THE END OF THE SUBMARINE
At the officer’s words every one leaped up and dashed on deck,
scarcely knowing what to expect, for the appearance of a submarine was
the last thing any had dreamed of and all felt sure the sub-sea craft
must be the one they sought. For a moment they gazed upon an
apparently bare sea, then, half a mile away, they caught a glimpse of
a dark object resembling the water-logged hull of a ship as it lifted
against the sky on a long roller. Already the destroyer’s men were at
the forward gun and with every one excited and expectant, the little
ship bore down upon the submarine.
“By glory, they must be going to surrender!” cried Rawlins. “If they
weren’t, they’d submerge.”
“Then why in thunder don’t they signal?” exclaimed the Commander.
Turning, he barked out an order and a moment later, a string of bright
flags rose to the destroyer’s stubby mast.
But there was no response from the submarine,--no answering signal.
“There’s something fishy about her!” declared Rawlins. “Guess they’ve
got something up their sleeves!”
“They won’t pull any monkey shines with me, hang them!” burst out
Commander Disbrow. Then, to the expectant gunner, “Put a shot
alongside of her!”
Hardly were the words uttered, when the decks shook to the roar of the
gun and a huge column of water rose like a geyser a few feet from the
submarine.
“That ought to wake them up!” cried Mr. Henderson.
“But it didn’t!” exclaimed the diver who was staring through his
glasses. “By glory, they must all be dead!”
The destroyer had now drawn within a few hundred feet of the submarine
and still there was no sign of life, no signal displayed upon the
wallowing craft ahead.
“I don’t like to sink her out of hand,” mused Commander Disbrow, “but
I’ll be hanged if I’ll board her until I know what’s up. See if you
can chip a bit off her conning tower, Flannigan.”
The big Irish gunner looked up and grinned as he saluted. “Thot Oi
will, Sor!” he replied as he carefully trained his gun.
And as, at the crashing report, the top of the submarine’s conning
tower vanished in a puff of smoke and a spurt of flame, the watchers
cheered lustily.
“I’ll be sunk!” shouted Rawlins when even this failed to bring any
response from the submarine. “They are dead--or else she’s deserted!”
“Have a boat lowered away!” ordered the Commander turning to the young
lieutenant, “and board that sub with an armed crew. Don’t take
chances. If you find any one, take them dead or alive--and be sure you
get the drop on them first!”
A moment later the boat was in the water, the armed bluejackets
tumbled into her and in the lee of the destroyer rapidly bore down on
the sub-sea craft while those on the destroyer watched them with every
nerve tense with excitement. They saw the boat draw alongside the
submarine, saw the officer and two men scramble on to the water-washed
deck and saw them cautiously approach the hatch with drawn pistols.
Then they disappeared and all waited breathlessly, expecting to see
them emerge with their captives. But when, a moment later, they again
came into view they were alone and gaining their boat headed back for
the destroyer.
“I’ll say she’s deserted!” cried Rawlins. “By glory, those rascals are
leaving a regular trail of deserted boats behind them. First the sub
off New York, then the schooner in the Bahamas, then that sub in Santo
Domingo and now this one! Suffering cats! They must have subs to
burn!”
“Well, if they’ve abandoned this one, I’d like to know what they’re on
now,” declared Mr. Pauling. “Perhaps they _did_ seize some other
ship after all.”
“We’ll know in a moment what’s up,” said Mr. Henderson as the boat
swept alongside.
“Forward starboard plates are stove in, Sir,” announced the lieutenant
as he approached and saluted the Commander. “Appears to have been in
collision. She’s half full of water and several bodies floating about
inside.”
“By Jove!” cried Mr. Pauling. “They’ve met their deserts at last!
Well, it’s saved us the trouble of following farther. I suppose you
did not notice the bodies sufficiently to describe them, Lieutenant.”
“Unrecognizable, Sir,” replied the young officer. “Evidently
suffocated by gas from the batteries when the water reached them. Not
pleasant to look at, Sir, but appeared to be members of the engine
room crew from their clothing.”
“Hmm, then I’m afraid we’ll never know if the leaders survived or
not,” mused Mr. Pauling. “Too bad, but it can’t be helped. I guess
there’s nothing else, Disbrow, except to land this gang we have in
Trinidad--I suppose that’s the nearest port.”
“Yes, it’s the nearest,” agreed the Commander, “but we’ll sink that
sub first. She’s a menace to navigation.”
A moment later the gun roared again and once again. Fragments of steel
plates and twisted iron mingled with the upflung water as the bursting
shells struck true and the shattered submarine sank to her last
resting place to form the tomb of those who had come to their death
within her. Now that the submarine had been destroyed there was no
chance of hearing the truth of the plans which had been made to rescue
Robinson and his fellow plotters from the destroyer and all possible
speed was made for Trinidad.
But Rawlins was still skeptical. “I’ve a hunch that old boy with the
monocle didn’t go down with that sub,” he declared as the blue waters
changed to a dull muddy brown from the mouth of the Orinoco nearly one
hundred miles distant. “I’ll bet he and Red Whiskers and some others
got away and saved their hides. They may have been picked up or they
might even have made land. And I’d like to know what became of that
blamed seaplane.”
“If they were picked up they’ll be reported,” declared Mr. Pauling.
“When we reach Trinidad, we can send out a general alarm to hold them
wherever they arrive; but personally I believe they’re dead. If the
sub was in collision, she must have been run down at night and in that
case all below were probably suffocated. The fact that there were only
a few bodies visible proves nothing, for there may have been many more
in the rooms or out of sight. Of course, the plane is unaccounted for,
but I imagine they left her somewhere and all took to the sub long
before it was disabled. You see, we have no proof that it was used
after leaving Aves--now that we know Robinson’s story was pure
falsehood.”
“Maybe,” was the diver’s comment. “But I’m still from Missouri.”
When the boys came on deck the following morning, the lofty mountains
of Venezuela loomed above the yellow-brown water ahead with blue-green
hills stretching far to east and west.
“Gosh! it doesn’t seem possible we’re looking at South America,”
exclaimed Frank. “Where’s Trinidad, Mr. Rawlins?”
“There to the east,” replied the diver. “Those mountains to the west
are at the tip of Venezuela, those lower green hills dead ahead are
the islands at the Bocas, and only the northern end of Trinidad and
those faint misty mountains in the distance are visible from here.”
Gradually, the apparently solid land ahead seemed to break up; narrow
openings of water showed between the hills and presently the destroyer
was steaming through the famous Bocas leading from the Caribbean into
the great Gulf of Paria.
“Golly, this _would_ be a nasty place to have anything go wrong!”
exclaimed Tom as the little ship passed between the jagged, rocky
islands and reefs that lined the waterway. “Maybe I’m not glad I
surprised that fellow.”
“Don’t think you’re the only one that is,” said Rawlins. “And Disbrow
isn’t dead sure something may not be wrong yet. Look at the way he’s
got men at the anchors and the way he’s just crawling along.”
But nothing happened, the destroyer passed through the Bocas in
safety, and, as the great bulk of Trinidad loomed ahead, the boys
forgot everything else in their interest in watching the beauties
unfolding as they steamed across the Gulf towards Port of Spain. They
could scarcely believe that the ranges of lofty, cloud-topped
mountains, the far-reaching valleys and the interminable shores
stretching away in the dim distance were on an island and not a
continent. When they mentioned this, Commander Disbrow explained that
Trinidad really is a bit of the tip of South America cut off only by
the narrow Bocas at the two ends of the Gulf of Paria.
“It’s wonderful,” declared Tom, “but still I don’t like it as well as
Dominica. Somehow it seems more natural for a place as big as this to
have all those mountains, but Dominica’s so different from anything I
ever imagined that it fascinated me.”
“And this is too much to take in,” added Frank. “Dominica was like a
picture that you could see all at once. Are there any interesting
things here?”
“There’s the Pitch Lake,” replied Rawlins. “Only it’s not a lake, but
a big bed of asphalt, and oil wells, and some fine water falls, and
the Blue Basin.”
“Well, I hope Dad lets us stay a day or two so we can see the place,”
said Tom. “Is the Pitch Lake near the town?”
“No--down at the other end of the island,” replied the diver. “You can
go by train and steamer or by motor car. You’ll find it a queer spot,
but hotter than blazes. When I used to come down here with Father, he
sometimes loaded asphalt at Brighton--that’s the port of the Asphalt
company--and I was always mighty glad to get away. I’ll say it’s the
hottest place in this world!”
They were now approaching the harbor and as Mr. Pauling had radioed
ahead that he had prisoners to be turned over to the authorities, a
police boat manned by gigantic black “bobbies” was waiting for the
destroyer when she at last dropped anchor off Port of Spain.
As the pompous, florid-faced inspector, followed by his half-dozen
black giants, boarded the destroyer the usual fleet of shore boats
drew close.
“Here, you!” cried Rawlins beckoning to one darky. “Hand me up a
paper.”
Tossing a shilling to the fellow, the diver seized the _Gazette_
and turned eagerly to the column headed “Maritime News.”
“Here ’tis!” he exclaimed, as he ran his eye rapidly over the various
items.
“Barbados, 29th. Steamship _Trident_, La Guaira for European
ports, put in with leak in port bow. Reports being in
collision with what appeared to be a water-logged derelict on
the night of 27th. Longitude 62° 58’ W. Latitude 12° 35’ N.
Captain Donaldson states that he believes there were men
clinging to the derelict as officer on watch insists he heard
cries after striking, but no trace of men or of the derelict
could be found although the _Trident_ stood by and burned
flares for half an hour.”
“But how do you know that’s about the steamer that struck the
submarine?” asked Tom.
“I don’t _know_,” admitted the diver. “But I’ll bet a five spot to
a plugged nickel it is, just the same. It’s the same position--or at
least within a few miles of it--as where we found the old sub. It’d be
blamed funny if there was a derelict and that sub knocking about the
same spot. Anyhow the _Trident_ didn’t pick any one up so I guess
my hunch was wrong about Old Glass Eye getting off.” While Rawlins had
been speaking, Frank had been examining the paper and suddenly he let
out a yell that made the others jump.
“Jehoshaphat!” he cried. “Just listen to this!” Then while the others
listened he read:
TO EXPLORE JUNGLES IN AIRSHIP
Demerara, Tuesday. The steamship _Devon_ which arrived
yesterday brought to our shores Messrs. La Verne and Dewar who
plan a unique expedition into the hinterland. Messrs. La-Verne
and Dewar brought with them on the _Devon_ the latest type of
hydroplane or flying boat with which they will explore the
unknown interior of the Colony. Their aircraft excited the
admiration and wonder of everybody as the two intrepid men got
safely off and rising gracefully from the surface of the
Demerara River soared like a great bird above the tree tops
and disappeared in the direction of the unknown solitudes. We
understand that Messrs. La-Verne and Dewar are conducting
their expedition in the interests of a large British and
American syndicate which is interested in the development of
the Colony’s resources. We wish the gentlemen every success
and a safe return.
“By the great horn spoon, that’s them!” shouted Rawlins. “Steamship
_Devon_. Well I’ll be sunk! By glory! How that Robinson did fool
us! And while those chaps were watching for the _Devonshire_
which didn’t exist they let the blamed _Devon_ come in and those
two devils fly away and never even smelled a rat!”
“Then you mean--” began Tom.
But Rawlins had grabbed the paper and had rushed to the room where Mr.
Pauling and the others were talking earnestly with the Inspector of
Police.
“I’ll say they lied after all!” he burst out, as the men jumped up in
surprise at his unexpected appearance. “It was the _Devon_ they
seized--not the _Devonshire!_ And she’s got in and landed the
confounded plane and those two precious scoundrels and got safe away
again! Here ’tis, plain as can be!”
Eagerly, Mr. Pauling seized the proffered paper and read the despatch
from Demerara and even the apoplectic inspector, who had seemed about
to explode with outraged dignity at Rawlins’ impetuous interruption of
the conference, forgot his ruffled feelings and scowled fiercely at
the unoffending sheet over Mr. Pauling’s shoulder.
“Jove, you’re right!” declared Mr. Pauling at last. “A coincidence of
that sort would be impossible. We’ve been tricked again, Henderson.
Outplayed. But it may not be too late yet. Have Bancroft radio to hold
the _Devon_.”
“No use now!” announced Rawlins. “She sailed day before yesterday.
Look down in the Maritime News and you’ll find it. And there’s another
item there--it was the _Trident_ that rammed the sub.”
“But, but, my good man!” spluttered the inspector. “You can capture
her. She cannot be far away you know!”
“No?” replied the diver questioningly. “Not in miles perhaps, but
where? Did she sail north, east, south or west? The sea’s a mighty big
place and a ship’s a mighty small thing to find on it--especially when
she don’t want to be found. And what’s her name now? You can bet your
bottom dollar she isn’t the _Devon_ any longer.”
“But really, really, my good man, I’m not accustomed to being
addressed in that manner, Sir!” burst out the inspector. “I’d have you
understand I’m the Inspector of Police, Sir. Why, who under the sun
are you anyway, Sir?”
“I’m a poor boob that thought you fellows down here had common sense!”
retorted Rawlins hotly. “Why the dickens didn’t they have brains
enough to think of _Devon_ and _Devonshire_ being too blamed
much alike?”
“Come, come, Rawlins!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling in mollifying tones.
“Major May is not to blame and I suppose there really was no reason
for suspecting the _Devon_ to be the _Devonshire_.”
Then, turning to the purple-faced officer. “Major,” he said, “let me
introduce Mr. Rawlins. He’s our guide, philosopher, and friend, if I
may quote a hackneyed saying. I don’t know what we’d do without him.
He and the boys are really responsible for all we’ve accomplished and
he’s famous for his hunches.”
Rawlins grinned and grasped the inspector’s hand and the latter, as
quick to recover his temper as to lose it, smiled under his bristling
white mustache. “Jolly glad to know you!” he declared. “Sorry if I
offended you and all that. Bit peppery I expect--India and liver, you
know. Curry, and all that sort of thing. Ah, yes--and the
hunches--’pon my word, never heard of them. Sort of cocktail, are they
not?”
The diver could not restrain his merriment and Mr. Pauling and the
others grew scarlet.
“Not quite, Major,” Rawlins managed to reply. “Don’t know if I can
explain it--Yankee term, sort of slang, meaning a premonition or
something like it, a--well a hunch you know.”
But the splenetic old veteran could take a joke even if on himself and
roared with laughter at his own error.
“Jolly good thing, that about the _Devon_,” he declared when all
were on good terms once more. “Now we have a proper charge against
these rascals you have. Couldn’t see my way before--with no such ship
as the bally old _Devonshire_. Couldn’t accuse them of doing away
with a ship that didn’t exist, you know. All different now, though.
Well, I must be off. Anything I can do, just call on me. Any plans in
view?”
“I’ll say we’d better beat it for Demerara,” declared Rawlins before
Mr. Pauling could reply. “If those devils are off in that seaplane, we
may get ’em yet. They’ve got to land somewhere and they’ve got to come
back. They can’t fly clean across South America without gas.”
“Righto!” agreed the inspector. “Cousin of mine inspector there, you
know. Give him my regards. Good chap, Philip, rather new to his job,
of course, and all that sort of thing--but smart chap. Yes, he’ll do
anything to help you, rather!”
“Now, what’s this big idea about going to Demerara?” asked Mr.
Pauling, after the inspector had left accompanied by his men and with
the surly prisoners securely handcuffed.
“Why, my idea is just this,” the diver explained. “Those two rascals
have beat it for the interior in their plane. Of course, they were
that slick guy with the monocle and old Red Whiskers--but you know as
well as I do that they’re not exploring or in the interests of any
syndicate. But I will say they’ve got some sense of humor at
that--‘big American and British syndicate,’ by glory! They’re half
telling the truth at that--the ‘reds’ are _some_ syndicate, I’ll
tell the world! But that trip of theirs is just bluff. They’ve just
gone up in the bush a ways to lie low until we’ve dropped off their
trail. And I’ll say they had some everlasting nerve to use the name
_Devonshire_ and run the risk of the bobbies over there getting
suspicious when the _Devon_ came in. Expect it was so the crew
wouldn’t have trouble in remembering it. Well, as I was saying,
they’ll hide out in the bush or, by Jimminy, they may be headed for
Dutch Guiana! But, whatever it is, a plane can’t go snooping around
Guiana without attracting attention and we can trail ’em easy.”
“Admitting all that is true, as it no doubt is, whose attention is the
plane going to attract and how do you propose trailing them?” asked
Mr. Pauling.
“Also,” he added, “what makes you think the _Devon_ was seized?
Perhaps, the two took passage on her from some port with their plane.”
“I’ll answer the last question first,” replied the diver. “A couple of
chaps don’t go touring around the West Indies carrying a seaplane in
their handbag and if they’d appeared suddenly at some port, as if
flying around, the paper would have mentioned it. Trust the skipper of
the _Devon_--if he’d been genuine--to make a good yarn out of it.
Besides, if they hadn’t seized the ship, how the deuce would Robinson
have thought of using the same name and just tacking a ‘shire’ on it?
If he’d been straight--or rather if they’d just boarded the
_Devon_ as you suggest--he’d have said _Devon_. And there’s
that Anannias Club we just sent ashore. We know they lied because
there wasn’t any _Devonshire_ or I’d think they were survivors
from the _Devon_. But as long as they weren’t, then they’re part
of the gang. The only thing that gets me is where they stowed away a
big enough crew on the sub to send twenty-two men aboard us and have
enough left to man the _Devon._ And now about the other
questions. The Indians are the ones who’ll see the plane and you can
bet your boots they’ll all see it--think the Great Spirit himself’s
coming I expect. By talking to a few of the Indians, we can trail that
old plane as easy as if they were blazing their way.”
“But you forget Guiana is a big territory and a plane can hide
anywhere on the rivers,” objected Mr. Pauling. “No, Rawlins, I’m
afraid they’ve given us the slip for good.”
“Yes, I agree with you there,” declared Mr. Henderson, “but I do think
it may be well to run over to Demerara. We can have a talk with the
officials and leave them to apprehend the plane--and the _Devon_,
if it comes back.”
“Very well,” assented Mr. Pauling. “It’s two to one, so I agree.
Disbrow, we might as well get under way for Demerara.”