ON THE TRAIL
Rockstone, the last outpost of civilization, had been left far behind
and many miles of river had been covered when at last Colcord turned
the boat’s bow towards shore and ran the craft alongside a fallen tree
that sloped from the high bank into the water.
Although the boys had seen much to interest them as they paddled
upstream, yet they were cramped and tired, for, with the exception of
a short stop for lunch at noon, they had been seated in the boat for
nearly ten hours. Moreover, after the first few miles, the river and
its banks were merely a constant repetition of what they had seen:
walls of tangled jungle like a vast green velvet curtain rising from
the river; vivid flowering trees; great azure blue butterflies; noisy
carrion hawks; chattering parrots and ungainly yelping toucans along
the shore--all reflected as in a mirror by the oily brown water.
They had expected to see Indians and to have the thrill of navigating
rapids, but Mr. Thorne explained that these would not be reached until
the following day and the boys were glad indeed to step on dry land
and stretch their cramped legs when the boat at last was run ashore
and preparations were made to camp.
Rapidly and with perfect system, the Indians commenced work, cutting
poles and stakes and in an incredibly short time a big tarpaulin had
been spread between the trees, hammocks were stretched and ready and
the savory odors of coffee, bacon, and broiling meat were wafted from
the campfire where Sam was presiding as cook.
Presently Joseph approached, naked save for a scarlet loin cloth, and
looking the thoroughly primitive Indian with a long bow and arrows in
his hand.
“Mebbe you likeum sabby how Buckman shootum fish,” he remarked.
“You bet we would!” cried Frank, jumping up. And then, remembering
that he must talk the Indian’s jargon, he added, “Me likeum too much.
Me come see.”
The Indian grinned and, without a word, turned and slipped silently
into the forest with the two boys at his heels. For a short distance
he led the way among the trees and then, turning towards the river,
came out upon a jutting rocky point. Raising his hand as a signal for
caution, he stopped, fitted a six-foot arrow to his bow, and stepped
silently towards the water’s edge. Intently the two boys watched,
utterly at a loss as to what Joseph intended to do. Then they saw him
suddenly straighten up and quickly draw the huge bow. Like a streak of
light the long arrow darted into the river. The next instant he threw
aside his bow, rushed forward, and, seizing the floating arrow,
dragged a big silvery fish upon the rocks.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, as the two boys rushed forward to where the
Indian was extracting a barbed iron arrow point from the fish. “I
never saw anything like that! Why, he shot the fish with his arrow.”
“Say, that _is_ a new way of fishing!” cried Frank, as he
examined the weapon. “This arrow’s just like a harpoon with a head
fastened to a line and not to the shaft. Gee, I wish Mr. Rawlins could
have seen that.”
Joseph grinned, picked up his bow and arrow, and a moment later had
shot a second fish. Absolutely fascinated, the boys watched him as
fish after fish was secured in this novel manner and then, as darkness
was rapidly coming on, the three made their way back to camp.
Mr. Thorne chuckled as the boys enthusiatically related what they had
seen. “I forgot to tell you about that,” he said. “You should see them
shoot fish in the rapids. That’s really exciting. And they call them
too.”
“Oh, now you’re fooling!” exclaimed Frank. “How can they call fish?”
“I don’t know how they can, but I know they do,” replied the explorer.
“They stand near the water and wiggle their fingers and whistle and
the fish come up. I’ve seen it scores of times and I’ll wager you’ll
see it done too.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to believe it, if you say it’s true,” said
Tom, “but it does sound like a fish story.”
Sam’s cooking proved highly successful, and as they were busily
eating, Colcord suddenly jumped up and stood listening attentively.
The next moment the boys heard a slight splash and a grating noise and
one of the Indians uttered a low cry in his native tongue. Immediately
from the river came an answering call and a moment later, a canoe
appeared in the reflection of the firelight on the river. About it the
Indians gathered.
“By glory, we’ve got visitors!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Wonder who they
are.”
“Indians,” replied Mr. Thorne. “Know who they are, Colcord?”
“No, Chief,” replied the Boviander. “I ’spect they’s Wapisianas or
Macusis from topside.”
As he spoke two bronze-skinned figures approached the fire, clad only
in their scarlet “laps” or loin cloths. Without uttering a word they
passed around the fire, shaking hands with each member of the party,
and then, squatting down, remained motionless and silent for a full
minute. Evidently this was bush etiquette for Colcord and Mr. Thorne
seemed to regard it as a matter of course. Then the explorer passed
the new arrivals a tin of tobacco, Colcord filled a tin dish full of
food and set it before them, and, as the Indians began to eat, the
explorer spoke.
“You fellow makeum walk Rockstone?” he asked. “Come all time topside?”
“Makeum walk Bartica,” responded one of the red men. “Come Pakarima
like so.”
“How you callum, Macusi mebbe?” inquired the explorer.
“Arekuna,” replied the other Indian.
“Eh, eh! Arekuna!” exclaimed Mr. Thorne. “You sabby white man makeum
fly all same bird like so?” The explorer made a sound like the exhaust
of an airplane’s motor.
The Indians glanced sharply at the explorer and muttered some words in
their own tongue.
“Me sabby,” vouchsafed one of the two at last. “Me hearum. No sabby
him white man. Me sabby him peai. No likeum plenty.”
“Ah, we’re getting on the trail!” exclaimed Mr. Thorne, turning
towards Mr. Pauling. “They’ve seen or heard the plane, that’s
certain.”
“But what do they mean by ‘peai’?” asked Tom.
“Magic, witchcraft,” replied Mr. Thorne. “Anything a Buck doesn’t
understand, or fears, or thinks supernatural, is peai.”
Then, again addressing the Arekunas, he asked. “Where you seeum? You
sabby what side him go?”
“No seeum,” replied the Indian. “Makeum noise like so. Him plenty
peai. Him go Maipurisi side.”
“Good!” cried the explorer. “Trust the Bucks to know where they went
even if they didn’t see the plane. I’ll bet they’re over in that lake
on the Maipurisi. Just the place for them.”
“Didn’t I say they couldn’t sneak around here without being seen?”
cried Rawlins.
“Hmm, it doesn’t look as if we’d have much trouble in tracing them at
all events,” remarked Mr. Pauling. “How far is Maipurisi from here?”
The explorer turned to Colcord. “How far is it, Colcord?” he asked.
The Boviander considered a minute and then spoke rapidly to the
Arekunas in their own native tongue. Then, when the Indians had
answered, he replied, “Two days coming down, Chief.”
“That means about six days going up,” commented Mr. Thorne. “There are
some pretty bad falls to haul over.”
Suddenly Tom was seized with an idea and, whispering to Frank, rose
and began rummaging in a chest.
“What are you boys up to?” asked Mr. Pauling.
“Going to set up our radio receivers,” replied Tom. “Perhaps we may
hear something. We ought to be listening whenever we can.”
“Good idea,” commented his father. “After this, we’d better keep one
set ready in the boat all the time.”
As the two boys busied themselves connecting the instruments, the
Indians and Colcord watched them closely, the red men seemingly
fascinated by the mysterious-looking cabinets and their bright,
nickel-plated binding posts and glowing bulbs. Little by little they
edged nearer and nearer until a circle of naked bronze bodies and keen
black eyes was formed about the boys and their instruments.
“I’ll say they think that’s ‘peai,’” chuckled Rawlins. “I wonder what
they’d do if a signal did come in.”
“Be scared half to death,” declared Mr. Thorne. “Those are fine
instruments you have, boys.”
“We made them all ourselves,” replied Tom. “That is, all except the
resonance coil. We got that from the sub.”
As Tom spoke, he adjusted the receivers, while; Frank moved the coil
slowly about. To the Indians this evidently savored of some mysterious
religious ceremony or incantation, and the boys could not help
grinning as they saw the eager eyes of their Buck friends following
every motion of the coil.
For some time Frank tried it towards the south, but no sound came to
Tom’s ears, and it was evident that if the plane were in that
direction its occupants were not sending.
“Swing it around to the north,” directed Tom “We’ll see if we can pick
up anything from Georgetown or any ship.”
Turning, Frank moved the resonance coil around, and the next instant
the sharp “dee-dah” of a dot and dash signal buzzed clearly from the
receiver. With one accord the Indians tumbled head over heels as they
strove to get away from the spot and, with frightened exclamations and
terrified faces, picked themselves up and cowered near the fire.
“Peai!” they exclaimed. “Plenty peai! Me tellum no likeum him fellow!”
Every one burst out laughing and the Indian paddlers rather
shamefacedly attempted to grin at their own fright. But the two
Arekunas would have none of it and jabbered together earnestly in
their own tongue.
“By glory!” exclaimed the diver. “If they’re that scared at the code
signals, wouldn’t they get a jolt if they heard a voice coming in!”
“Thank Heaven they didn’t!” said Mr. Thorne. “If they had, I’m afraid
they would all have deserted.”
Meanwhile the sharp “dees” and “dahs” were coming in on the
instruments, and Tom, from force of habit, was mentally forming them
into letters and words.
“It’s some cipher message,” he announced presently. “No sense to it at
all.”
“Take it down,” exclaimed his father, suddenly interested. “It may be
for those rascals with the plane.”
Once more the message was coming in and Tom rapidly jotted down the
words and handed the paper to his father. “They’re sending the same
thing over and over again,” he said. “That’s the third time it’s been
repeated.”
Mr. Pauling eagerly scanned the message and slowly a smile and an
expression of satifaction spread across his features.
“It’s for us!” he ejaculated. “Good news. The _Devon’s_ taken!
Jove! It seems little short of uncanny to be getting word from Maidley
way up here in the jungle.”
“I’ll say ’tis!” cried Rawlins. “Bully for the Colonel! Where did they
get her?”
“Hurrah!” cried the boys. “Now these fellows up the river _are_
in a fix!”
“He doesn’t say where,” replied Mr. Pauling. “Didn’t want to use any
name, I suppose--no cipher word for that--just says: ‘Ship taken. All
on board held.’ He’s no fool, Maidley. He knew the plane would hear
this and took no chances of saying anything to make them suspicious. I
expect he thought we might be listening and broadcasted the message in
hopes we’d get it.”
“Good old scout,” declared the explorer. “Just like him to do that.”
“Can you send a message back acknowledging this?” asked Mr. Pauling,
turning to Tom.
“No,” replied Tom. “We didn’t bring our sending set. We thought if we
received it would be all we needed.”
“Hmm, too bad,” commented his father. “Sorry Maidley won’t know we got
it and will keep on sending. Those fellows may get suspicious if they
hear the same message coming in night after night.”
“He’ll know we got it before to-morrow night,” declared Mr. Thorne.
“I’ll send word to him.”
“How?” asked Mr. Pauling. “What magic do you use?”
“Easily enough,” replied the explorer. “These Arekunas are going to
Bartica. They’ll be there before noon to-morrow and there’s a
telegraph line from there to Georgetown. Write a message to Maidley
and they’ll take it to Bartica and give it to the telegraph office
there. It will be in Maidley’s hands by noon.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “I didn’t realize we were so closely
in touch with civilization.”
The message was soon written and Mr. Thorne handed it to one of the
still frightened Arekunas. “Must for takeum Bartica like so,” he
instructed the Indian. “No looseum. When makeum Bartica side giveum
Mr. Fowler. You sabby him fellow?”
The Arekuna slipped the folded paper into a jaguar skin pouch hanging
from his neck, “Me sabby,” he said. “Takeum Mr. Fowler same way.”
“Can you depend on those fellows?” asked Mr. Henderson.
“Absolutely,” Mr. Thorne assured him. “I’ve never known an Indian to
lose or forget a message and they’re strictly honest and trustworthy.
I’ve known an Indian to travel over three hundred miles through the
bush to return ten shillings he’d borrowed.”
“Not much like our redskins in the States,” commented Mr. Henderson.
“I don’t know about that,” declared the explorer. “I’ve always found
primitive men honest--it’s civilization that ruins them. These Bucks
are little more than vagabonds and scalawags once they become
civilized and live near the settlements.”
Presently the Arekunas silently withdrew, the Indian boatmen sought
their hammocks, and the white men and boys followed their example.
Although the boys had become somewhat accustomed to the noises of a
bush night while at Colcord’s house, yet here in their forest camp
beside the mighty river, they felt strange and nervous. The boom and
croak of frogs and the incessant sounds of myriads of insects were the
same as they had already heard, but far louder and more numerous than
at Colcord’s, and in addition there were a thousand and one other
noises for which the boys could not account and which kept their
sleepy tired eyes wide open. But the Indians were sleeping soundly;
from Rawlins’ hammock, came lusty snores and the boys, despite their
nervousness, finally lost consciousness and did not awaken until
aroused by the sounds of the Indians starting the fire at dawn.
The Arekunas had already slipped away downstream, and, by the time
breakfast was ready, camp had been broken, everything was neatly
packed in the boat, and the Indian paddlers were waiting in their
places.
For hour after hour they paddled upstream. Rocky islands appeared in
the river--some bare and carved and worn by the water into odd
grotesque forms,--others covered with trees. The current flowed more
swiftly and just before noon a dull roaring sound reached the boys’
ears, and, peering ahead, they saw a line of flashing white stretching
across the river from shore to shore.
“First rapids,” Mr. Thorne informed them. “We’ll have lunch before
hauling through, Colcord.”
“Gosh, I call those falls and not rapids!” declared Tom as the boat
was run ashore on the sandy beach of a tiny island. “I don’t see how
you expect to get this big boat through that.”
“Wait and see,” chuckled the explorer.
As Colcord leaped ashore he stopped, bent down, and examined the sand.
“Water Haas!” he exclaimed, pointing to a number of small indentations
in the beach.
“What are ‘water haas’?” asked Tom. “Some kind of animals?”
“Capybara--sort of giant Guinea pigs,” replied Mr. Thorne. “They’re
likely to be in the brush here. Get your guns and you may be able to
shoot one. They’re good meat.”
Eager for the chance to secure game, the boys and Rawlins got out the
rifles they had brought and started up the beach, following the little
trail left by the water haas. Presently they noticed that, instead of
one, there were half a dozen tracks and at Rawlins’ suggestion they
separated and cautiously approached a tangle of palms and small trees
near the upper end of the island.
Gaining the edge of the thicket, Frank, who was nearest the river,
peered through the screen of foliage. As he carefully parted the
leaves and branches, there was a startled snort and three big,
clumsy-looking brown creatures leaped from the damp ground and stood
for an instant staring towards the boy and sniffing the air
suspiciously. So surprised was Frank at the sudden appearance of the
beasts that, for a moment, he forget to shoot, and the next second the
three animals were scurrying out of sight. Hastily throwing up his
rifle, Frank blazed away at the retreating forms.
“What was it? What did you shoot?” yelled Tom, as he and Rawlins came
running at the report of Frank’s rifle.
“Don’t know if I shot anything or what they were,” replied Frank. “I
was so surprised I didn’t fire till they were running away. They went
over there.”
Hurrying to the other side of the thicket, Rawlins, who was in
advance, gave a shout. “I’ll say you shot him!” he cried. “Guess it’s
one of those water haas.”
The two boys hurried forward and found the diver bending over the dead
animal, a curious-looking creature with short stiff hair, an enormous
head and broad blunt snout.
“Why, he’s got webbed feet!” exclaimed Frank who was examining his
prize.
“And he does look like a huge Guinea pig,” declared Tom.
Elated at their success, the boys picked up the animal and hurried
back to the boat.
“Yes, it’s a water haas or capybara,” declared Mr. Thorne. “Now we’ll
have a fine feast to-night.”
“But he’s got webbed feet,” said Frank. “Can they swim?”
“Can they!” exclaimed the explorer. “Like a fish. That’s why they’re
called water haas--it’s Dutch for water horse. They’re as amphibious
as seals almost.”
“Say, let’s take a swim!” suggested Tom. “I’m hot and the water looks
fine.”
“Don’t you try it!” cried the explorer. “The place is full of perai
and you’d surely be eaten alive.”
“Why, what do you mean?” demanded Tom, puzzled. “I thought perai was
magic or witchcraft. How can that eat us?”
Mr. Thorne burst out laughing and Colcord, who stood near, shook with
merriment.
“Peai is witchcraft,” explained the explorer. “Perai is a kind of
fish--‘cannibal fish,’ they’re called sometimes. They’re the most
deadly and savage creatures in the bush. They’ll tear anything that’s
flesh to bits, in a moment. It’s lucky I stopped you in time.”
“Is that really true?” asked Mr. Pauling. “I’ve read travelers’ tales
of them, but I always supposed they were real ‘fish stories.’”
“Not at all,” Mr. Thorne assured him. “Let me demonstrate it.”
Picking up a bit of meat, the explorer stepped close to the water and
tossed it into the river. Instantly there was a splash, a flash of
silver, and the meat was dragged under. The next moment the water
fairly boiled with leaping, darting fish, and the onlookers gazed with
amazement as the voracious, savage creatures tore and snapped and bit.
“Gee, I’m glad I’m not in there!” exclaimed Frank. “They’re like
hungry wolves.”
“Worse,” declared Mr. Thorne. “They seem to go blind mad at the smell
of flesh, and their jaws are so powerful and their teeth so sharp they
can bite a piece out of a plank. A man would be torn to bits--eaten
alive--if he went in there.”
“Jiminy, I’d hate to tumble overboard!” exclaimed Tom.
“That’s the odd thing about them,” remarked Mr. Thorne as they started
back towards the boat. “They won’t touch a man if he has clothes
on--apparently do not recognize flesh if covered by garments. In some
parts of the rivers they are harmless--never touch people--and the
natives bathe freely.”
“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” declared Tom. “I’ll go without a
bath for a while.”
Embarking once more, the boat was paddled upstream and at the foot of
the roaring, rushing falls, which the boys now saw were really a
series of steep rapids, dashing and foaming over the jagged black
rocks, the craft was run alongside a smooth ledge.
“All out!” cried Mr. Thorne, leaping ashore.
Filled with interest to discover how the Indians would get the heavy
boat through that tumbling seething mass of water to the river level,
twenty feet above, the boys scrambled up over the rocks and watched
every move of Colcord and his men.
“This isn’t a bad spot,” commented the explorer. “They’ll get through
without discharging. But, in many places, everything has to be taken
from the boat and portaged for a mile or more around the rapids.
Sometimes a score of such portages must be made in order to travel a
dozen miles upstream, so you can understand how tedious and slow
traveling in the interior is.”
“This looks bad enough to suit me,” declared Tom. “I should think the
boats would get smashed all to bits.”
“They’re built for the purpose,” replied Mr. Thorne. “Tough native
wood and with spoon-shaped bottoms, so they slide off a rock in any
direction.” Some of the Indians had now uncoiled a long light rope and
were moving upstream, jumping and scrambling from rock to rock, at
times plunging into the swirling water up to their armpits or even
swimming through the racing current, until at last they gained a
precarious foothold upon a projecting ledge in midstream, well above
the falls. In the meantime, others had attached a second line to the
stern of the boat and stood waiting for orders close to the water’s
edge, while the bowman and Colcord braced themselves in bow and stern,
grasping their immense paddles.
For a moment the Boviander glanced about, studying the lashing white
foam and the jagged, black rocks, casting his eyes over the waiting
Indians to see that all were ready. Then, with a sharp “Hi-yi!”, he
dug his great paddle into the water. Instantly the bowman shoved the
craft from shore into the current; the men on the bow rope hauled and
tugged with all their strength; the captain shouted orders and threw
his weight on his six foot paddle; the bowman paddled furiously; the
men at the stern line bent to their task; and slowly the boat forged
ahead. With consummate skill the Boviander and the bowman swung the
craft to right and left, clearing the rocks by inches; the stern line
kept it headed into the torrent; and foot by foot the boat crept up
the falls. How the captain and bowman ever kept their balance as the
boat rocked and pitched and seemed about to stand on end was a mystery
to the boys, but with bodies swaying to the jerking, tossing craft
they strained at their paddles--sweating, grunting, shouting, while
about the bow the angry waters foamed and seethed and the hungry waves
leaped above the gunwhales. For a moment the craft stood motionless,
shaking and trembling to the terrific strain, and then human muscles
and human brains won. The craft shot forward, the Indians yelled and
rapidly gathered in slack, and the next instant the boat was safe from
the torrent in a calm backwater above the falls.
“Gosh, that was great!” cried Tom, as, leaping from rock to rock, the
boys made their way towards the boat.
“I’ll say ’twas!” exclaimed Rawlins. “But, by golly, if a rope had
parted we’d have been in a nice fix.”
By the time the passengers were seated the lines had been coiled away,
the Indians were once more in their places, and a moment later the
boat was speeding upstream over a stretch of tranquil water.
But now the character of the river had changed. Sand bars and wooded
islands broke its surface; the trees along the banks towered upward
for over one hundred feet; the stream twisted and turned and flowed
swiftly in dark, wine-colored currents between the islands; and even
the birds and foliage seemed different. Little fresh water flying fish
skittered away from the boat, great flocks of twittering swallows
flitted about, clouds of brilliant yellow butterflies floated back and
forth across the stream, and once or twice the boys caught glimpses of
otters swimming in the river ahead.
In places, too, gaudy flowers that had fallen from the great trees
covered the surface of the river with a solid mass of color, and the
boat seemed to be passing over some gorgeous carpet, while the
reflections of foliage and trees were so perfect that the boys had the
strange sensation of being suspended in mid-air between two forests.
Very soon, however, the tranquil water came to an end and another
series of rapids barred the way. Once more the men labored and tugged
and dragged the boat up the falls, and time after time, as the falls
were reached, the process was repeated. Then Mr. Thorne announced that
they were approaching a really dangerous spot and as the boat rounded
a bend the occupants saw a plunging, rock-strewn cataract, half hidden
in the mist rising from the roaring water at its base. Here all the
baggage was taken out and carried over the rocks and with only the
empty boat the Indians and the Bovianders prepared for a tug of war
with the falls. Over and over again they strove to gain a foothold on
the slippery rocks, and a dozen times they were swept struggling
downstream. But they laughed and yelled and shouted and seemed to
enjoy the excitement and at last won a stand, waist deep in the flood,
and by almost superhuman efforts dragged their craft to the water
above the cataract. But the most dangerous part was yet to come. A
short distance above the falls was a huge whirlpool--a dark, sinister
mass of water in a basin of steep walled rock; deep, threatening, with
its current rotating silently, swiftly around and around while, at its
center, at the very vortex, masses of foam, bubbles and driftwood had
been drawn and were constantly being sucked suddenly out of sight or
thrust bobbing above the surface.
“Ugh! Isn’t that a nasty looking spot!” cried Tom. “Say, have we got
to cross that?”
Mr. Thorne nodded. “Yes, just sit tight and don’t jump and you’ll be
all right,” he declared. “If a paddle doesn’t break we’ll get through
safely. It’s the only way and the worst spot on the river.”
As he spoke the captain was testing each paddle, examining the blades
and handles for possible cracks and at last, with the baggage stowed
snugly, the Indians and Sam in their places, Colcord told them that
all was ready.
With fast beating hearts the boys seated themselves, Mr. Thorne, Mr.
Pauling, Mr. Henderson and Rawlins took their accustomed places and
with a “Yip-yi!” from the Boviander the paddles dug into the water and
the coorial shot out upon the swirling black surface of the pool.
With every ounce of their strength, with their muscles straining under
their bronze skins, the men plied their paddles and Colcord and the
bowman swung their weight upon their huge paddles at bow and stern.
For an instant the boat hung motionless, the bow quivered and vibrated
to the drag of the current and then the craft darted ahead. High above
the gunwales boiled the maelstrom as the centre of the whirlpool was
reached, the boat seemed actually to stand on end, it slid up a hill
of water and ere the boys realized it was accomplished the coorial had
dashed beyond the danger point and was safe in a narrow, swiftly
flowing channel above the pool. And at this instant, just as the boat
had gained safety, there was a sharp report and one of the Indians
tumbled head over heels as his paddle broke short at the blade!
“Gee!” cried Frank. “It was lucky that didn’t happen a minute sooner!”
“I’ll say ’twas!” agreed Rawlins. “We’d have been goners if it had,
sure.”
“A miss is as good as a mile,” laughed Mr. Thorne. “You have to trust
a lot to luck in this work.”
“Same as in diving,” remarked Rawlins.
“Well, Colcord, I guess we can call this a day’s work,” said the
explorer as the boat swung into the broader river and tranquil water.
“Find a good spot and we’ll make camp for the night.”
The boat was soon run ashore, the tarpaulin was quickly stretched and
the crew lolled about, glad of a chance to rest their weary muscles.
“I suppose we might as well listen and see if we hear anything,”
suggested Tom, as Sam busied himself with the cooking.
“Yes, take every chance you get,” said his father. “We’re getting
nearer and nearer to the spot all the time.”
But no sound came into the receivers and with Sam’s call to dinner the
instruments were laid aside.
But when dinner was over, the boys once more adjusted their receivers
and prepared to listen to anything that might be passing through the
air. Tom clamped the phones to his ears, Frank turned the resonance
coil about and as it pointed towards the south, Tom fairly leaped from
his seat.
“Jumping Jiminy!” he exclaimed. “They’re talking!”
“What?” cried Mr. Pauling. “Are you sure? Get what they say!”
Tense with excitement, leaning forward with breaths coming fast, all
were silent, listening with straining ears to the faint buzzing sounds
from the instrument while Tom rapidly jotted down the message.
“They’ve stopped!” he announced at last. “I guess--Gosh! What’s that?”
As he had been speaking, Frank, thinking the signals over, had turned
around and as he did so, sharp “dees and dahs” once more issued from
the receiver. Instantly all were again silent, glancing at one another
with wonder and amazement on their features, for the signals were
coming in with the coil pointed to the east! A moment later the sounds
ceased and Tom handed the slip of paper to his father.
“By glory!” ejaculated Rawlins. “Some one must have answered them!”
“Sounded like it,” agreed Mr. Henderson. “But it couldn’t be any one
on the _Devon_. We know she’s captured.”
“And it did not come from the direction of Georgetown,” said Mr.
Thorne. “Whoever was sending that message is to the east--in Dutch
Guiana I think.”
“It’s meaningless gibberish,” declared Mr. Pauling who had been
studying the sheet of paper. “Just numbers and nothing more.”
“Cipher, of course,” commented Mr. Henderson. “Well, that proves they
were talking to some one who replied. Otherwise the two messages would
not be in the same cipher.”
“I can decode it--if I take time,” declared Mr. Pauling. “But I
suppose if I do, it will be of little use--probably in Russian.”
“Well it’s blamed good news anyway,” cried the diver. “It proves the
old rascal and the plane are still ‘topside’ as the Indians say.”
“And also that we haven’t rounded up all the gang yet,” added Mr.
Pauling.
“No doubt they landed some one from the _Devon_,” suggested Mr.
Thorne, “or already had confederates in Surinam.”
“In a way I’m glad they have,” declared Mr. Pauling. “Otherwise they’d
not have any one to talk with. Better listen a while longer, boys.”
But no other signals came in and at last, yawning and tired, the two
boys put away their instruments and with the others crawled into their
hammocks and fell instantly to sleep.