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.