[Illustration: "Charley leveled his gun and sent sixteen shrieking
bullets just above the wheelman's head."]
The Boy Chums In the Gulf of Mexico
OR
On a Dangerous Cruise with the Greek
Spongers
BY WILMER M. ELY
Author of "The Boy Chums on Indian River," "The Boy
Chums on Haunted Island," "The Boy Chums in
the Forest," "The Boy Chums' Perilous Cruise."
[Illustration]
A. L. BURT COMPANY
NEW YORK
Copyright 1913
BY A. L. BURT COMPANY
THE BOY CHUMS IN THE GULF OF MEXICO
CONTENTS
I. 3
II. MR. DRIVER. 11
III. PREPARATIONS 19
IV. THE START 27
V. THE START 36
VI. FIRST TROUBLE 45
VII. SPONGING 53
VIII. TROUBLE 61
IX. MANUEL'S RELEASE 68
X. A RASH RESOLVE 76
XI. A MYSTERY 84
XII. IN A DIVING SUIT 94
XIII. A CLOSE CALL 100
XIV. THE DISCUSSION 107
XV. A DESPERATE PLAN 115
XVI. TOO LATE 122
XVII. OUTWITTED 129
XVIII. IMPRISONED 136
XIX. WRECKED 144
XX. HUNTING HELP 152
XXI. THE CASTAWAYS 159
XXII. ANOTHER DANGER 167
XXIII. THE RELAPSE 175
XXIV. THE FLOOD 182
XXV. THE FLOATING HATCH 189
XXVI. WITH THE BOYS 197
XXVII. THE JOURNEY 205
XXVIII. JUDSON 212
XXIX. THE FEUD 219
XXX. BESIEGED 225
XXXI. THE ENEMIES 233
XXXII. THE CASTAWAYS AGAIN 240
XXXIII. THE RESCUE 247
XXXIV. CONCLUSION 255
THE BOY CHUMS
IN THE GULF OF MEXICO
CHAPTER I.
"IT'S just like stepping suddenly into a strange country. I am glad we
came even if we decide not to go into the business."
The speaker, a sturdy, manly-looking boy of eighteen, was one of a
party of four persons who were strolling along a street in the Greek
section of Tarpon Springs, a small Florida town, located on the
Anclote River, a few miles from the Gulf of Mexico. His companions
were a boy about his own age but of less robust appearance, a little
negro lad with a good-humored intelligent face, and a middle-aged,
heavily-bearded, blue-eyed man whose tattooed arms and rolling gait
told of a life spent on tossing seas and whose confident bearing and
air of authority stamped him as one above the rank of a common sailor.
Those who have followed The Boy Chums through their many adventures
will recognize in the little party their old friends Charley West,
Walter Hazard, Captain Westfield and the Bahama lad, Chris, who lately
returned from a perilous trip along the Atlantic beach searching for
wreckage, and now seeking some promising venture in which to invest the
Fifteen Hundred Dollars they earned on that voyage.
"You're right, Charley," agreed the other boy. "I didn't know before
that there was a sight like this in Florida. Here's a bench. Let's set
down and rest a bit. I am tired from walking."
"Golly, I reckon dis nigger's tired some too," chimed in the little
darkey, "I'se dun had de toothache in mah legs for most an hour, but
I'se had to keep up wid you-alls. Don't dare let you white chillen
prognostracate 'round a queer place like dis alone."
The seat selected was a long bench standing on the edge of the
sidewalk, its back to the sandy street. The four seated themselves at
one end and gazed around with eager interest at the strange scene,
unconscious of the curious glances bestowed upon them by a large,
deeply-tanned man, who, seated on the other end of the bench, was
languidly whittling on a piece of white pine with a large sheaf knife.
The scene was one to arouse more than passing interest. Up and down
the sidewalk hurried swarthy-faced, powerfully-built men of all ages
and appearances, but all possessed of the same clear-cut features and
straight noses. Singly and in groups of two and three, they hurried
past, picturesque in their bright-colored clothing with gaudy sashes
knotted about their waists. About all clustered an air of energy and
bustle uncommon to sleepy Florida towns.
Built up close to the inner edge of the sidewalk was a row of large
buildings startling in their coats of bright yellow, red, blue, and
green paint. Stretching away, close together in the distance, they
gave one the impression of a gigantic rainbow. Through their wide-open
doors and windows the interested onlookers could gain a plain view of
the interiors, from which came the confused jangle of foreign tongues.
To the right of where the little party sat was a busy grocery store,
its windows filled with strings of dried garlic, strange-looking
cheeses, queer nuts and fruits and a multitude of eatables strange to
American eyes. To the left of them was a tobacco factory, the whirling
machines shredding up the huge brown leaves into hair-like fibers and
binding them up into pound packages. Directly before them was a great
hall filled with little tables around which were seated groups of the
regular-featured men, playing cards, eating, or puffing at strange
pipes, with a small hose for a stem, the smoke passing through great
glass vessels partly filled with rose water before it reached the
smoker's lips.
"That's the fifteenth place of that kind I've counted to-day," remarked
Charley West. "From their numbers, one would imagine that these people
did nothing but eat and play cards."
"I'd like to try one of them pipes," said Captain Westfield, wistfully.
"I'll bet they give a good, cool smoke."
"Let's go in and get dinner," Walter suggested. "I am hungry as a wolf
and that food smells mighty good. You can try a pipe after we eat,
Captain."
The man at the end of the bench shifted his position closer to them.
"Strangers here?" he enquired.
"Just came in this morning. We're looking into the sponge business a
bit," replied the Captain.
Charley eyed the tanned man closely. There was a sinister expression to
the fellow's face, and his eyes shifted uneasily away from the lad's
level glance. The keen-witted boy was not favorably impressed with the
stranger's appearance, but the man's cordiality drove away his faint
feeling of distrust.
"I'll go in with you then," he offered. "Those fellows don't speak much
English and you would have a hard job making them understand what you
wanted. I know a little Greek and may be able to help you out a bit."
"Much obliged to you," said the Captain, gratefully. "We don't
understand a word of their lingo. I'll stand treat to the dinner if
you'll eat with us."
"It's a go," agreed the stranger, quickly. "Come on. My name's Robert,
Captain Roberts," he volunteered when the little party were seated
around one of the tables, "I'm a retired ship's master."
Captain Westfield introduced himself and his companions. "As I said, we
are lookin' into this sponge business a bit, but it's hard to pick out
the proper course from these twisted-tongued furriners," he said. "Do
you happen to know anything about it?"
"I used to be in the business myself," Captain Roberts replied
promptly. "I made enough money in it to quit the sea for good."
"Then I reckon you're the very man to give us a few pointers. Is there
as much money in it as one hears tell of?"
"More," declared the other. "These Greeks are getting rich off
sponging. It is not anything unusual for a schooner's crew to clear up
three or four thousand dollars from a single trip. It takes quite a bit
of money to make a start, though."
"We have got a little change in our clothes," said the Captain,
modestly. "Do you reckon a person could get started good on a Thousand
dollars?"
"That would do nicely," declared Captain Roberts, "and I can tell you
just how to lay it out to the best advantage, but let's order dinner
first. We can talk while we are eating."
He beckoned to a dark-skinned, ill-favored waiter and gave an order in
low-pitched fluent Greek.
The waiter was back almost instantly with a tray-load of steaming
dishes which he placed upon the table. The boys could not determine
the exact nature of the strange viands, but they were too hungry to be
critical, and attacked the food with hearty appetites.
"This mutton stew is delicious," Charley declared as he took another
helping. "I don't know as I ever tasted anything better."
Captain Roberts grinned. "You don't want to make any guesses about
Greek food," he declared. "That isn't mutton, but just tough old
Billy-goat, fattened on a diet of tin cans. These fellows have the
knack of fixing up such things so they can't recognize them themselves.
Just wait till the coffee is served. You'll say you never drank any
better. But let's get back to that sponging business now, Captain."
He and Captain Westfield were soon plunged in a tangled maze of talk
about schooners, diving boats, sponges, and divers.
The boys gave but little heed to the discussion for their attention was
partly diverted by the unusual scene around them.
"It's just like being in another country," Walter whispered to his chum.
"Yes, but I don't like the attention we seem to receive," Charley
replied. "Those fellows are staring at us as though there was something
wrong in our being here."
The Greeks gathered around the other tables indeed seemed more than
casually interested in the little party. They stared frequently at them
and their new acquaintance, and exchanged significant glances and low
words with each other.
"I guess we appear as odd to them as they do to us," Walter said,
carelessly. "There is a man who is not a Greek. That fellow leaning
against the end of the counter in the corner."
The man indicated was unmistakably an American. He was short,
heavily-built and had a determined, aggressive face. He was engaged in
a heated discussion with the proprietor of the cafe and his heavy face
was flushed with anger. As the boys gazed curiously, he brought down
his clenched fist on the counter with a force that shattered some of
the dishes piled upon it.
"You needn't smirk, grin, and make excuses," he thundered at the suave,
smiling Greek. "You've got to pay me that bill you owe me. It's been
standing for months and I happen to know that you are making money all
the time, hand over fist. It's no use pretending you don't understand
me," he shouted, as the smiling Greek shrugged his shoulders. "You know
what I say. If you don't come up with the money by to-morrow night I'll
close up this place and have you prosecuted for obtaining goods under
false pretences. And it will not be any use for you to try your nice
little Greek trick of a knife in my back in the dark. I go heeled and
I don't go to sleep when I walk this street. The fellow who tries that
trick on me will stop enough lead to start a cartridge factory."
He turned and was walking towards the door when his glance rested for a
moment on the boys and their companions. His glance swept swiftly over
each member of the little party. He paused, hesitated a moment, then
turning, walked swiftly towards their table.
Captain Roberts rose hastily at his approach. "There's a friend of mine
over there," he said hurriedly, "who I want to speak to. I'll be back
in a minute."
The approaching stranger noted his departure with a grim smile. He
stopped beside the Captain and stood gazing down for one brief minute.
"Are you fools or strangers?" he demanded, crisply.