TORN APART
The rough weather which had delayed their fascinating work of
exploration continued for a day or two longer and the boys, impatient at
the setback, were beginning to make plans to brave the heavy sea, when,
as suddenly as it had risen, the wind died down, followed by a heavy,
breathless calm.
“At last,” muttered Dick as the boys stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing
out over the placid water, “the elements are with us again. I had begun
to think that wind would never die down.”
“I imagine we’d better work fast too, if that overgrown hill is
volcanic,” said Tom, with a glance over his shoulder at the lowering
mountain. “We don’t want all our fun spoiled by an eruption.”
“Our fun wouldn’t be the only thing spoiled, I imagine,” grinned Steve
as they started back for their apparatus. “If that old Jumbo over there
should take it into its head to get busy there wouldn’t be enough of us
left to send back to the folks.”
Finding the slender shelter which they had erected when they had first
been flung upon the island, insufficient to ward off the terrific storm
winds that visited that part of the world, the boys had taken refuge in
a huge cave, evidently dug out of the side of the mountain by countless
attacks of the sea.
That it was ancient there could be no doubt. Also there were traces of
human habitation. Someone had evidently dwelt there before them and the
boys, as well as Jack Benton himself jumped to the conclusion that that
someone had been no other than the marooned old pirate himself.
Of course it was possible that others had occupied the island since the
time of the old buccaneer, but it was not at all likely. This small
volcanic, desolated island, isolated from the outside world was not one
to attract visitors.
Of course, as Tom pointed out, the cave might have sheltered some poor
shipwrecked refugee washed ashore by the strong tide. But to this Phil
raised the objection that the island was far from the beaten track of
vessels and a ship must be blown far out of her course in order to
approach these remote waters.
“Well,” Steve had finished with a grin, “we might as well say this is
the old pirate’s cave. There’s no one to contradict us anyway.”
“I wish,” Tom had said at this point, “the treasure had been buried in
this cave instead of at the bottom of the sea. It would have been a
mighty sight more convenient.”
“But not half the fun,” Phil had added. “There’s not everyone has a
chance to say ‘howdy’ to sharks and other weird looking animals without
being afraid the greeting will be his last. I just sit fast within that
iron-bound diving suit and grin at ’em.”
“You feel something like the cat the dog has treed, eh?” laughed Benton.
“Let the dog bark and be durned to him.”
“Exactly,” grinned Phil. “It sure is a grand and glorious feeling.”
Now as the boys returned to the cave they saw that Bimbo was working
furiously at something. It was so remarkable for Bimbo to work hard at
anything that the boys regarded him curiously.
“What’s up, old boy?” shouted Phil when they came within calling
distance. “Has a bee stung you or something?”
“Law, Marse Phil,” the negro answered straightening up and showing all
his teeth in a broad grin. “They ain’t no sech a thing in dis part de
world, not as Ah ever heered on. No sir, Marse Phil. Ah was jes’ gettin’
you’ breffust ready in a tearin’ hurry. The wind done gone an’ lef’ us
an’ I knowed you’d be wantin’ get busy right soon. So Ah says to myself,
Ah says, ‘Bimbo, you stir yo legs, Nigger, yo done better get a wiggle
on. Marse Phil done got one busy day befo’ him.’ So, Marse Phil, I jes’
been followin’ mah own advice.”
By this time they had reached the cave and Phil gave the grinning black
boy a resounding slap on the back.
“Good boy, Bimbo,” he laughed. “You’re getting better every day. I
believe you know what we want before we want it ourselves.”
Bimbo beamed at this praise and his eyes followed Phil with the faithful
devotion of a dog. It is safe to say that the black boy would have died
without a murmur for this adored young master.
The boys were full of enthusiasm and they ate the tempting food that
Bimbo set before them hurriedly, hardly knowing what they ate.
One thing was uppermost in their minds—the lure of the treasure hidden
beneath the hatches of the sunken ship.
“I’d better take some dynamite with me this time,” said Phil, as he
finished his last bite of breakfast and stood up, eager for action.
“From the look I had at them the other day I don’t believe I’ll be able
to lift the hatches by my own strength.”
“All right, let’s go,” said Dick, energetically. “The first thing is to
get all our stuff down to the water. We’ll want to take some of the
radio apparatus I suppose.”
“Sure thing,” said Steve. “We’ll need a couple of batteries
anyway—enough to generate the spark that will set off the dynamite.”
“We’ll need to be mighty careful in using this stuff,” cautioned Benton.
“Dynamite works a great deal more powerfully under water than it does on
land. It sure would be unhealthy for Phil if we didn’t get him up and
removed to a safe distance before the charge goes off. Playing safe is a
good policy when you’re dealing with such ticklish stuff as dynamite.
“Sure,” said Phil, “that charge won’t be set off before we’re at a safe
distance. Everything ready fellows? All right, let’s go.”
Heavily-laden they got down to the water and piled the apparatus onto
the stout raft. Then they got into the little dory and rowed as fast as
they could with the cumbrous load in tow, out to the spot where radio
had told them the sunken ship lay hidden.
Then Phil donned the diving suit and, with several sticks of dynamite
hugged carefully to his chest was slowly lowered over the side of the
raft, down, down, down into the unexplored depths of the ocean.
As on that other time, he was filled with a wild excitement. His heart
beat thumpingly within the narrow confines of the diving suit. He felt a
sort of awe at exploring the mysteries that were generally hidden from
human eyes. This was indeed a different world into which he was being
slowly lowered, a world filled with vivid-colored creatures which were
strange to him.
Down and ever down—while the color and shape of these dwellers under
the sea became more brilliant and bewildering. Distorted, grotesque
shapes brushed past him to disappear into the shadows beyond the radius
of the lights which flung their rays through the water.
As he sank deeper and the weight of the water increased, Phil noticed as
he had done before how the radiance from these lights diminished, the
rays seemingly thrown back upon themselves by the density of the water.
When at last his feet sank into the soft sand at the bottom of the sea,
he could see only a little distance ahead of him.
“However, that distance would be enough,” he told himself, thrilling
with the thought of what he was about to do. He, Phil Strong alone at
the bottom of the ocean with the treasure.
But perhaps, after all, there was no treasure. The thought chilled him.
Suppose the gold they believed to be stored in the hatches of the sunken
ship had only existed in the old pirate’s imagination. Suppose they had
come all this distance on a wild goose chase.
By a strong effort he shook off these thoughts. If they did not find
gold, he told himself, at least they had had the adventure and he, for
one, wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
He found that the floating buoy must have shifted a little for he had
not landed in the same spot as he had before. He had noticed
particularly the formation of the coral beds as a guide to the hulk of
the ship and now he found himself confronted by unfamiliar, though
wonderfully beautiful coral rock.
He groped his way forward, moving as quickly as he could in the clumsy
suit, retarded by the heavy pressure of the water. He knew by experience
that the oxygen in the tank did not last long and so he must make the
most of every moment when he could breathe without difficulty.
It was a nightmare sensation, groping there at the bottom of the sea,
knowing the need for haste and yet being unable to hurry! The grotesque
shapes of monster fish flashed by him and once a shark swam so close to
him he could have touched it by reaching out the hooks that served him
as hands.
He thought of what Jack Benton had said about the treed cat, but this
time he did not grin. He was too anxious to reach the ship before his
supply of oxygen gave out.
And then before him, looming out of the shadows as gaunt and gray as a
ghost was the hulk of the pirate ship. Phil gave a cry of joy and
lumbered heavily forward.
Once the line that connected him with the upper world wound about a
projection of rock and he wasted precious time trying to disengage it.
It would never do to repeat that other experience of his. Once had been
quite enough!
At last he reached the boat, clambered over the rail and tried to find
footing on its slanting slippery deck. He half walked, half slid to the
first hatch and tried vainly to pry it loose. Swollen by water, its
hinges hopelessly rusted, it would take a force greater than Phil’s to
lift it.
Phil picked up the dynamite which he had carefully laid on the deck.
“It’s up to you, old son,” he said almost affectionately as he placed
the charge close to the hatch and fastened to the fuse the wire which he
had brought for the purpose. “You just get the hatches open and trust to
Uncle Phil to do the rest!”
The work done, he gave the signal and was quickly drawn up to the
surface. The boat put in for the shore and not until they were within a
few yards of it did they halt. Then Benton pressed the key of the
battery.