A CRY FOR HELP
As the destroyer drew into the little port of Orange Town, it seemed
as if every inhabitant of the quaint Dutch island had come to the
waterfront to welcome her, for the arrival of any ship, let alone a
destroyer, was a remarkable event in Statia. Since the little warship
was now visiting the island for the second time within a fortnight,
the people felt as if their island must be becoming famous.
No sooner had the party landed from the cutter than Rawlins began
questioning the natives in regard to the seaplane, but for some time
no one could be found who had seen it. The diver was just about to
give up and had declared his belief that the plane had not passed the
island, when a gray-headed, broad-faced old man, whose yellow skin and
kinky hair betokened negro blood and whose features and blue eyes were
thoroughly Dutch, pushed through the crowd and told Rawlins he had
seen the machine passing over.
To the diver’s questions the old man replied that he had been working
on his little plantation on the windward side of the island when he
had heard a strange noise and, glancing up, had been amazed to see
something like a huge bird flying far overhead. For a time he could
not imagine what it was and then he remembered the pictures and
accounts of airplanes he had seen in the illustrated papers that
arrived at Statia at rare intervals and realized that he was actually
gazing upon one of the marvelous things which he had always half
believed were impossible. In fact, he added, he had come to town for
the sole purpose of relating his story to his friends, but all had
scoffed at him and had declared he had been mistaken.
“Not a bit of it!” cried Rawlins. “You saw one all right, my friend.
What direction was the plane going?”
The old man was not sure, for his mind had been so fully occupied with
the wonder of the sight that he had not noted its course, but after a
deal of thinking he decided it had been bound for St. Kitts.
“Well, that knocks out my theory about Aves a bit,” declared Rawlins.
“But there are plenty of spots around St. Kitts where he could have
landed or he might have gone on to Nevis. Now let’s get up to the
hospital and see that old walrus of a Dutch captain.”
As they walked towards the tiny hospital, the boys expressed surprise
that there seemed to be no damage from the hurricane.
“Out of its track,” explained Rawlins. “Remember, I told you those
hurricanes are narrow. Of course, there’s got to be an edge to ’em
some place, and besides, they follow pretty regular routes. I’ll bet
St. Kitts got it, and yet over here--only a few miles away--they never
felt it.”
When they reached the hospital all hopes of securing information from
the skipper of the tramp were abandoned, however, for the attendants
told the Americans that the Dutch sea captain had been taken away the
previous day by some friends who had called for him.
“That’s blamed funny!” exclaimed Rawlins. “They told me down in the
town that no ship had been in port since the hurricane.”
“Hmm,” mused Mr. Pauling. “Perhaps they were friends living on the
island.” Then, turning to the young doctor who was in charge, he
asked, “What sort of men were they? Can you describe them? Did they
mention how they arrived here?”
“Why, no, I did not ask,” replied the interne, who spoke perfect
English. “I assumed they came in a vessel--small sloops and schooners
often put in from St. Kitts and there are packets coming here from
Curacao. They seemed to be seafaring men--not Hollanders, though. One
was a heavily built man with a red beard--German or Russian I should
say. The other was an American, I think--or possibly English--tall,
and very broad, with a smooth face and dark hair.”
Mr. Pauling and the others glanced at one another with knowing looks,
and an exclamation of surprise escaped from Mr. Pauling’s lips.
“I’ll say they were his friends!” cried Rawlins, as the party, after
thanking the doctor, left the hospital. “And not far away right now.
Beat us by twenty-four hours, but, by glory, we’ve picked up their
trail!”
“But how could they get here?” asked Tom. “They didn’t come in the
airplane or by a ship.”
“By the sub, of course!” replied the diver. “I told you I’d bet she
got clear before the old tramp blew up. And now they’re hiking off to
meet that plane.”
“If they haven’t already met her,” put in Mr. Henderson. “Rawlins, I’m
beginning to have as much faith in your hunches as Pauling.”
“Well, it’s up to us to find out,” insisted the diver. “It’ll be a
hard job to trail the sub, but as long as the High Cockalorum is up in
the air, we can keep tabs on him. Let’s get a move on and strike over
to St. Kitts. The faster we get after those boys the better.”
“But how could the sub come in here without being seen?” asked Frank.
“Couldn’t,” responded Rawlins tersely, “but a small boat from her
could. Or maybe they landed at St. Kitts and came over in a sloop.
We’ll find out down at the bayside.”
“That’s one advantage of a small place where every one knows every one
else and visitors are rare,” remarked Mr. Pauling when, after a few
questions, they learned that the red-bearded stranger and his
companion had arrived in a small schooner and had departed in the same
vessel with the Dutch sea captain.
“Yes, these islands are mighty poor places for crooks,” agreed Mr.
Henderson. “I imagine that’s why every one is so honest and crime is
so rare.”
A few moments later they reached the destroyer, and as they stepped
aboard Commander Disbrow approached.
“I have a bit of news that may interest you, Mr. Pauling,” he
announced. “We picked up the _Guiana_--Furness liner, you
know--and had a chat with her. Never thought of getting any news of
your man--just wanted data on the hurricane--and she reports having
sighted an airplane, or rather a sea plane, to the south of
Montserrat. Said they thought it a United States machine and tried to
signal it but had no response. Reported it as flying south--apparently
bound for Guadeloupe or Dominica and about three thousand feet up.”
“Bully for you!” Cried Rawlins enthusiastically. “That saves us a
jaunt over to St. Kitts or Nevis. When did the _Guiana_ sight
it?”
“About five o’clock last night,” replied the Commander.
“Then he was pretty near his landing place!” declared the diver. “He
couldn’t go on after dark. Come on, Commander, let’s beat it for
Guadeloupe!”
Half an hour later Statia was scarcely more than a blue cloud on the
horizon and St. Kitts loomed hazy and indistinct, while the towering
conical volcanic cone of Nevis lay to the eastward.
Although the boys had been disappointed at not being able to visit
these fascinating islands, they had learned much about them from
Rawlins and Commander Disbrow. They had heard about the abandoned
forts on Brimstone Hill at St. Kitts and about the troops of monkeys
which haunt the old barracks and parapets. They had learned, also, for
the first time in their lives, that Nevis was the birthplace of
Alexander Hamilton and was famous as the spot where Admiral Nelson had
been married. But such matters of historical interest appealed far
less to the boys than Rawlins’ story of the submerged city of
Jamestown which was destroyed by an earthquake and sank below the sea
in 1689.
“Say, wouldn’t it be fun to go down there in a diving suit and
look around!” said Tom, when the diver had described how the
coral-encrusted ruins could still be seen through the water on calm
days.
“Yep,” agreed Rawlins. “I’ve often kind of hankered to have a look at
it--and at Port Royal, over in Jamaica. That slid into the sea one
day--with a lot of treasure in it, too. It used to be a regular
hang-out for the pirates and the whole shooting match went under
during an earthquake in 1692. Some considerable spell of time since
then, but I shouldn’t wonder if a diver could find something there.”
“Gee, I wouldn’t like to live down here where towns have the habit of
getting drowned,” declared Frank.
Mr. Pauling laughed. “People who live in earthquake or volcanic
countries become accustomed to such things,” he said. “Even St.
Pierre, Martinique, where nearly forty thousand people were killed, is
being built up and inhabited again, I hear.”
A little later, land was reported ahead and through their glasses the
boys saw a rounded, gray mass breaking the sea line. This, the
Commander told them, was Redonda, and he added that it was an
isolated, barren rock, whose only inhabitants were the lighthouse
keeper and a small company of laborers who were employed in gathering
the phosphate rock.
Then, beyond, and so green that, as Tom said, it looked like a bit of
green velvet, the island of Montserrat gradually rose above the
horizon before the speeding destroyer.
“Gosh, that _is_ an emerald isle!” exclaimed Frank.
“Yes, and a little Ireland too,” agreed Rawlins. “If you went ashore
there, you’d think you were dreaming. Every one of the niggers speaks
with a brogue and there are Mulvaneys and Dennises and Muldoons as
black as the ace of spades and some of them with red hair. You see,
Montserrat was settled originally by the Irish and the brogue and the
names have come down through generations.”
“It seems to me we’re leaving all the most interesting places without
seeing them,” said Frank regretfully. “I’d like mighty well to see
Irish negroes.”
“You must remember we’re neither on a pleasure cruise or a joy ride,”
Mr. Pauling reminded him. “And you’re fortunate even to see the
islands.”
Then, turning to Rawlins, he asked, “Have you definite plans in view,
Rawlins? I suppose there is no use in stopping at Montserrat as long
as the _Guiana_ reported the plane south of there.”
“No, I’m going to ask you to let the Commander just hustle the old
girl right along and radio Guadeloupe for information. He ought to be
able to get it now. If they sighted the plane, we’ll have to try
Dominica, but there’s no radio station there and I’m still betting on
Aves. You remember, about that looting of the bank at Dominica? Well,
if they had a hang-out at Aves, that would have been dead easy. I
think, unless we hear he passed Guadeloupe headed away from it, that
we’ll hike to Aves without stopping.”
Mr. Pauling chuckled. “It seems to me that Henderson and I are
scarcely more than accessories now,” he declared. “Everything seems to
have fallen into your hands. But that’s quite right, Rawlins. You know
the islands and we don’t, and we’re following your hunch, you know.”
A few moments later, Bancroft, the wireless operator, appeared. “We
got Guadeloupe, Sir,” he informed Mr. Pauling. “They have no report of
an airship.”
“By glory, then ’tis Aves!” cried Rawlins. “There isn’t another spot
he could have made before dark last night.”
“Unless he came down at some out of the way part of Guadeloupe,” put
in Mr. Henderson. “I’ve been talking with Disbrow and he says it’s a
wild, little known coast, with few inhabitants.”
“Yes,” agreed the diver. “But I figure this way. That’s not the first
time the Old Boy has used a plane--and you can’t grab a seaplane at
any old time and place when the spirit moves you. No, he keeps that
machine for emergencies or uses it as a regular thing between certain
bases of his own and, even if he _could_ make a landing at
Guadeloupe or one of the inhabited islands without being seen, he
couldn’t keep the plane there unknown to any one. That’s why I’m
strong on the Aves hunch. He could have anything he wanted there, and
none the wiser.”
“Your reasoning is sound,” declared Mr. Pauling, “and I agree with
you. When should we reach Aves?”
“We could make it to-night,” replied the Commander, to whom Mr.
Pauling had addressed the last query, “but I’d prefer to slow down and
make it by daybreak--its a mere speck and scarcely ten feet above
water and there’s a risk in running for it in the dark.”
“Yes, by all means, wait for dawn,” assented Mr. Pauling. “We could
accomplish nothing at night and if there are men there, our lights
might warn them.”
Accordingly, the destroyer slowed down and with the vast bulk of
Guadeloupe stretching for miles along the eastern horizon, the little
vessel slid easily through the sea towards her goal. As usual,
Bancroft or one of the boys constantly listened at the radio
receivers, but no sounds, save the messages passing between two
distant merchant ships, came in.
With the first faint streaks of light upon the eastern sky, the
destroyer picked up speed and tore southward for the tiny speck of
land that lay below the horizon ahead. The forward gun was manned and
ready for emergencies; the two boys and their companions peered
anxiously through the gray dawn for a first glimpse of the sought-for
islet, and all thrilled with expectancy and excitement.
“There ’tis!” cried Rawlins, who was the first to catch a glimpse of
the tiny gray smudge that broke the even level of the sea’s rim.
Instantly, all glasses were focused on the spot and rapidly it rose
and took form as a low, flat-topped bit of land, rimmed with white
surf and with clouds of sea birds wheeling above it. So low was the
island that within half an hour of first sighting it, the destroyer
was as close to it as the Commander dared approach and all were
anxiously searching the desolate spot for some sign of life or of the
plane.
“Looks as if your hunch were wrong for once, Rawlins,” said Mr.
Pauling. “I don’t see a sign of anything but bare rock and birds.”
“Well, it’s all-fired funny,” declared the diver, “but I’m not sure
even yet. Maybe the plane’s on the other side of the island or in some
cove. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve searched every inch of the
place.”
But when, a few minutes later, they landed upon this isolated, almost
unknown bit of forsaken land and were almost deafened by the screams,
cries, and protests of the countless thousands of gulls, terns,
gannets, pelicans and boobies that made it their home, the island
seemed absolutely devoid of all traces of human beings. Rawlins,
however, insisted there was no other place where the sea plane could
have found a resting place for the night and he searched here, there
and everywhere.
Finally, when the party had almost completed the circuit of the little
ten-acre spot, the diver, who was in advance, gave a shout.
“I’ll say they were here!” he announced as the others hurried to where
he stood at the head of a deep indentation or cove in the rocky shore.
“Look here,” he continued, pointing to the bit of sandy beach, “a
boat’s been pulled up on the sand here within the last twenty-four
hours and there are their empty gasolene tins. Guess my hunch wasn’t
so far wrong after all.”
“Hmm,” muttered Mr. Pauling, as he examined the marks on the beach and
sniffed at the empty tin cans. “I’ll have to admit your hunch was
right, but it doesn’t do us much good. Our birds have flown.”
“Yes, hang it all!” exclaimed Rawlins. “They probably saw us coming
and cleared out, but they’ll have to land again somewhere.”
“That’s quite true and all very well,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but we
haven’t the least idea where or when. No, it’s no use trying to chase
all over the Caribbean after them. There’s nothing to do but go back
and await future developments. I’m willing to admit we’ve been
beaten.”
“Yes, the gang’s broken up and the tramp and their big submarine
destroyed. I doubt if they’ll give further trouble,” said Mr.
Henderson. “I think we’ve succeeded in accomplishing a great deal as
it is.”
While they were talking, they approached the waiting cutter. Suddenly
a screeching roar from the destroyer’s siren drowned the clamor of the
birds.
“Jove! What’s that for?” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Hello, Disbrow’s
signaling. Can you read the wigwag message, Rawlins?”
The diver stared fixedly at the figure of a sailor standing clearly
outlined on the destroyer’s bridge and rapidly waving the little flags
in an endeavor to convey some message to those on the island.
“Come a-b-o-a-r-d,” translated Rawlins, as the flags flashed up and
down. “I-m-p-o-r-t-a-n-t n-e-w-s.”
“By glory!” he ejaculated, as the sailor finished and the message
ended. “What in blazes has he seen?”
Rapidly, they hurried to the boat, scrambled in, and were soon
speeding towards the destroyer, all impatient to learn what had
occurred to cause them to be summoned and utterly at a loss as to what
the “important news” could be.
“Great Scott, but he’s in a hurry!” cried Rawlins, as the sound of the
anchor winch and the rattle of incoming cable reached them. “He’s
getting in his anchors already. And he’s pacing up and down as if the
deck were red hot. I wonder what’s up!”
“It’s an S. O. S.!” announced the Commander, as Mr. Pauling gained the
deck, “and it might mean anything. Came in ‘S. O. S.--submarine’ and
then stopped short. Not another word.”
Before he had ceased speaking, the destroyer’s screws were churning
the water and the island was rapidly slipping away.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “Looks as if these men were up to
their old game! But where was the ship when she called? Do you know
her position?”
“No, only in a general way,” replied the Commander. “Bancroft got the
message by accident--was overhauling the radio compass when he picked
it up. That’s the only way we know even the direction. They’re
southwest, that’s all we know.”
“I’ll say that’s important news!” cried Rawlins. “That shows the sub’s
still afloat, but I’d like to know what the dickens became of the
plane.”
“Do you think they really sank a ship?” asked Tom. “Why, they can’t
expect to get away with that sort of thing!”
“Of course, they did,” declared Mr. Pauling. “Otherwise the vessel
would not have sent the S. O. S. and the very fact that the message
was cut off shows they did. Poor fellows! They never had a chance and
we may be too late to save them now. As for getting away with it,
these men are desperate--utterly unprincipled, as you know. Nothing
they can do will make their plight any worse. They’ve sunk ships
before--so why not again?”
“But why should they?” persisted Tom. “I should think they’d just be
trying to get away, not stopping to sink ships.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” declared Rawlins. “The whole thing’s
blamed funny. I’ve a hunch it’s all a blind. I’ll bet that message was
sent by the sub or the plane just to get us away from here--or
something.”
“Hunches or not, I’m not taking chances,” declared the Commander
stiffly. “If I get an S. O. S. I answer.”
“Righto!” exclaimed the diver. “Glad you do. And, if luck’s with us,
we may get there in time to sight the sub and kill two birds with one
stone.”
But to find a ship or its survivors when its exact latitude and
longitude are known and to find such a tiny speck upon the broad ocean
when only its general direction is known are two very different
matters. So meager had been the sudden call for aid which had reached
the destroyer that no one could say whether the ship that sent it had
been five or fifty miles away and as there had been no time in which
to move the loop antenna of the radio compass about until the exact
direction was determined, the chances of the destroyer’s finding the
vessel or any of her company were very remote. Throughout the day and
all through the night the destroyer searched, steaming in circles and
with her powerful searchlights sweeping the sea.
In the hopes that another signal might yet come in, men were kept
constantly at the radio instruments listening and sending forth
messages, but the only replies received were from far distant ships
asking what the trouble was. To all of these the operators gave what
little information they had and asked if others had heard the frenzied
call for help. But only one had, a tramp bound from Cuba for Curacao,
and unlike the destroyer she had received the S. O. S. by her regular
antenna and so could not know the direction whence it came.
“Well, some of those ships may pick up the poor rascals,” said Mr.
Henderson when on the following morning Commander Disbrow reported the
messages which had been exchanged. “But it’s odd none of them heard
the call except that tramp.”
“I think that proves the vessel was near us,” declared Tom. “If Mr.
Bancroft got it on the loop and they couldn’t hear it on their regular
aerials, the message must have been sent from very close.”
“Yes, that’s quite true,” agreed Mr. Henderson. “But it doesn’t make
matters much simpler. Even a few square miles of sea is a big place.”
“You said it!” exclaimed Rawlins. “And a blamed sight bigger to the
poor beggars hanging on to wreckage or in a small boat than to us. But
I still have an idea it was a blind. That would account for those
ships not getting it.”
“I don’t just see what you mean,” said Mr. Pauling.
“Why, if it was sent from the sub or the plane, it would be a weak
message and wouldn’t go far and it may have been sent from within half
a mile of the island. Yes, by glory!--Come to think of it, they might
have been right there alongside and just sent that message from
underwater!”
“Jove, I hadn’t thought of that!” admitted Mr. Pauling. “I wonder--”
Before he could complete his sentence, the deep-throated cry of the
lookout rang through the little ship, and at his words all crowded to
the rails and peered ahead.
“Small boat two points off the starboard bow!” was the sailor’s shout.