AMONG THE HEAD-HUNTERS
“WHAT shall we do, Tom?” exclaimed Ned, as he stood beside his chum,
regarding the pirate flotilla. “Going to fight? Better turn on the
ammonia tubes! Let’s get out the machine gun!” One of these weapons had
been brought along. “We can stand them off!” and Ned started back to the
rear of the cabin where the weapons were kept.
“Wait a minute!” ordered Tom Swift. “I don’t believe we’d better shoot,
Ned!”
“But, man alive, why not? They’ll kill us if we don’t. Look at their
savage faces!”
“They’re regular fiends!” said Peltok. “They’ll not only capture us, but
they’ll torture us before they eventually kill us. This tribe is one of
the worst of the Malay pirate bands!”
“I haven’t the least doubt of it,” assented Tom. “But at best we can
kill only a few of them before the rest will swarm over us.”
“There’s something in that,” agreed Hartman. “But still we shall have to
do something. They’ll capture the ship if we don’t! Get down off that!”
he yelled as one of the boats was suddenly paddled forward and a Malay,
horribly decked out in war paint and feathers, leaped up on one of the
plane’s wings. Impulsively Hartman jumped outside and pushed the pirate
off the airship into the water, where he fell with a splash.
This did not disconcert him, however, for the Malays were like fishes in
the ocean, and he swam back to his canoe while his companions laughed.
At this Tom Swift’s face brightened and he exclaimed:
“We have a chance. Any tribe, no matter how savage, that can see the
funny side of life is open to reason.”
“Do you mean you’re going to reason with these fellows?” asked Ned.
“What’s the idea? We can’t hang around here making those fellows laugh
and getting them into good humor so they’ll let us go. If you’re going
to win this race, Tom——”
“I’m going to do my best to win it,” was the answer. “But harsh measures
may be the very worst sort we could adopt. I have an idea we can escape
from these pirates by a little strategy.”
“What kind?” Ned wanted to know.
“I’ve got to work out a plan,” Tom answered. “Meanwhile, how will this
do to impress them?”
Without waiting for his chum to answer and not consulting the others,
Tom went to a chest in the corner of the cabin and took out a small
black globe. From it dangled the end of a fuse, and to this Tom set a
match.
“Going to bomb them?” asked Ned. “Good! I’d never thought of that! But I
thought you advocated peaceful measures.”
“This will be peaceful enough,” Tom said with a smile, looking out on
the ever increasing flotilla of Malay canoes. So closely were they now
clustered around the airship that it would have been impossible for her
to have gotten up speed enough to taxi across the water and to rise in
the air. The engines had been shut down, and it seemed that the _Air
Monarch_ was at the mercy of the pirate horde.
“A peaceful bomb!” cried Ned. “That’s one on me. But be careful where
you throw it, Tom, or you may damage us more than you damage those imps.
Though I’d like to see ’em all blown sky high!” he added vindictively.
“They won’t be blown far with this,” remarked Tom Swift, as, noting that
the fuse was almost burned down, he hurled the black object through the
open window straight into the midst of a number of canoes.
There was a yell of surprise from the pirates as they saw the object,
with its faint trail of smoke, coming toward them. A moment later there
was a little explosion, hardly louder than that of a fire-cracker, and a
great cloud of smoke floated over the scene, hiding the pirates from
view.
“I get you now!” yelled Ned. “A smoke bomb such as they use in the
movies! We’ll escape while they are blinded by the smoke.”
“No, not exactly,” Tom said. “The smoke will hamper us as much as I hope
it scares these pirates. I only want to impress them and lay pipes for
another demonstration later. I brought some of these smoke bombs along
to use for signaling, but they may serve another purpose.”
Indeed, this one seemed destined to act that way, for from the midst of
the heavy cloud of white vapor came yells and cries of fear and
astonishment. Meanwhile, those in the airship waited for Tom’s next
move.
“This will give them the idea that we are a supernatural bunch, I hope,”
said the young inventor. “They’ll hesitate about rushing us, and that’s
what I want—to hold off that overwhelming rush.”
Tom Swift seemed likely to get his wish, for when, after a minute or
two, the smoke screen was blown away, the water about the _Air Monarch_
was clear of pirate canoes. The paddlers had hastily drawn back from too
close proximity to the “foreign bird-ship,” as, doubtless, they called
the craft.
But if the danger of an immediate and overwhelming rush was over for a
time, the menace of the Malay horde still remained. For though the
canoes had withdrawn to a respectful distance they still hemmed the
aircraft in, and it would have been impossible to get headway enough to
rise without crashing into part of the flotilla. This might kill a
number of the pirates. It was also likely to damage the _Air Monarch_.
“Here comes the chief. I think he wants a parley,” said Peltok, as the
largest canoe of all, much bedecked with feathers and other ornaments,
shot out from the midst of the boats and was paddled toward the
aircraft. On a raised platform amidships sat a fat Malaysian surrounded
by his attendants. One of them began shouting something to which Peltok
listened attentively.
“He’s the chief, all right,” he translated to the others after an
exchange of talk between himself and the Malaysian. “He says he will let
us depart in peace if one of us will remain to be offered as a
sacrifice.”
“A sacrifice!” cried Tom. “A sacrifice to what?”
“To one of their heathen gods,” Peltok announced. “It seems the tribe
has had bad luck and they think their god should be propitiated. A white
man as a sacrifice will do the trick, that Malay chap said. That smoke
bomb scared them,” he went on. “They can see that we have great power.
But still they are not enough impressed to let us go free, though they
say they will withdraw their boats and let us go on our way if one of
our party is handed over for sacrifice.”
“And if we refuse?” asked Tom.
“Then they will rush on us and kill us all, no matter how many of them
we may kill,” translated Peltok. “Thus will their god be appeased and
fortune will smile on them, the chief says.”
“They’re desperate enough to do just that,” said Tom. He seemed lost in
thought for a moment, and then he added: “Tell them we will let them
know in the morning. Hold them off until after dark,” he added. “By that
time we’ll have had a chance to go over our motors and be ready for a
rush.”
“But it will be dangerous to crash through those canoes,” objected Ned.
“Maybe there won’t be any canoes left when we get ready to leave,”
replied Tom, with a smile. “Go ahead, Peltok, tell them we will decide
by morning.”
Again there was an interchange of words in the Malay tongue, and when
there was a pause Peltok turned and said:
“They agree. If by morning you will donate one of the party to sacrifice
they will give us free passage over their sea. If not, they will kill us
all!”
“There are two sides to every story,” quoted Tom. “Ours yet remains to
be told. Come on now,” he urged his companions. “Let’s get busy on the
motors. They may not need much tinkering with. But we’ll tune them up
and be ready for the dash.”
While the mechanics were making some adjustments, which fortunately
proved to be very few, Ned asked Tom:
“What’s the game?”
“Fireworks,” answered the young inventor. “I’ve got a few I brought
along, Ned, not really knowing what use I might make of them. But now I
see a chance.
“To-night,” went on Tom, “when we are ready to start, I’ll shoot some
rockets and Roman candles over the heads of the Malays. They’ll probably
be surrounding us in their canoes. But the fireworks will scatter them
and we’ll have a clear lane to shoot through.”
“Good!” cried Ned. “I wondered what you were going to do. This will turn
the trick, I think.”
Though the triple ring of canoes had withdrawn a little distance from
the airship, the big craft was still so well invested that unless the
rings were broken escape would be out of the question.
Darkness fell rapidly. Tom and Ned got a meal ready, serving it to the
mechanics who were working fast to complete the adjustments made
necessary by the strain to the ship caused by the typhoon.
It was nearly midnight when Tom, having got out the fireworks, made
ready for his surprise. With the help of his four friends, he laid a
battery of rockets in wooden troughs so they would shoot in four
directions from the airship. Then, directly ahead, in the path he
intended to use to get up speed to mount into the air, he aimed some big
Roman candles.
“All ready!” cried Tom when Ned and the others had announced that they
were prepared. “Let ’em go!”
With terrifying roars, with sharp explosive pops and showers of sparks,
the rockets and Roman candles whizzed forth. The darkness was set aglow
with a terrifying glare, and from the watchers in the canoes came yells
of dismay.
“Start the motors!” cried Tom when, by means of the red glow, he saw the
canoes scurry away, leaving a free passage.
With a roar, the powerful machines got into action, the propellers
whirled, and the _Air Monarch_ shot across the water.
A few seconds of this ever increasing speed enabled the craft to rise
into the air, and then she was on her way, winging her flight high over
the heads of the terrified and disappointed savages.
“That will hold them for a while!” cried Ned, as he aimed the last
burning balls of his Roman candle down on the dark mass of fleeing
natives.
All through the night the machine roared on, reducing each hour the
distance that separated her from the final goal. There were still many
thousands of miles to cover, however, and several days would be needed
to do this.
It was on the third day after having escaped from the Malay pirates and
while proceeding along over the Pacific that the machine which Tom was
guiding swerved sharply to the left. It almost turned turtle, but he
righted it quickly and then shut down the power.
“What’s the matter?” shouted Ned.
“We’re wrecked, I’m afraid,” was the answer. “One of our propellers is
broken. We’ve got to descend! I’ll head for that island!”
“No! Not there! Not there!” cried Peltok, who had been studying the
charts just before the accident. “Don’t go down there.”
“There’s no help for it,” said Tom. “But what’s the objection?”
“That island is inhabited by head-hunters!” was the answer. “They are
even worse than the Malay pirates!”
“It can’t be avoided!” said Tom Swift. “We’re disabled. We’ll have to
take our chance!” and a few minutes later he guided his craft down into
a little natural harbor of the island, the shores of which swarmed with
savage-looking men.