CHAPTER XII
SMERNOFF PAYS HIS DEBT
While the boys had been relating the story of their astonishingexperience, Sam had been talking with Jules and other members of thevillage. Now, as some of the women approached bearing trays of foodfor the strangers, he rose and, accompanied by Jules, walked over tothe hut where the boys and the others were seated.
"Ah been havin' a extended conversationin' with Mr. Jules," theBahaman announced, in his odd stilted manner which invariably amusedthe boys, "an' Ah's fo'med the opinion that th' info'mation he'simparted is mos' highly important an' wo'thy o' consideration, Chief."
"Yes, well, what is it, Sam?" inquired Mr. Pauling as he helpedhimself to the smoking viands.
But at Sam's first words Mr. Pauling, and even the famished Rawlins,forgot all about their hunger and the appetizing food before them, forthe Bahaman's story was to the effect that Jules and his fellow FrenchWest Indians were just as keen on getting the "reds" as were Mr.Pauling and his party. According to Jules' tale, a number of theirfriends and members of their families had settled on Trade Wind Cayand had been living a peaceful happy life, raising goats, fishing andcultivating tiny garden plots, when a party of white men had arrivedand without warning or reason had butchered the West Indians andburned their homes, exactly as Smernoff had described when questionedin New York.
It was not this story of cold-blooded massacre which was of suchintense interest to the Americans, but the Fact that Jules calmlyinformed them that he not only knew where the "devil boat" was hidden,but that he could actually lead them to the cave where the murdererslived.
"Phew!" whistled Rawlins. "I'll say you tumbled into the right camp,boys! So old Frenchy here's into their hangout! If that isn't theall-firedest piece of luck! Lead us to 'em, old sport, lead us to'em!"
"By Jove! if it's true everything is coming our way," declared Mr.Pauling, "but let's be absolutely sure first. Ask him how he knows hisfriends were killed, Sam. And why he has not complained to theauthorities and demanded justice. Ask him why, if it is true and heknows where these men live, he has not tried to avenge his friends'death. Ask him what they look like, tell him to describe some of themand the 'devil boat' as he calls it."
Sam turned and began talking to Jules and the others in patois.
"Well, true or not I'm going to have grub," declared Rawlins. "I don'teat with my ears, though; I'm almost sorry I can't, I'm that hungry."
For several minutes the negroes chattered and gesticulated, theirvoices often rising excitedly and vehemently. Then, at last, Samseemed to be satisfied and addressing Mr. Pauling explained that Julessaid that two men had escaped from the Cay. They had been fishing andwhen returning, saw the massacre and realizing resistance was hopelessgot away from the place in their boats unseen. He then went on tostate that Jules had complained to the Dominican authorities, but hadbeen laughed at; strange negro squatters--in the minds of theDominicans--were of too little consequence to bother with and had nolegal standing; and moreover, Trade Wind Cay did not belong to SantoDomingo. In fact, it was a port of No Man's Land claimed by Haiti,Santo Domingo, the Dutch and a British corporation and its realownership had never been settled. Jules and his followers had neveravenged their friends merely because they feared to injure any whiteman knowing that summary arrest, a farcical trial and death wouldfollow and so, as the next best thing, they had worked spells, hadplaced Obeah and had danced Voodoo in the vain hope of bringingdisaster on their enemies. Indeed, Jules declared that their dance ofthat night had been for this purpose and that when the boys had firstarrived the negroes had felt sure that their heathen gods haddelivered their enemies into their hands, but that the "devil box" hadspoken in English and they knew their enemies used another tongue.
Jules' description of the submarine was too accurate to leave room fordoubt that he had seen it and the boys, at least, were convinced thathe had seen the "reds" when Sam repeated Jules' description of thered-bearded giant, the dark man with the earrings, the thin fellowwith the Kaiser-like mustache, and several others.
"I'll say he's got a line on 'em, all right!" declared Rawlins, as Samfinished his translation of Jules' description and statements, "and byglory! I'd hate to be in their shoes if these buckos ever get theirhands on 'em. Say, did you notice that one of the bunch he describedwould be Smernoff to a 'T.' Wonder if any of 'em recognized him?"
"By Jove!" ejaculated Mr. Pauling. "I hope not, I'd forgotten he wasone of the murderers. If they see him and recognize him we'll belooked upon as spies and enemies. Better run down and warn him,Rawlins. He's in the boat, asleep probably. Tell him to keep his facehidden or to daub it with mud; or anything and tell the quartermasterto see that he does it."
Rising slowly and stretching himself as if nothing unusual hadoccurred, Rawlins strolled off towards; the landing place while Mr.Pauling kept Jules and his friends busy with questions and suggestingplans by which they could aid the Americans.
When the negroes discovered that Mr. Pauling and his friends werelooking for the murderers and would make them prisoners if found, theywere highly delighted, and Jules assented instantly to guiding theAmericans to the cave and the submarine and offered to bring a numberof his men along to help.
They were still discussing these plans and Rawlins had almost reachedthe edge of the clearing when a shot rang out, there was a savageyell, and the next moment Smernoff appeared at the edge of the trees,waving a pistol in his hand and backing away as if from an unseenassailant.
The next instant, he leveled his pistol, there was a flash, anotherreport and then, before the wondering onlookers could move, beforethey could utter a cry, a figure hurled itself from behind a tree.There was a flash of descending steel, a dull thud, and the Russianplunged forward on the ground. Standing over him, whirling hisbloodstained machete about his head and yelling in fiendish glee was ahuge gaunt negro.
With two bounds Rawlins was upon the man from behind; before anotherblow could fall he had pinioned his arms in a vise-like grip and asthe others raced towards the scene of the tragedy Rawlins struggledand strained to wrest the deadly machete from the negro's grasp.
Mr. Pauling was the first to reach Smernoff's side. That the fellowwas mortally wounded was evident at a glance. Across neck and shoulderextended a deep, gaping gash that had almost severed the head, but theman was still breathing and Mr. Pauling bent over him.
Suddenly the Russian's piglike eyes opened and into them flashed alook of such malignant, unspeakable hatred that Mr. Pauling drew back.As he did so, the gasping, dying man hissed a curse between hisblood-covered lips, and with a last superhuman effort drew up his arm,aimed the pistol at Mr. Pauling's head and pulling the trigger droppedback dead. So close to Mr. Pauling's face was the weapon that theblast of blazing powder singed his hair and filled his eyes withacrid, smarting smoke and burnt powder and with a hoarse, choking cryhe reeled backward. But before the horror-stricken boys could cry outhe was upon his feet, wiping his eyes, coughing, shaken, but unhurt.Death had missed him by the fraction of an inch, by a split second.Smernoff had waited a thousandth of a second too long to wreak histreachery; death had robbed him of his vengeance; life had flown fromhim at the very instant he had pressed the trigger and he had paid hisdebt without adding another to his long list of crimes.
It had all happened in the twinkling of an eye. From the moment whenSmernoff's first shot had startled them until he had breathed hislast, not half a minute had elapsed and now all was over. The negrowho had settled his score with the murderer of his family no longerresisted Rawlins, but stood regarding the mutilated body of theRussian with much the same expression that a hunter might wear when hehas brought down a tiger or a lion. Sam was trying to convince Julesthat Smernoff was a prisoner who had escaped; Bancroft and the boyswere hovering about Mr. Pauling striving to make sure that he was noteven scratched; and Rawlins was explaining matters to thequartermaster who had come from the boat on the run at sound of theshots.
"I'll say he was a dirty skunk!" decla
red Rawlins, "And I thought hewas straight and reformed. Guess once a 'red' always a 'red.' Blamedif I ain't sorry I didn't let him drift. By glory! for all we knowhe's been tipping his friends off by radio or something. Well, that'sthat for him."
Then, turning towards the negro executioner, he gave that individualthe surprise of his life by slapping him heartily on the back.
"Guess you saved us the trouble!" he cried to the amazed man who hadexpected nothing short of being summarily killed for taking a whiteman's life. "Here, shake!"
Although the negro understood not a single word, yet Rawlins' tonesand gestures were unmistakable and with a surprised grin he seized thediver's outstretched hand and pressed it firmly.
"I guess he'll be a good boy to have along with us," Rawlinscommented, as he picked up Smernoff's pistol and pocketed it.
"Rum lot, them Russians," remarked the quartermaster as he spatcontemptuously into the bushes and regarded Smernoff's bodyimpartially. "I never trusted of him, Sir, and I kept me weather eyeon him. I'm thinkin' he no more than got his reward, Sir."
The boys, now that they were convinced that Mr. Pauling was unharmed,glanced at the dead Russian and turned away with a shudder.
"Just the same I'm rather sorry for him," declared Frank. "Of coursehe was a beast and tried to kill you, Mr. Pauling, but somehow itseems terrible to see a man cut down that way!"
"Death's a terrible thing in any form," said Mr. Pauling as he led theboys away. "But don't waste pity on him, Frank. He was a murderer manytimes over and would have ended on the gallows or in the electricchair if he had not met death here. He richly deserved his fate andyou cannot blame the negro for killing him. I thank God that his dyingeffort to murder me was frustrated by his own violence."
Sleep was out of the question after the exciting events and the finaltragedy of the night, and now the first faint light of dawn wasshowing in the east.
"We'll start as soon as it's light enough," announced Mr. Pauling."Jules and a few of his men will go along. He'd like to send a crowd,but they're of no use. They have no arms and I have no intention oftaking any chances or undue risks. I wish to locate the submarine andthe hiding place of these men. There is a remote possibility that wemay take them unawares or find but a few there, but I trust mainly tolocating them, then sending for Disbrow and his bluejackets andattacking the rascals' lair with an overwhelming force."
"Well, of course you know best," assented Rawlins. "But personally,I'd like to take along this bunch of wild men and sail into those'reds.' I'd back these bush niggers with machetes against anysneaking, bomb-throwing Bolsheviks that ever grew whiskers."
"Undoubtedly," smiled Mr. Pauling, "but I'm not leading any party intoperil with the boys along."
"Yes, you're dead right there," agreed Rawlins earnestly. "Some onewould most likely get hurt and we can't risk the boys. Well, any timeyou say the word, I'm ready."
Half an hour later, the party set forth. Jules with four men--amongthem the powerful negro who had cut down Smernoff--led the way in anarrow dugout and Rawlins chuckled as he noticed that every mancarried a naked, razor-edged machete beside him and that two werearmed with old muzzle-loading guns. Unknown to Mr. Pauling, he hadslipped Jules the Russian's pistol and he felt confident that, shouldoccasion arise, the Martinicans would, as he put it, "give the 'reds'some jolt."
Silently as ghosts, the West Indians paddled through the waterways ofthe vast swamp, following, with unerring instinct, the channels andleads they knew, but leaving the white men hopelessly confused as tothe direction in which they were traveling.
They had proceeded steadily for more than two hours, the sun was highin the heavens and the boys were wondering how on earth they couldhave drifted so far while they slept, when Jules' canoe swung sharplyto the left, his men ceased paddling and an instant later it gratedupon a low clay bank with the boat close behind it.
With a signal for silence and caution, Jules stepped ashore, gave afew whispered orders to his men, and led the way up a narrow, almostinvisible trail.
Close at his heels followed Rawlins, Mr. Pauling, the two boys andSam, while the quartermaster and Bancroft remained in the boat besidethe canoe in which Jules had left two of his men.
"Guess there won't be any fighting just yet," Rawlins remarked tohimself. "Just a bit of scouting likely."
Noiselessly as shadows the negroes slipped along the trail with theleather-shod white men striving to make as little sound as possibleand ever climbing higher and higher up the steep hillside. Finally,after ten minutes' steady walking, Jules halted, crouched down andcrawled forward on all fours, signaling for the others to do the same.
As they reached his side they found themselves at the summit of a highhill with a precipitous side facing the swamp and thus leaving anunobstructed view of all below and before them, while they wereeffectually hidden among the dense growth of ferns and broad-leavedplants.
Jules pointed and in a low whisper muttered "devil boat!" Hemmed in bythe labyrinth of mangroves and winding channels, and apparentlycompletely surrounded by the swamps, was a large lagoon and towardsthe side nearest them a large dark object loomed above the placidwater.
All this they took in at a single glance. Before them, there upon thishidden lagoon within the fastnesses of the mangrove swamps, was thelong-sought submarine.
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" exclaimed Rawlins under his breath. "Blamedif the darned sub isn't sunk!"
"Sunk?" repeated Mr. Pauling inquiringly. "What do you mean?"
"Don't you see?" muttered the diver. "She's wrecked, sunk, on thebottom. Look how she's keeled over. Must be full of water! Look atthat smashed conning tower; the hatch is open and the water's halfover it. Say, I'll bet that shot of mine bumped 'em more than Ithought. Must have ripped things loose. How the dickens they got in'sa puzzle to me. Must have had emergency hatches or bulkheads orsomething. Whatever 'twas the old sub's done for now. Say, they'retrapped! They can't get away! I'll say that's luck! By glory, we'vegot 'em right by the neck!"
"You're right," affirmed Mr. Pauling, after carefully scrutinizing thesubmarine. "She's evidently deserted and useless. Yes, they'recertainly trapped--that is, unless they clear out overland. As soon aswe locate them we can summon Disbrow and make the raid. They certainlycannot escape by water."
Elated at the thought that luck was with them, that the "reds" weremarooned, and that within a short time they would be on their way homewith their prisoners, the party followed Jules down the hill to theboats.
"Now for the big secret!" remarked Rawlins as they embarked. "If oldUncle Tom here's got the right dope we'll be there in time to look inon 'em at breakfast. Hope they'll be at home."
Jules grinned, chuckled, and significantly patted his keen-edgedmachete. Only now and then could he grasp the meaning of an Englishword, but he knew, with the African's primitive instinct, what thediver was talking about. He had proved the accuracy of his statementsby showing them the "devil boat" and he rejoiced to think that hewould soon see the murderers of his friends led away as captives tomeet their just punishment.
"You bet!" nodded Rawlins as he noted Jules' gesture, "I'll say you'dlike to use that pig-sticker, old boy; but hold your horses. Don't golosing your head and rushing in where angels fear to tread andspilling the beans before they're ready to serve. Just make him savvythat, Sam!"
"He say he understand, Chief," replied the Bahaman when he had, aftersome difficulty, translated Rawlins' speech into the limitedvocabulary of Martinique Creole. "He say he mos' careful an'circum-spec', Chief. He quite assimilate the importance of carry in'out yo' comman's mos' precisely, Chief. Ah've impressed it upon he an'he nex' fr'ens. Yaas, Sir, Ah'ni sure he quite comprehen's, Chief."Tom chuckled. "You _are_ funny, Sam!" he exclaimed. "If you useas big words in patois as you do in English I'll bet he didn'tcomprehen' a bit."
But whether or not Jules understood the importance of beingcool-headed and obeying orders, it was certain that he had assimilatedthe necessity of proceeding with caution and in si
lence and hisupraised hand and low "Psst!" warned the boys that even whispers mustcease. Very slowly and carefully, avoiding the least splashing ofpaddles, bending low as they passed beneath overhanging branches, thenegroes crept along the narrow channel--a slender ribbon of waterscarcely wide enough to accommodate the boats--until, when it seemedas if they could go no farther, the canoe slipped into a mass of lilypads and reeds and Jules, stepping into the shallow water, drew itsilently upon a shelving bank. When all had disembarked, he turned,crouched low, squirmed through the fringe of underbrush and with theothers at his heels came out into fairly open forest. Once more he ledthem along a game trail, but this time the way led up a gently slopingridge and in a few moments he came to a halt.
Creeping forward, he beckoned to the Americans, while his negrocompanions melted into the shadows. Before them was a narrow valleywith a small stream flowing through the center and directly acrossfrom where they lay among the bushes was a conical hill, its fartherside lapped by the waters of a small semicircular bay or estuary thatcut deeply into the land. Along the banks of the stream werecultivated lands; plots of banner-leaved plantains and bananas, smallgardens of cassava, beans, yams and corn; numerous fruit trees and thedark foliage of coffee; while upon the sides of the hill were grovesof coppery-tinted cacao trees with here and there lofty coconut palmstowering over all. Half-hidden in the greenery, the roofs fallen inand evidently deserted, were the remains of once large buildings; astone bridge spanned the stream, and at the edge of the bay were thetumble-down remnants of a dock.
Evidently, at some former time, the place had been a well-kept andprosperous plantation, but now everything appeared abandoned anddeserted, although the gardens were carefully cultivated and attendedto.
"Humph!" muttered Rawlins. "Don't look as if our friends lived there."
Jules whispered a few words to Sam.
"He says as how tha' men mek they abidin' place in the hill yonder,Chief," interpreted the Bahaman.
"In the hill?" murmured Mr. Pauling. "Ah, of course, in a cave! Butwhere _is_ the cave?"
Sam put the question to Jules.
"Tha's the entrance, Chief, tha' dark spot beyon' tha' clump ofcabbage pa'm, Chief," announced Sam in whispers.
"Well, I'd like to have a closer squint at it," declared Rawlins. "Ivote we go over and say 'howdy' to 'em."
"Odd that there's no sign of life or smoke," commented Mr. Pauling. "Idon't see a soul. Surely they must have a boat."
"He says as how tha' boat goes out an' in tha' cave by water, Chief,"explained Sam. "Tha's a' openin' on tha' water side also, Sir."
"Foxy old guys, eh?" muttered the diver. "Don't intend to be caught inthere like rats in a trap. Well, I won't rest easy till I know they'rethere. I've a hunch our birds have flown."
"You'll never get there without being seen--that is, if there are anymen about," declared Mr. Pauling.
"Not down this way, I admit," replied Rawlins. "But we can sneak downaround the head of the valley, keep back of those thick rose-appletrees that make that hedge above the yam field and work around thebase of the hill until---- Thunderation! What's that?"
From just beyond the brow of the hill, cutting through the clearwater, leaving a tiny trail of bubbles behind it, a small object wasmoving swiftly from the land across the bay. The next instant it wasgone.
"Shark!" declared Mr. Pauling.
"Shark nothing!" cried Rawlins leaping up. "It's another sub! I'll bejiggered if they haven't cleared out! Given us the slip! Come on,who's afraid! Atta boy! I'm going to that cave!"
Before any one could stop him, the diver had burst through the foliageand was tearing down the hillside and so contagious is excitementthat, without stopping to think, Mr. Pauling dashed after him with theboys close behind, while Jules and his men, thinking apparently thatthe signal for an attack had been given, sprang from their hidingplaces, and with waving, flashing machetes and blood-curdling shoutsbounded down the slope with the quartermaster, blowing like a porpoiseand crashing through the brush like a herd of elephants, bringing upthe rear.
The sudden appearance of the company, the flashing blades, the savageyells, the glint of sun on rifle and pistol would have proved mostdisconcerting to any one lurking in the valley or the caves, while thenoise made by the two-hundred-pound sailor lumbering through the denseundergrowth must have sounded like the onslaught of a score of men. Infact, it was the sudden rush, the surprise, the reckless charge whichRawlins had counted on to win the day, for he had seen the value ofsuch tactics on the Flanders battle front and on one occasion, withbut two companions, had captured a German machine gun and crew withouta scratch, by just such methods.
To reach the bottom of the hill, dash across the valley, cross thebridge and rush up the short slope to the mouth of the cave took lesstime than to tell of it, but before the bridge was gained Jules andhis men were beside Rawlins, Mr. Pauling was at his heels, and theboys were but a few paces in the rear. Heedless of shots that mightcome from the cave at any instant, Rawlins and the half-crazed negroestore up the slope, dodged back of the palms, and with a yell leapedinto the cavern with upraised blades and cocked weapons. But not ashot echoed through the rocky chamber, not a blow was struck, not avoice answered Rawlins' demand for surrender. The cave was empty,deserted, silent as the tomb!
For an instant Rawlins stood gaping about, while the negroes loweredtheir weapons, drew back a step as though afraid, and jabberedexcitedly among themselves. Then the diver grabbed off his hat, hurledit on the floor of the cave and swore volubly and vehemently.
"Of all the rotten luck!" he cried as Mr. Pauling and the othersreached the cave panting and out of breath. "They've gone! Vamoosed!Cleared out! Given us the slip! That _was_ a sub we saw. Anotherone. They were wise to us."
As he spoke, he strode into the cave and the next instant gave ashout. "Look here!" he yelled. "Regular hang-out! Electric lights,beds, billiard tables, and by Jiminy! even a phonograph and a piano!"
It was perfectly true. Just within the entrance of the cavern, a heavycurtain was hung across and beyond this the great, vaulted,subterranean chamber was furnished with every luxury and convenience.There were no partitions--merely draperies and curtains of richtapestry, satin and plush, but no palace on earth could boast such aceiling with its vast arches, its thousands of gleaming, snow-whiteand cream-tinted stalactites and no millionaire's mansion ever hadsuch walls of scintillating, multicolored dripstone that gleamed andsparkled like myriads of jewels in the light of the clusters ofincandescent lamps.
The floor, covered with upjutting stalagmites, had been chiseled andchipped smooth, leaving the shorter columns as supports for tables,stands for rare vases and beautiful statuary, while the great columnswhere stalactites and stalagmites joined were surrounded by luxuriouscushioned seats and hung with pictures. At one side was a grand piano,in a corner was a Victrola, and in two smaller chambers were brassbeds and luxurious bedroom furnishings. At every step the boys andtheir elders exclaimed in wonder and admiration at the luxury andrichness of the furnishings of the great cavern. Beyond the first hallwas a smaller, narrower chamber, equipped with a huge range and thelatest cooking and kitchen devices; beyond this was a small connectingcave where a dynamo and gasoline motor were installed, while faroverhead, in the most remote corner, was a tiny aperture in the roof.Presently Rawlins, who had been nervously and hurriedly searchingeverywhere in the hopes of routing out at least one member of thegang, gave a ringing cry which instantly brought the others to hisside.
"There's the secret to the place!" he announced triumphantly, pointingdown from a ledge of rock whereon he stood. "There's their get-away.I'll say, they're clever!"
At this spot, the floor of the cabin came to an abrupt end, droppingin a sheer precipice some fifty feet to a huge pool of dark bluewater. But from the verge of the wall a slender ladder led down, itsfoot resting on a narrow ledge of rock in which several largeringbolts were set. Scattered upon the ledge were coils of rope,tackle blocks, a broken oar, some wire
cables and other boat-gear,while beyond, and so perfectly reflected in the glass-like pool thatit appeared like a complete circle, was an arched opening with asunlit strip of water visible through it.
"Get the idea?" asked Rawlins, as the others gazed about. "There'stheir dock and there's where they came in and went out with their sub.But not with that big one that's knocked galley west out in thelagoon. No, this old boy lived in some style I'll say--didn't practiceall the socialist Bolshevist stuff he preached, I guess--and had hisown private sub, instead of a limousine, tied up handy at his backdoor. Hello! There's a paper down there! By crickey! perhaps theydropped something!"
Hurrying nimbly down the ladder, Rawlins stooped, picked up the bit ofpaper which had caught his eyes and a mystified, puzzled look spreadover his face. Slowly and with an odd expression he climbed theladder.
"Hanged if that don't beat all!" he declared, as he gained the top andextended the paper towards Mr. Pauling. "It's a letter, and I'll beswizzled if it isn't addressed to you!"
"What?" exclaimed Mr. Pauling as he took the envelope. "By Jove! This_is_ amazing!"
Ripping open the envelope Mr. Pauling drew forth a single sheet ofpaper. One glance sufficed to read all that was upon it, for there wasbut a single line.
"Good luck in your search. Sorry not home to receive you. Remember Mercedes."
There was no signature, but none was needed. The words weretypewritten and the machine which had printed them was the one whichhad typed the inflammatory, revolutionary Bolshevist propaganda whichhad flooded the States.
Once more the arch criminal had slipped through their fingers. But ithad been a close shave.