.
Hardly had Ballyhoo located the object he had been watching than he
gave a satisfied grunt.
“That means you were right, I take it?” remarked Oscar.
“Just what it does,” came the ready answer. “She’s beat us down here,
and seems to know just about where we ought to turn up, hang the luck!”
“Oh! nothing much to worry about yet,” Oscar told him. “Whenever we
feel like giving her the once over, all we have to do is to turn the
nose of our craft down, kick our heels in the air, and disappear, to
come up fifty miles away in any old direction.”
“Guess you’re right there, Oscar,” admitted the boy who still held the
glasses glued to his eyes, as though fairly fascinated by the abrupt
reappearance of the mysterious black craft, which, as they knew, must
be manned by the rival party under the lead of that reckless buccaneer
of fortune, Captain Badger.
“That’s the beauty of these submarine wrecking craft,” laughed Jack;
“they can swim on the surface in fair weather, dive below in foul,
remain hidden about as long as they please, and all the while be making
their little eight or ten knots an hour in any old direction. Yes, they
are as hard to locate as a jumping flea--now you’ve got him, but when
you go to look he isn’t there.”
Captain Shooks had been summoned on deck, and agreed with the boys
the boat was their persistent rival that continued to shadow them. As
evening was coming on he laid his plan of campaign accordingly. They
started off on a course at right angles with the one they had intended
to take. This would, of course, deceive the enemy, doubtless keeping a
watch over their movements all the while.
“When it gets good and dark,” explained Oscar to his comrades, “why, we
mean to dip under, turn around, and head into the southwest again. Once
we get twenty miles away from this point, and it will be safe for us
to come to the surface again, because our lights won’t show. By that
time they’ll be in a haze, and dodging every-which-way, looking for a
speck on the water.”
So the sun set, and, as always happens down toward the tropics, there
was a very short intermission between that event and the coming of
darkness. Twilight belongs to the Northern zones.
When the call to supper came it was already growing dusk.
“We’ll not be up again to-night, I reckon,” assumed Ballyhoo, with a
sigh, for to tell the truth he did not particularly relish being made
a prisoner inside that strange boat, and kept hermetically sealed
far below the surface of the ocean, “just as much shut-in,” he often
said, “as sardines in a can, or one of those old mummies we’ve seen in
museums when they were kept tight in their sarcophagi.”
It turned out just as he prophesied. Even while they were eating they
knew from various signs that the boat was sinking. The intake of water
filling the tanks could be plainly heard; and then besides the engines
had ceased working. While it was always possible for the submarine to
dive when in motion, still as a rule the skipper preferred to take his
dip while stationary.
Once below and they were able to steer any course they pleased, by the
aid of their compass, which worked just as well then as when the boat
rode on the surface.
By now the boys were beginning to grow a little accustomed to some of
the experiences that had seemed so marvelous to them at first.
Taking it all in all it was very comfortable there in that snug
little saloon, where the captain and the three boys ate their meals.
Considerable ducking had to be indulged in so as to avoid knocking
their heads, which Ballyhoo seemed to be particularly addicted to, much
to his discomfort.
“Why, I’ll have a whole row of knobs around my coco before we’re
through with this trip,” he complained after he had again arisen too
suddenly, and, consequently, banged the top of his head against the low
ceiling of the saloon.
“I notice that already you’re beginning to have a lot of trouble
pulling your cap on,” Jack told him; “and if you take my advice you’ll
think twice before you jump up so hastily. It’s going to be a good
thing to tone you down, Ballyhoo. Beware of getting a swelled head.”
They spent the evening as best the conditions allowed. Space was at
such a high premium down inside the little submarine craft that there
could be no moving around except in exceptional cases. On this account
they had to sit close together and amuse themselves by exchanging views
on various subjects, writing up their logs, and, of course, thinking of
those left at home.
Then came the time for sleep. Ballyhoo had quite exhausted himself
through his fierce exertions in the water, coupled with the mental
anguish he must certainly have endured. Consequently, he was dozing
long before either of the others thought to retire.
At the time Oscar crawled into his tight-fitting bunk it was four
bells, or ten o’clock. He lay there for some time planning, and also
allowing his mind to travel back to former scenes, most of them
pleasant in their nature.
The engines were working steadily, and he could hear the singular
“swish” of the water just beyond the steel shell of the boat alongside
his head. How strange it was to realize that he meant to calmly seek
forgetfulness in slumber while they were many fathoms under the sea,
and traveling along at an eight-knot speed; just as though that had
always been the customary method of procedure, instead of a very recent
innovation and novelty.
Then finally he lost himself, and during the balance of the night
really awoke only three times.
It was on one of these occasions that Oscar knew from a change in the
sounds coming to his ears that they were ascending to the surface
again. He could hear the throb of the electric motors pumping the water
ballast from the reservoirs, which could be emptied in a marvelously
short time should necessity compel such haste.
He lay there listening until assured that once again they were afloat
on the bosom of the deep, and continuing their voyage. Somehow the full
significance of this gave him a sense of relief; it was certainly more
natural that they should be cruising on rather than under the water.
And soon fresh air would be circulating through the interior of the
boat, when the ventilation shafts were opened.
Then came morning, and the boys upon awakening made all haste possible
to get on deck, where they found Captain Shooks, partly dressed, with a
glorious red flannel nightcap still covering his bald head, as he took
a look around through his glasses.
The boys, too, made use of their opportunity, and scoured the horizon
diligently. So far as they could see there was no sign of the
suspicious black steam yacht; and it seemed as if they had successfully
eluded Badger and his crew.
Over on the port side lay one of those small keys found in many parts
of the great Caribbean Sea, with the stately palms hanging over the
green water, and the mangroves making another part of the shore look as
though it might prove a hard task to break through the thick barrier.
A native was seated in his canoe fishing, and now surveying the
singular looking, squatty craft with evident amazement. Even as they
looked he started frantically for the shore, as though his fears had
finally gotten the best of him. If the mere sight of a submarine gave
him such a fright the boys wondered what his sensations would have been
had he chanced to see the _Argonaut_ suddenly emerge from _beneath_ the
water like a monster fish, her rounded steel sides glistening in the
sunlight.
“Looks like we had given them the slip all right, eh, boys?” remarked
the skipper, as he lowered his glass, and allowed a broad smile to
cross his sunburned face; for already he had come to feel a very
friendly relationship toward the trio of fine young fellows, so modest
and yet so able.
“We must be in a far corner of the Caribbean by now, I should think,
Captain?” Oscar was saying.
“Quite out of the ordinary track of vessels,” admitted the commander,
nodding his head in the affirmative. “Seldom does a ship pass here,
because the region has a bad reputation. You see it is directly in
the customary track of all those West Indian hurricanes that are bred
around the Windward Islands, make a great curve, and then sweep toward
the Florida coast, generally to pass into the Mexican Gulf, though now
and then one slips past and goes booming up toward Hatteras.”
“And we must be getting near our first destination, too, I should
think?” continued Oscar, with the idea of drawing the old skipper out.
“Right you are there, my lad,” came the quick reply. “Unless something
not down on the bills happens to prevent, I expect that by another
sundown we’ll be close on Coco Key,” with which parting shot he ducked
below, to finish his toilet, and put on his captain’s uniform.
That was apparently good news to the three Camera Boys, judging
from the way they proceeded to exchange hand-shakes, while smiles
illuminated their several faces. And, looking around upon the vast
expanse of salt water by which they were surrounded, they naturally
wondered whether that persistent black steam yacht could once more find
them out.