ON THE TRAIL OF THE SUBMARINE
Rawlins was the first to recover from the shock. “I’ll say that was a
close shave!” he cried. “The dirty skunks! Missed us though and a miss
is as good as a mile.”
Then, before any one had time to speak, he sprang towards the open
hatchway. “Quick!” he shouted, as he leaped down the ladder. “Down
below! Everybody! Hurry!”
Without stopping to question and only realizing that he must have good
reasons for his orders, the others rushed after him and scarcely was
the last one at the foot of the stairs when the hatch slid into place,
men sprang to levers and wheels and the submarine was diving.
“Jiminy!” exclaimed Tom. “What on earth’s the matter? What do you mean
by saying they missed us and then hustling us down below?”
“Don’t you understand?” snapped Rawlins. “It’s clear as glass. They
tried to get us—knew we or the destroyer were trailing them and towed
that schooner along as bait. Had it loaded with explosives and figured
on touching them off when we or the destroyer sighted her and ran
alongside. But they failed by about a minute. Probably timed the
blamed infernal machine for the destroyer and didn’t allow for our
speed—darned lucky for us! I don’t wonder they cleared out as fast as
they could leg it.”
“Then if we’d been nearer we’d have been sunk!” cried Frank.
“Sunk!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Sunk! Why we’d have been blown to bits!
But by crickey we’ll fool ’em and give 'em the jolt of their lives!
Get busy with that detector, boys, and see if we can hear her screw
again.”
The two boys sprang to their instruments and clapped the receivers to
their ears.
“But what do you mean about surprising them?” asked Tom, still
confused and puzzled.
“Why they’re down at the bottom now waiting, but they’ll be up having
a look around to see if they made a good job of us,” explained
Rawlins, “and while they’re squinting at the water and patting
themselves on the back for their cleverness we’ll just bob up
alongside.”
“But they may run into us,” objected Frank. “If they’re moving around
down here, and they’ll heat our screws too.”
“Don’t you worry, son,” replied Rawlins. “We’re on hard bottom ten
fathoms deep and quiet as a mouse and they’ll be on the surface
looking for oil or wreckage. And by glory I’ll bump ’em, as the
quarter-master says—that is, if I may, Mr. Pauling.”
“H-m-m,” muttered Mr. Pauling. “I don’t think they’re worthy of any
consideration. They evidently tried to destroy us and are no better
than pirates. I guess we’ll be perfectly safe in firing on them if
necessary. But don’t sink them first thing, Rawlins. Put a shot over
them—close enough to let them know we mean business. They can give us
valuable information if we capture them, but dead men don’t talk.”
“You bet I’ll show ’em we mean business!” declared Rawlins. “I handled
a gun and crew during the war and I bet my bottom dollar I can slam a
shell so close to ’em it will take their hats off without rumpling
their hair.”
“Oh, I hear that whirring again!” cried Frank excitedly.
“Me too!” added Tom.
Bancroft grabbed the receivers and put them on. For an instant he
listened attentively and to his ears came the steady unmistakable
swishing whir of a vessel’s screw, the sound Frank had so aptly
compared to a heavy wind.
“She’s a-coming!” announced the operator. “Not far off, either!”
Rawlins sprang to the periscope and glued his eye to it, swinging it
around throughout the entire arc of its movement.
“Now they’re closer!” cried Bancroft. Then a moment later: “Going off
again! Sounds as if they’re circling!”
“I see ’em!” shouted Rawlins. “At least, I see their shadow.
Yep—they’re circling. All ready! Stand by! Did you squirt that oil,
Quartermaster?”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” replied the sailor. “Ready to emerge, Sir?”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, to whom a new thought had just occurred.
“Perhaps they’ll drop a depth bomb!”
“Thunderation!” cried Rawlins, “I hadn’t thought of that! Don’t
believe they’ve got one though and it would be too risky to
themselves. We’re going up now. All ready for the surprise party!”
Then followed quick, sharp orders, men scurried about, levers were
pulled and control wheels whirled while Rawlins stood with his eyes at
the periscope and the quartermaster gazed fixedly at the dial of the
depth indicator.
“Two fathoms, Sir!” he announced calmly.
“Periscope’s up!” cried Rawlins. “I see her—off to starboard! All
ready? Come on!”
At his last word he had bounded to the ladder with his men at his
heels, the hatch slid open and onto the deck they poured with the two
boys, Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson bringing up the rear.
A few hundred yards away a large submarine was floating, her upper
works high above the smooth sea with a number of men gazing intently
at the water from her decks.
The next instant they caught sight of the craft they had thought sunk
and were as surprised, dumbfounded and amazed as if they had seen a
ghost. Loud shouts and cries came clearly across the water from them,
they ran hither and thither, confused, getting in one another’s way
and utterly at a loss to know what to do.
Before they could make a move, Rawlins and his crew had reached the
gun, a shell was slipped into the breech, Rawlins spun the controls,
the wicked-looking black barrel swung towards the enemy craft. The
next instant there was a blinding flash, a puff of smoke, a deafening
report and the wireless mast of the other submarine and the rails of
the conning tower vanished as if by magic, while a few yards beyond
her a great column of water leaped high in air.
“I’ll say I bumped ’em!” fairly screamed Rawlins, as he spun open the
breech of his gun and a second shell was slipped in.
At this totally unexpected turn of events the men upon the enemy
submarine became panic-stricken. Some flung themselves flat upon the
decks, others plunged headlong down the hatch, and still others
huddled behind the rails and super-structure.
“Surrender or we’ll sink you!” shouted Mr. Henderson who had grabbed
up a megaphone.
As if in reply, there was a puff of smoke from the conning tower of
the other vessel, a shrill whistle in the air and a bullet spatted
spitefully against the steel plates within six inches of Mr.
Henderson’s head.
Rawlins waited for no further orders. Again came the flash and roar of
his gun and in a burst of flame the entire top of the other’s conning
tower disappeared.
“Hurrah!” shouted the boys fairly dancing about, so excited and
thrilled that they did not realize their danger. “Hurrah! That’ll
teach ’em!”
At this instant, Frank caught sight of a strange thing—a slender line
of white moving swiftly through the blue water from the injured
submarine and headed directly towards where he stood.
“Jimmy!” he yelled. “What’s that? Look, coming right towards us! Looks
like a big fish!”
The others glanced towards the spot indicated. “It’s a torpedo!” cried
Mr. Pauling. “Back her! Full speed astern! Quick or we’ll all be
killed!”
But it was too late. The engines had been stopped, the crew were on
deck and long before they could start the motors and get under way the
awful death dealing torpedo would be upon them and all would be over.
It was traveling at a terrific speed and the white, foaming trail of
its wake was plainly visible. Barely 500 feet lay between those on the
submarine and instant death.
They were helpless, numbed, frozen with horror. Utterly unable to
move, powerless to escape they stood there, the boys clinging to Mr.
Pauling, the men with set faces, gritted teeth and grim eyes watching
the oncoming, inevitable death.
But Rawlins had spied the torpedo as soon as Frank. With feverish
haste he had loaded his gun; like a madman he swung it and depressed
the barrel all unnoticed by those who were watching the oncoming
torpedo and were hoping against hope, praying with heart and soul that
by some miracle, some chance, it might miss, might fail to explode.
And as they prayed the miracle happened. A flash, a roar and where, an
instant before, the torpedo had been, a huge column of water and foam
sprung like a gigantic geyser high in air. There was terrific
detonation, a concussion that threw the boys flat upon the deck, a
shower of spray and as the submarine rocked, reeled and plunged to the
waves the white-faced boys rose trembling and shaken to their feet.
They were saved! Rawlins’ skill had won, his well-aimed shot had been
the answer to their prayers!
But Rawlins seemed suddenly to have gone mad. He was leaping, dancing
and shouting.
“Darn their hides!” he screamed. “They got away! They’ve submerged! By
glory if I’d only had another shot at ’em!”
It was true. Where the other submarine had been the water stretched
unbroken, unruffled even by a periscope.
“Get down below!” ordered Rawlins racing towards the group upon the
deck. “They may fire another torpedo or ram us! It’s risky up here!”
Pellmell after him the others pushed down the ladder and an instant
later the submarine was once more under the sea while Rawlins swung
the periscope about and Bancroft listened at the detector.
“I’m getting them,” he announced presently, “but pretty well off. Yes,
getting fainter all the time. Expect they’re only too glad to get
away.”
“Oh, hang the luck!” cried Rawlins flinging down his cap. “Why didn’t
I shoot a bit lower and disable ’em!”
“Why, man, you saved us!” cried Mr. Pauling, grasping Rawlins’ hand
and patting him on the shoulder. “You made a wonderful hit! Absolutely
marvelous! Aren’t you satisfied with that?”
“We owe you our lives,” put in Mr. Henderson. “It was the finest thing
I’ve ever seen—wonderful marksmanship, Rawlins.”
Rawlins flushed. “Oh, shucks!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t I save my own
hide too? More luck than anything else. A fellow has to depend a heap
on luck in my business, you know.”
“Well all the luck in the world without a clear head, quick mind,
steady hands and a true eye wouldn’t have helped in that case,”
declared Mr. Pauling. “I certainly thank Heaven for our
escape—whether through luck or expert gunnery, my boy.”
“Yes, but we might have got those dirty Huns at the same time,”
lamented Rawlins. “If I hadn’t been so all-fired afraid of sinking
them and had shot a mite lower.”
“Don’t you suppose you did sink them?” asked Mr. Henderson. “I
shouldn’t think they could maneuver with their superstructure and
conning tower smashed.”
“No, they got away all right,” replied Rawlins. “Didn’t we just hear
them—and they’re beating us even with a shell through their upper
works, As long as the hatches and bulkheads weren’t hit they’d be all
right, of course they’re running blind, my shot carried away their
periscope—that is, unless they’ve got another one—but as long as
it’s open sea and they know their course that’s safe enough. Of course
they’ll come up pretty soon—as soon as they’re well out of range of
our gun; but I’ll bet we don’t sight them again. Guess we might as
well go up to the top. No use ambling along down here. We’d better
hike it to Trade Wind Cay.”
As Rawlins had foreseen, they did not catch a glimpse of the other
submarine and very soon the faint whir of her screws was lost. It was
evident that even in her partly disabled condition she was a much
faster craft than their own and Rawlins declared that he believed her
one of the very latest types that were launched just before the close
of the war and very few of which actually left German harbors.
“Funny she didn’t carry a gun,” commented Mr. Henderson, “and lucky
she didn’t for us.”
“She did,” replied Rawlins. “Disappearing gun, but they were either
too rattled or too surprised to use it. Probably thought it easier and
safer to sneak that torpedo at us. I’ll say they were some surprised
when it didn’t hit!”
“Begging your pardon, Sir, they never knowed it didn’t hit, Sir,”
remarked the quartermaster. “They was all below when they fired it,
Sir, and were just awash when you exploded it. I was a-noticin’ of
that, Sir.”
Rawlins slapped his thigh and let out an exultant shout. “By crickey,
then we may get ’em yet!” he exclaimed. “If they think the torpedo got
us they’ll make straight for their hang-out and think we’re done for.
I was afraid they’d keep off and not show up.”
Throughout that day nothing occurred. A message was sent to Disbrow
giving him their course and the position of the Cay and the submarine
kept steadily on her way. Early on the second morning a faint blur
showed upon the horizon ahead and after studying it through his
glasses Rawlins announced that it was Trade Wind Cay.
“Guess we’d better submerge,” he said. “If they’re there they’ll spot
us mighty quick and when we get closer we’ll even get our periscope
down. No use of taking any chances. Smernoff says they used to sink to
the bottom off the coast and let the men walk ashore, so we can play
that same game—only in a different place. But we’ll have to keep the
men on board ready to come up the minute we need ’em. If there’s a big
bunch on the Cay there’s no use in tackling them single-handed.”
“Yes, that’s the best plan,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but there’s one
matter we must bear in mind. Whoever goes ashore to scout must be able
to communicate with those aboard here. If we use radio the others will
also hear it and be suspicious—we have every reason to think they
already know we are, or rather were, following them and we must not
count too much on their thinking they sunk us. How can we arrange
that? Have you any suggestion, Henderson?”
“Have to arrange some sort of signal, I suppose,” replied Mr.
Henderson. “Possibly by means of these submarine detectors. I imagine
that a bell could be fixed to ring under water so we could hear it.”
“I’ve a better scheme than that,” declared Tom. “Wired wireless.”
“Wired wireless?” exclaimed his father. “How can you wire wireless and
what’s the idea?”
“Why, you just run a copper wire under water and attach the radio sets
at the ends,” explained Tom, “Then you can talk back and forth and no
one else can hear you.”
Mr. Pauling laughed. “Don’t you know that the electricity will run off
in the water, Son?” he asked. “Water’s a conductor of electricity and
even the cables have to be heavily insulated in order to carry the
current.”
“Well, this is different,” insisted Tom. “The electricity doesn’t run
through the water, it’s just the radio or electromagnetic waves and
they follow the wire and don’t get lost.”
“Who put all that nonsense into your head?” demanded Mr. Pauling.
“Radio is a wonderful science, I’ll admit, but that’s a little too
fishy.”
“Well, General Squiers did it—across the Potomac and used it during
the war,” declared Tom, “so it must be so. It was in that same article
that told about the resonance coils.”
“It’s quite true, Pauling,” Mr. Henderson assured him. “It _does_
sound ridiculous, I’ll admit, but radio and the modern theory of
electrons is upsetting all our old-fashioned ideas and Squiers proved
conclusively that radio waves _will_ follow a bare copper wire
under water. They’ll even go around corners or turns with it—not only
under water, but under ground. It was one of those lucky discoveries
that helped win the war, too. If General Squiers hadn’t discovered it
we would have been in a pretty fix. There was not one-thousandth
enough insulated wire on hand and we needed hundreds of times more
than all the factories together could supply. There was plenty of
wire, but not enough machines for insulating it. We were right up
against it when Squiers got his hunch and found it worked. And just as
Tom says, no one except those with the instruments at the ends of the
line can pick up the messages—a big advantage over wireless or
ordinary telegraph or telephone messages.”
“All right,” laughed Mr. Pauling, “I give in. Another miracle added to
the long list of radio magic. I’ll believe almost anything now. Go
ahead, Tom, you’re the radio boss, you know. Get your wired wireless
ready and we’ll soon see how it works.”
The submarine was now submerged, but with the periscope out, and each
minute the Cay was becoming plainer and plainer.
“If those chaps are there, won’t they hear our screws and clear out?”
Mr. Henderson asked. “I suppose they’ll have a detector on their boat
or ashore.”
“I don’t see how we can avoid that,” declared Mr. Pauling. “It’s one
of the chances we’ll have to take. I wish——”
“No, they won’t hear!” interrupted Rawlins. “I’d been worrying over
that myself, but luck’s with us again to-day. There’s a tramp steamer
over yonder—heading the same way we are and with her screw thrashing
the water like a dying whale. These laddies we’re after ’ll never be
able to pick up the sound of our little wheel. I’m going to edge over
towards the tramp a bit so as to make it still safer.”
“Jove, that is luck!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “I only hope our luck
holds and we find our friends at home.”
It was soon evident that the tramp steamer would pass close to the
island and that the submarine could hold her course and yet be within
half a mile of the tramp as she slipped by the Cay which both were
rapidly approaching.
“Better let Smernoff have a look and see if he knows the place,”
suggested Mr. Henderson. “Perhaps he can even pick out the location of
the houses and where the men land.”
“All right, have him come right up then,” said Rawlins. “I’ll have to
drop down and get the periscope under water in a minute; we’re getting
too close to the island and that tramp to risk being seen.”
Presently the Russian arrived and bending his huge shoulders peered
into the eye-piece of the periscope.
“Sure, that heem,” he announced in broken English, and then pointed
out a row of coconut palms on the western end of the Cay which he said
was the spot where the men landed, and indicated a hill just to the
left which he declared was where the men had dwelt in the old stone
rooms.
“Well, that’s all hunky-dory!” declared Rawlins jubilantly. “Now we’ll
just drop down and run along easy and come to rest on a nice sandy
bottom around the point and walk ashore and ask our ‘red’ friends how
they feel after the surprise party we gave ’em back there. Say, these
chaps picked out a mighty fitting place for themselves—just the spot
for a gang of pirates and thugs. Trade Wind Cay used to be a real
pirate hang-out. Back in the buccaneer days they held the place and
defied all the world for years—it was those old chaps cut the stairs
and forts and rooms out of the living rock. Used prisoners to do the
work and then murdered them afterwards. Spooky sort of place. That’s
why the natives fight shy of it; and they say there’s a lot of
treasure buried there.”
“I expect it’s being a ‘spooky’ place, as you say is one reason these
men selected it,” commented Mr. Pauling. “They probably knew they
would not be disturbed. But how do you account for the fact that they
found a few natives there whom they killed according to Smernoff’s
story?”
“Most likely smugglers or political refugees,” replied Rawlins, “Every
time there’s a row in Santo Domingo a bunch of the natives clear out
to save their skins and a place like this would suit ’em first rate.
And there’s always a crowd of smugglers knocking about. Or they may
have been fishermen or settlers from some of the others islands—from
over Porto Rico or St. Thomas way, who didn’t know the reputation of
the Cay.”
“Say,” said Tom, who had been listening attentively as Rawlins had
been speaking. “If there’s treasure there perhaps we can find it.
Wouldn’t that be great?”
His father laughed. “If there’s any treasure there it’s what the men
we are after have brought there,” he declared. “And if any was there
before they’ve probably found it. No, Son, every island and cay in the
West Indies has treasure on it, if we believe the natives.”
“Well, some of ’em really do have and some of it’s been found,” said
Rawlins. “First time I was down here I was diving for a crowd who were
searching for treasure.”
“Did they get it?” asked Frank.
“I’ll say they did!” replied the diver. “Got it out of an old
wreck—old galleon they said it was. I don’t know how much, but big
piles of old gold and silver coins all stuck together with coral and
old bronze bells and cannon. I’ve often wondered if they got it all. A
storm came up so we couldn’t work and we had to clear out. They said
they were coming back, but I don’t think they ever did, and I’ve been
meaning to have another look myself, but never got around to it. It’s
not far from here either. Over close to the Santo Domingo coast.”
“Jehoshaphat!” exclaimed Frank. “Let’s go over and try for it now!”
“This isn’t a treasure hunt, Frank,” Mr. Pauling reminded him. “We’ve
far more important matters on hand. Uncle Sam isn’t paying us to hunt
old galleons.”
“Oh, hang it!” ejaculated Tom in disappointed tones. “That’s what I
call rotten. Here we are with a submarine and a diver and suits and
all and right near a sunken galleon with millions and millions of
dollars on it for all we know, and we can’t even hunt for it. It makes
me sick.”
Mr. Pauling laughed. “You’ll never do for the Service if you’re so
easily sidetracked,” he declared. “Of course I understand how
fascinating such a story is to you boys, but business is business,
treasure or no treasure.”
“We’ll have to go up and take a squint now,” declared Rawlins a moment
later. “We don’t want to bump into the rocks.”
With the engines stopped the submarine was slowly raised until her
periscope broke through the surface and Rawlins announced that the Cay
was within half a mile.
“We can’t run into shoal water blind,” he said. “And if we go in with
our eye out they’ll spot us perhaps. I’d like to wait until night, but
then the old tramp wouldn’t be wallowing along to drown the sound of
our screw. What shall it be, Mr. Pauling?”
“I think we’d better risk running in with the periscope out,” he
replied. “Of course, as you say, there _is_ a risk of being seen,
but if we’re on the other side of the point and they don’t expect us
it’s a much smaller chance than we’d take by running in at night. It’s
highly probable that they maintain a pretty close watch and some one
is at the instruments constantly and they’d be certain to pick us up.
Yes, if you keep your periscope low and go slowly, so as not to make a
white wake, I think we can risk it.”
So, under half speed and with the slender periscope barely projecting
above the water, the submarine edged slowly in towards the Cay, until
in about five fathoms of water, when Rawlins brought her to a stop and
let her slowly sink until she rested on the sandy bottom.
“Well, we’re here,” he announced cheerfully, “About three hundred
yards from a nice smooth beach. Now, how about going ashore?”
“Better wait until dark,” suggested Mr. Henderson. “A diver coming out
of the sea is easily seen and would be helpless until he took off his
suit. I would advise laying that copper communication wire and getting
everything in readiness for a scouting party after dark.”
All agreed that this was the wisest plan and so, donning his suit,
Rawlins entered the air-lock and carrying a coil of copper wire
slipped into the sea, paying out the wire as he walked slowly towards
the shore. He was strongly tempted to sneak to land among the rocks of
a nearby point and have a look about on his own account, but knowing
that if anything went wrong he would be to blame for having disobeyed
orders, he regretfully refrained and having crawled as close to shore
as he dared without showing himself above the surface he weighted the
remainder of the coil with coral and returned to the submarine.
Before he had taken ten steps he halted in his tracks, listening half
incredulously, every nerve and sense alert, for in his ears he had
heard the rough, guttural voices he knew so well. For the time being
he had forgotten that he wore the receiving set and the sound of human
voices coming to him so unexpectedly and suddenly under water startled
him.
To be sure, the voices sounded faint and far away, but that they were
voices and voices of men speaking in Russian or some similar tongue
there could be no doubt.
“Confound it!” he muttered to himself. “Why the dickens didn’t I learn
Russian! Wonder if they’re hearing it on the sub!”
But he could not ask. He realized that if he could hear the others
they might hear him if he attempted to speak to his friends and with
this thought another flashed through his mind. Suppose the boys should
not hear the Russians and should speak to him! Or suppose, without
stopping to think, they too should hear the voices and ask him if he
did! In either case the enemy would be forewarned and on the alert.
The only thing was to make all haste to the submarine and warn those
upon it to listen and not to speak into the transmitters. Without
waiting to hear more, Rawlins hurried as rapidly as possible to the
submarine, climbed into the air-lock and soon reappeared among his
friends.
“Did you hear them?” he asked the moment he entered the door.
“No, hear who?” demanded Mr. Henderson.
“Those Bolsheviks,” replied Rawlins, “I heard ’em not five minutes
ago. I didn’t dare call you or say anything for fear they’d hear me
and I was nervous as a cat fearing you fellows might call into the
transmitter and they’d hear.”
“We’ve been right at the instruments and didn’t hear a thing,”
declared Tom. “Gosh, but it’s funny you got ’em and we didn’t.”
“They were pretty faint and far off,” said Rawlins. “Maybe they were
out of your range.”
“No, I guess it’s that same old effect of the sounds inside the
helmet,” said Tom. “Remember, up in New York, we could always hear
under water better than ashore.”
“Well, I don’t think it makes much difference,” declared Mr. Pauling,
“but it proves they’re here or near here. You’d better take some one
ashore with you to-night, Rawlins. Whom would you select?”
“Guess it’ll have to be Smernoff,” replied Rawlins. “I’ll need some
one who can savvy Russian more than anything else.”
“Do you think you can trust him?” asked Mr. Henderson. “You’re taking
a risk with him alone on that Cay in the dark and with his old-time
friends and comrades there.”
“Sure, I’m taking a risk,” agreed Rawlins with a grin, “but a diver’s
always taking risks—been taking them ever since I was knee high—and
a few more or less don’t cut any ice. Anyway, I don’t believe Smernoff
will turn traitor. You see, he looks upon me as a sort of hero—saving
his life and all, and besides, he’s as keen on evening up scores with
this bunch as any of us. He’s got everything to win and nothing to
lose by betting on us and my experience is that if it’s an even toss
up with a fellow he’ll chip in with the side that he’ll gain the most
with.”
“That’s sound philosophy,” chuckled Mr. Pauling. “I don’t think
there’s any danger with Smernoff and of course there’s the advantage
that he can use a diving suit.”
The time dragged slowly until sundown and as soon as darkness fell
Rawlins summoned the Russian and prepared to go ashore on his
dangerous mission.
“Just as soon as you get ashore, or even before, try this wired
wireless,” Tom admonished him. “Then we’ll know if it works. It’s too
bad you can’t keep it fastened to your set while you sneak over the
island, but that’s impossible.”
Then, showing Rawlins how to snap the wire onto his set, the boys bade
him good-by and the two men entered the air-lock. For a long time
after they had left, those upon the submarine sat silent, the boys
listening at their receivers, the men thinking deeply and in their
minds planning their moves should Rawlins locate the camp of the
“reds.” At last, after what seemed an interminable time, Tom heard
Rawlins’ voice rather thin and faint, coming in over the wire.
“Safe ashore,” he said, “and talking mighty low. Can you get me all
right?”
“Hear you finely,” replied Tom. “We’ll stick right here. Good luck!”
Minute after minute dragged by, the little clock upon the bulkhead
ticked off an hour and no sound or word came from shore. What had
happened? Had Rawlins found the camp? Had he been seen and captured?
Was he even now struggling for his life? Had Smernoff betrayed him?
The suspense was nerve-racking. It anything happened to Rawlins, if he
failed to return, their quest would come to an abrupt end. They
depended upon him for guidance, for advice, for diving. Never until
now did any of them realize to what an extent everything depended upon
him.
“If he’s not back soon I’ll take a landing party ashore,” declared Mr.
Pauling. “We’ve got arms and a dozen men and more. I can’t stand this
uncertainty much longer. They’ve been gone an hour and a half. I’m
sorry he took Smernoff. I——”
At that moment Frank heard the long-hoped-for voice. “Coming back!”
was all it said.
“Well, he’s safe at all events!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling fervently.