THE CASTAWAYS
Very small and pitiful appeared the tiny speck bobbing up and down
upon that wide expanse of restless sea in the faint morning light. But
rapidly it took on form as the destroyer slid hissing through the
sparkling water toward it. Through their glasses the boys could see
that it was a ship’s lifeboat filled with men and that one of the
occupants was standing up and wildly waving a bit of cloth fastened to
an oar.
“I’ll say they’re mighty glad to see us!” exclaimed Rawlins. “By
gravy, it makes me think of war times again! Confound those sneaking
Bolsheviks, they’re as bad as the Huns.”
“Worse,” declared Mr. Pauling tersely. “The Germans had the excuse of
war and these rascals are merely cutthroats. I wonder if this boat’s
the only one that escaped.”
“We’ll know in a moment,” said Mr. Henderson. “Lucky we found
them--there wasn’t one chance in a million. Things like this make the
most skeptical believe in the Almighty.”
“And the fact that that bunch on the sub get away with it makes a
fellow believe in Satan as well,” supplemented the diver.
A moment later the destroyer’s engines ceased to throb; she slipped
gently through the waves, and presently was resting motionless, rising
and falling, while the ocean castaways bent to the oars and pulled
around in her lee.
Then a coil of line spun from the hands of a waiting bluejacket, the
man in the bow of the lifeboat caught it and the next instant the
haggard-faced occupants of the little craft were being helped over the
destroyer’s rail.
There were twenty-two in all--a motley, cosmopolitan lot, the typical
crew of a modern steamship. Tow-headed, broad-faced Scandinavians;
sallow, black-haired, blue-cheeked Spaniards, whose greasy trousers
and grimy faces marked them as wipers, firemen and engine room crew; a
few swarthy Italians; one or two who might have been of almost any
nationality; two colored men; and a broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced
individual with keen, pale blue eyes who was evidently in command.
“Strike me pink, but we’re lucky beggars!” exclaimed the latter, as he
leaped on to the destroyer’s deck.
“Are you the captain?” asked Commander Disbrow. “Glad to have saved
you. We got your radio yesterday morning, but had little chance of
finding you. More luck than anything else. All your crew accounted
for?”
The Englishman drew himself up and saluted in true naval style. “No,
Sir,” he exclaimed. “I’m the chief officer, ship _Devonshire_,
Liverpool for Trinidad and Demerara. Captain Masters lost ’is life,
Sir--defending ’is ship, Sir.”
“Brave man!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “Went down with his ship, I
suppose.”
The Englishman turned and looked at him in surprise. “Whatever do you
mean, Sir?” he exclaimed. “Bless us, the ship wasn’t sunk, Sir.
Captain Masters was shot down on his bridge, Sir.”
“The ship wasn’t sunk!” cried Mr. Pauling. “Then why are you adrift in
a small boat and why did you send an S. O. S. and what _did_
occur? Come, let’s get this matter straightened out at once!”
“The ship was took, Sir. Made a prize of by the bloody
submarine--begging your pardon for the word, Sir. It was this way,
Sir. The dirty beggars never gave us arf a chance--played a dirty Hun
trick on us, the swine! You see, Sir, we sighted a drifting boat full
of men and bore down and took them abroad, Sir, and no sooner were
they over the rail than they whips out their revolvers and orders our
’ands up. Blow me for a bloomin’ fish if we wasn’t took that by
surprise, Sir, that we does it, Sir. All but the Captain and ‘Sparks.’
They were looking on--you know all hands always crowds the rails to
see what’s going on when a boat’s picked up, Sir--and it was all over
in a minute. No sooner had they stuck us up than the bloomin’ sub bobs
up. With that we was all aback and that dazed, with the suddenness of
it and the sub and all, that we don’t rightly know what to make of it,
Sir. And then ‘Sparks’ makes a dash for his room and Captain Masters
fires at the dirty swine just as one of them jumps after ‘Sparks.’ I
see, poor ‘Sparks’ stagger and lurch into his door and the bloomin’
beggar what shot him drops and the next second there’s a rifle shot
from the sub and Captain Masters springs up and pitches into the sea,
Sir. You say you got a radio from the ship, Sir? Then ‘Sparks’ must
’ave got it off before he died, Sir.”
“Yes, yes!” cried Mr. Pauling. “That accounts for the message ending
half finished; but go on, what happened after the captain and the
operator were shot?”
“Why, the blinkin’ bloomin’ devils just lined us up and ordered us
into a boat and sent a crew abroad the _Devonshire_ from the sub.
And just afore they steamed off an left us, Sir, strike me purple hif
a bloomin’ airplane didn’t show up! Blow me, but I thought we was
saved, Sir. But instead of savin’ of us the blighted plane parses us
by and goes along of the ship, Sir, and there we was adrift in an open
boat with only a gallon of water and no provisions and no compass and
a makin’ up our minds to face death and old Davy Jones like proper
British sea-man--though only five of us was British--when we sights
your little ship, Sir.”
“What course did they steer?” snapped out Commander Disbrow.
“About south by east--as near as I could judge by the sun, Sir,”
replied the officer.
The next instant, sharp, quick orders had been given, and, as if shot
from a bow, the destroyer leaped into sudden speed and surged through
the sea towards the south.
Then, as the rescued men were half starved and worn out, the questions
which Mr. Pauling and his friends were so anxious to ask were put off
until the latest victims of the dastardly “reds” could be fed and
rested.
Twenty-four hours in an open boat, (twelve of them under a blazing
tropical sun), without food and with but a gallon of water for
twenty-two men, might kill the average landsmen, but the survivors of
the _Devonshire_ seemed to be affected very little by the
hardships of their experience and declared that a hearty meal and a
few hours’ rest were all they needed to make them “perfectly fit” as
Robinson, the chief-officer, put it.
While they were resting, Mr. Pauling and his companions were busily
discussing this latest exploit of the men they were trying to run down
and by deduction and reasoning were striving to fathom the “reds”
object in taking possession of the _Devonshire_ as well as their
next moves.
“My opinion is that they are making for some port in order to escape
unsuspected,” declared Mr. Henderson. “They had no refuge they could
reach in the submarine or seaplane when they found us hot on their
trail and approaching Aves. But by steaming boldly into port with a
freight steamer, they could then desert and scatter without arousing
suspicions until they had disappeared.”
“That’s my idea also,” affirmed Mr. Pauling. “But I’m at a loss to
understand why they should continue to use the plane. If that appeared
at any port, it would at once attract attention. I should have
imagined that they would have sunk it or destroyed it and would all
have taken to the _Devonshire_.”
“Perhaps they did--later,” suggested Mr. Henderson, “but they cannot
escape us. They have only twenty-four hours’ start, we can make twice
the freighter’s speed, and the nearest port is a good thirty-six or
forty hours’ run in the direction they steamed.”
“Yes, but don’t count on their keeping that course,” said Rawlins.
“They’re foxy guys and they may have steered south by east just to
fool those boys in the boat. As soon as hull down they may have swung
to east or west--or even turned on their tracks and headed north.
Darned funny they were decent enough not to murder the whole crew. And
my idea about the plane is that they’re using her for a scout to warn
them of other ships. From a few thousand feet up, the pilot of the
plane can spot a ship way below the horizon and the _Devonshire_
can keep clear of ’em. Why, by glory! they could probably spot us and
know we’re following them. I’ll say we’ve got some job cut out for us,
if we’re going to try to run ’em down. And when it gets dark they can
slip away, easy as is. Now I don’t want to butt in all the time, but
my idea would be to fight them with their own weapons--play their own
game and fool ’em. If we shift our course as if we’d given up or were
on the wrong track and send out a few fake radio messages, they’ll
think we’ve given up and they’ll beat it for some port. Then, by
tipping off the port authorities, they can nab the bunch when they
arrive.”
“Hmm,” muttered Mr. Pauling. “A very good plan, Rawlins, except for
one or two flaws in it. For example, if we tip off the authorities,
what is to prevent those on the _Devonshire_ from hearing the
messages and acting accordingly? And if we don’t know the course
they’re actually taking, how can we shift ours in such a way as to
make them feel sure we have abandoned the chase? Finally, how will we
know what port they intend entering? They might sail for Europe or
Asia or the South Seas, for all we know.”
“Well, you’ve stumped me on the first question, I admit,” chuckled the
diver. “That’s your business Mr. Pauling--have to use some cipher I
suppose. But the others are easy. If we send radio messages to some
nearby port that we’re coming in--asking to have supplies or stores
ready, for instance--those Bolsheviks will bite all right. And as far
as knowing what port they’ll head for is concerned, if they think
they’re not being chased they’ll go to the port where there’s the
least danger and that’s where the ship’s papers are made out
for--Trinidad or Demerara.”
“By Jove! I don’t know but what you’re right,” exclaimed Mr. Pauling.
“I think I can arrange the cipher messages--in fact, in confidence, I
can let you know that a code was all arranged long before we left St.
Thomas. Every executive of every British and French colony down here
knows it. We had reasons for not giving it to the Dutch in view of the
suspicious actions of that Dutch tramp--and I’ll guarantee if the
_Devonshire_ puts into any British or French port, our piratical
‘reds’ will find they’ve stepped into a trap that’s set and baited.”
By the time Robinson reappeared on deck, looking a very different
being from the haggard, dull-eyed seaman who had been rescued from the
_Devonshire’s_ boat, Mr. Pauling had conferred with Commander
Disbrow and plans had been made in accordance with Rawlins’
suggestion. Robinson, when told of this, agreed with the diver that
doubtless the “reds” intended sailing the _Devonshire_ boldly
into some port and then slipping away, one at a time. He also declared
that he believed they would steam for either Trinidad or Demerara, as
the ship’s papers were made out for those ports. In order to consult
with him and secure his opinions, it was of course necessary to
acquaint him somewhat with the activities of the fugitives, but he
asked no questions and made no effort to learn more of Mr. Pauling’s
mission than the latter saw fit to divulge.
“Was the _Devonshire_ ever in Trinidad or Demerara, Mr.
Robinson?” inquired Mr. Pauling. “That is, with Captain Masters and
the other officers in command?”
“Not as far as I know,” replied the other. “I’ve been on her for three
years and this is my first trip out here. She’s always been in the
East Indian trade heretofore.”
“Ah, then that makes it still easier for the rascals,” commented Mr.
Pauling. “They can readily pass themselves off for the ship’s
officers. By the way, can you describe the appearance of any of the
men who boarded the ship?”
“Strike me, Sir, but I was too struck ’twixt wind and water to take
note of their appearance,” declared the officer. “I do remember one
who appeared to be in command, however--a big chappie with a red
beard.”
“That’s the one!” cried Rawlins. “By glory, I’d like to get my hands
on him!”
“So would I, old thing,” declared Robinson. “But why the bally pirates
let us free is a stumper for me. They might have known some ship might
pick us up and we’d give the bloomin’ gaff away.”
“Yes, that is a puzzle,” agreed Mr. Henderson, “but I suppose even men
of their type have a limit to the murders they commit.”
It had been decided to make for Dominica, partly because it was the
nearest British island and the survivors of the _Devonshire_
could be cared for there, and partly because Mr. Pauling and Mr.
Henderson were anxious to see and talk with the officials regarding
the looting of the bank, which had occurred some time before and which
they believed had been done by the same gang of rascals they were
trailing.
By the middle of the afternoon land was sighted, an opalescent, hazy
mass topped by great banks of clouds and looking, as Tom expressed it,
“more like a dream island than real land.”
As the destroyer drew rapidly nearer and sky-piercing peaks, vast blue
gorges, endless forest-clad mountains, and wonderful golden-green
valleys appeared, it looked more and more like a dream or a phantasy,
for the boys could hardly believe that anything real could be so
beautiful. Still it was far away and as the little warship slid
smoothly through the incredibly blue sea that showed scarcely a wave
in the massive island’s lee, the boys stood gazing steadfastly at this
most picturesque and lovely of all the lovely Caribbean islands.
“Gosh, but I’m glad we decided to come here!” exclaimed Frank as
Rawlins joined them at the rail. “When you told us back at Statia that
St. Kitts couldn’t compare with Dominica I thought you were just
joking, but gee, this is simply wonderful!”
“I’ll say ’tis!” replied the diver. “Every time I see it I get a new
thrill. And you’ll find it mighty interesting, too. It was right off
Dominica that Rodney licked the French and changed the history of the
West Indies. There’s a mountain lake in a crater and an active volcano
called the Boiling Lake here and over on the other side there’s an
Indian settlement where the last pure-blooded Caribs in the West
Indies live.”
“Oh, I do hope we stay long enough to see some of the place!” cried
Tom.
“Why couldn’t we have been here instead of at St. Thomas or St. John?”
“Perhaps, if you’d radioed the skipper of the Dutch tramp or the
red-bearded chap, they might have accommodated you and come here,”
laughed Mr. Pauling who had approached. “But, joking aside, I’d like
to see more of Dominica myself. It’s certainly a glorious sight.”
“What do they raise here?” asked Mr. Henderson, who had also joined
the group.
“Limes mostly,” replied Rawlins. “The famous Rose lime juice all comes
from Dominica. Father used to come here regularly for green limes and
juice. It’s the biggest lime producing country in the world, I’ve
heard him say.”
“Oh, I see the town!” cried Frank. “Right there at the mouth of that
big valley!”
“Yes, that’s Roseau,” said Rawlins. “Not much of a town, but with a
mighty fine botanic station. And you’ll find the natives interesting,
too. Lots of them still wear the old creole dress and they all speak a
queer Frenchy sort of lingo called Patois.”
“Why, I thought it was an English island,” exclaimed Tom.
“So ’tis,” the diver assured him. “But lots of the people don’t speak
English. It’s been French and British by turn and it’s between two
French islands--Guadeloupe and Martinique--and the country people and
most of the town’s people are more French than British.”
The island was now in plain view and as the sun sank into the west,
the great masses of clouds above the deep green mountains turned
slowly to gold and then to rosy pink; the vast gorges and ravines took
on shades of violet and deep purple; the sea appeared like a sheet of
amethyst, and as the destroyer slowly lost headway and her anchor
plunged overboard, a magnificent rainbow sprang as if by magic from
mountain side to mountain side, spanning the valley with a
multicolored bridge.
Even before the destroyer’s anchor had splashed into the sea and the
rattle and roar of her chains echoed from the hills, she was
surrounded by a flotilla of gayly painted small boats. Some were
ordinary rowboats, but many were queer-looking little craft, like big
canoes with projecting bows like the rams of old style warships and
one and all were manned by pleasant-faced, brown-skinned natives who
gabbled and chattered in a strange, utterly unintelligible jargon. But
before the boys had more than a glimpse of the boats and their
occupants, they were forced to scurry under cover, as from a clear sky
rain poured down in torrents, blotting out the distant mountains and
veiling the near-by quay and town with a white curtain.
“Golly!” exclaimed Tom. “It’s pouring cats and dogs and there wasn’t a
cloud overhead.”
Rawlins laughed. “That’s Dominica all right!” he replied. “Rainiest
spot in the world, I guess. My father used to say they measured the
rainfall here by yards and not by inches.”
“But how can it rain when there are no clouds?” persisted Tom, to whom
this phenomenon was most mystifying.
“I think I can explain that,” volunteered Commander Disbrow. “It’s the
moisture laden air from the Atlantic blowing across these
forest-covered mountains. The moisture is condensed and falls as rain
before it has time to gather in a vapor and form clouds. I’ve seen the
same thing in the Azores.”
But now the rain had ceased as abruptly as it had begun and presently
the ship’s cutter was in the water. Five minutes later the boys
stepped ashore at the little stone and concrete pier.
While Mr. Pauling, Mr. Henderson and Commander Disbrow turned up the
hill towards Government House, the two boys and Rawlins strolled
through the quaint little town and entered the big botanic station.
Never had Tom and Frank been so delighted or so enthusiastic over new
and strange sights as in Roseau, for it was utterly unlike anything
they had ever seen or imagined. The chattering colored women in their
long, trailing, stiffly starched, gaudy dresses with brilliant silk
foulards or kerchiefs about their necks and their jaunty, rainbow-hued
turbans gave a very foreign, out-of-the-world effect to the spot. The
narrow cobbled streets, with the open ditches, filled with swiftly
flowing water; the French names over the shops and stores; and the
wooden houses with outjutting balconies forming shelters for great
casks of lime juice, trays of cacao beans, and diminutive native
ponies--all lent a most picturesque touch to the place. The boys even
declared that the miserable huts with their walls made partly from
discarded kerosene tins and rusty corrugated iron and which were oddly
sandwiched in between the good buildings only added to the attractions
of the little town.
But when they reached the gardens and strolled along the perfectly
kept drives and walks between broad green lawns dotted with every
imaginable tropic shrub, palm, and flower, and wandered through dark
avenues of clove, nutmeg and cinnamon trees, with the air heavy with
the mingled odors of orchids, jasmine and spices, they could not find
words to express their appreciation.
“Gee, a fellow could wander here for a week and not see it all!”
declared Tom.
“And say, wouldn’t it be just great to ride up that valley into the
mountains?” cried Frank. “Golly, it looks wild and interesting.”
“It is,” Rawlins assured him. “Maybe you’ll have a chance to try it.
You can go to the Mountain lake and back in a day and anyway you can
climb up Morne Bruce here to-morrow morning and have a fine view of
the valley.”
Reluctantly, the boys turned back and taking a different route through
the town, reached the waiting boat. To the boys’ intense delight,
although their elders chafed at the delay, Mr. Pauling told them that
he planned to stay in Dominica to await expected news of the
_Devonshire’s_ arrival at Trinidad or Demerara and that he had no
objection to their proposed ride up the valley as it would be
impossible for the _Devonshire_ to reach port within the next
twenty-four hours.
As a result, the enthusiastic boys could scarcely wait to eat
breakfast the next morning, but hurried ashore with Rawlins and found
the ponies, which the diver had ordered through one of the native
boatmen the night before, waiting for them.
Even their boyish imaginations had never prepared them for the
beauties, the constant surprises, the strangeness and the interests of
that ride. They passed for miles beside the tumbling, roaring river
through endless lime orchards; they climbed steep grades that wound
around hillsides glorious with masses of brilliant flowers; they rode
under arches of giant bamboos rising fifty feet above their heads, and
as they mounted higher the way led through forests of stupendous
trees, enormous tree ferns, and tangled, cable-like lianas, where even
at midday, it was like twilight. Often the narrow road wound around
the verges of terrific precipices and, involuntarily, the boys
shuddered and drew back as the sure-footed mountain ponies picked
their way so close to the brink that stones, dislodged by their
passage, went crashing down to the dark forest a thousand feet
beneath. Sometimes too, they halted for brief rests and listened to
the flute-like songs of the “mountain whistler” or watched humming
birds flashing like living gems among the flowers of orchids or
begonias.
Then at last they came out upon the topmost mountain ridge and as the
heavy mist, which Rawlins told them was a cloud, drifted away, they
looked upon a vast sea of forest-covered mountains with a glimmering
little lake nestled among the verdure in a bowl-like crater at their
feet. Here, above the clouds, they ate their lunch and, heedless of
the drenching rain, returned down the mountains late in the afternoon.
As they came out upon the waterfront, they saw smoke pouring from the
funnels of the destroyer.
“Holy mackerel!” exclaimed Rawlins. “They must have heard something.
They’ve got steam up.”
Scarcely had the three scrambled into the waiting cutter, when the
little craft was speeding towards the destroyer and to Rawlins’
questions the petty officer in command replied that the Commander was
only awaiting their arrival before sailing.
No sooner had the cutter left the dock than the roar of the winch
engines and the incoming cable told of the anchor coming in, and
scarcely were the diver and the two boys over the little ship’s side
and the cutter hooked to the davit falls before the destroyer was
forging ahead and making for the open sea.
“What’s up?” cried Rawlins as he gained the deck. “Get a message?”
“Yes, an hour ago,” replied Mr. Pauling. “Here it is.”
The diver and the two boys glanced eagerly over the slip, and read:
“_Devonshire_ and crew held according to request. May, Inspector
Police. Port of Spain.”
“Hurrah!” cried the boys in unison. “They’re caught!”
“I’ll say they are!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Walked right into our trap!”