CHAPTER XV

TORN APART

The rough weather which had delayed their fascinating work of exploration continued for a day or two longer and the boys, impatient at the setback, were beginning to make plans to brave the heavy sea, when, as suddenly as it had risen, the wind died down, followed by a heavy, breathless calm.

“At last,” muttered Dick as the boys stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing out over the placid water, “the elements are with us again. I had begun to think that wind would never die down.”

“I imagine we’d better work fast too, if that overgrown hill is volcanic,” said Tom, with a glance over his shoulder at the lowering mountain. “We don’t want all our fun spoiled by an eruption.”

“Our fun wouldn’t be the only thing spoiled, I imagine,” grinned Steve as they started back for their apparatus. “If that old Jumbo over there should take it into its head to get busy there wouldn’t be enough of us left to send back to the folks.”

Finding the slender shelter which they had erected when they had first been flung upon the island, insufficient to ward off the terrific storm winds that visited that part of the world, the boys had taken refuge in a huge cave, evidently dug out of the side of the mountain by countless attacks of the sea.

That it was ancient there could be no doubt. Also there were traces of human habitation. Someone had evidently dwelt there before them and the boys, as well as Jack Benton himself jumped to the conclusion that that someone had been no other than the marooned old pirate himself.

Of course it was possible that others had occupied the island since the time of the old buccaneer, but it was not at all likely. This small volcanic, desolated island, isolated from the outside world was not one to attract visitors.

Of course, as Tom pointed out, the cave might have sheltered some poor shipwrecked refugee washed ashore by the strong tide. But to this Phil raised the objection that the island was far from the beaten track of vessels and a ship must be blown far out of her course in order to approach these remote waters.

“Well,” Steve had finished with a grin, “we might as well say this is the old pirate’s cave. There’s no one to contradict us anyway.”

“I wish,” Tom had said at this point, “the treasure had been buried in this cave instead of at the bottom of the sea. It would have been a mighty sight more convenient.”

“But not half the fun,” Phil had added. “There’s not everyone has a chance to say ‘howdy’ to sharks and other weird looking animals without being afraid the greeting will be his last. I just sit fast within that iron-bound diving suit and grin at ’em.”

“You feel something like the cat the dog has treed, eh?” laughed Benton. “Let the dog bark and be durned to him.”

“Exactly,” grinned Phil. “It sure is a grand and glorious feeling.”

Now as the boys returned to the cave they saw that Bimbo was working furiously at something. It was so remarkable for Bimbo to work hard at anything that the boys regarded him curiously.

“What’s up, old boy?” shouted Phil when they came within calling distance. “Has a bee stung you or something?”

“Law, Marse Phil,” the negro answered straightening up and showing all his teeth in a broad grin. “They ain’t no sech a thing in dis part de world, not as Ah ever heered on. No sir, Marse Phil. Ah was jes’ gettin’ you’ breffust ready in a tearin’ hurry. The wind done gone an’ lef’ us an’ I knowed you’d be wantin’ get busy right soon. So Ah says to myself, Ah says, ‘Bimbo, you stir yo legs, Nigger, yo done better get a wiggle on. Marse Phil done got one busy day befo’ him.’ So, Marse Phil, I jes’ been followin’ mah own advice.”

By this time they had reached the cave and Phil gave the grinning black boy a resounding slap on the back.

“Good boy, Bimbo,” he laughed. “You’re getting better every day. I believe you know what we want before we want it ourselves.”

Bimbo beamed at this praise and his eyes followed Phil with the faithful devotion of a dog. It is safe to say that the black boy would have died without a murmur for this adored young master.

The boys were full of enthusiasm and they ate the tempting food that Bimbo set before them hurriedly, hardly knowing what they ate.

One thing was uppermost in their minds—the lure of the treasure hidden beneath the hatches of the sunken ship.

“I’d better take some dynamite with me this time,” said Phil, as he finished his last bite of breakfast and stood up, eager for action. “From the look I had at them the other day I don’t believe I’ll be able to lift the hatches by my own strength.”

“All right, let’s go,” said Dick, energetically. “The first thing is to get all our stuff down to the water. We’ll want to take some of the radio apparatus I suppose.”

“Sure thing,” said Steve. “We’ll need a couple of batteries anyway—enough to generate the spark that will set off the dynamite.”

“We’ll need to be mighty careful in using this stuff,” cautioned Benton. “Dynamite works a great deal more powerfully under water than it does on land. It sure would be unhealthy for Phil if we didn’t get him up and removed to a safe distance before the charge goes off. Playing safe is a good policy when you’re dealing with such ticklish stuff as dynamite.

“Sure,” said Phil, “that charge won’t be set off before we’re at a safe distance. Everything ready fellows? All right, let’s go.”

Heavily-laden they got down to the water and piled the apparatus onto the stout raft. Then they got into the little dory and rowed as fast as they could with the cumbrous load in tow, out to the spot where radio had told them the sunken ship lay hidden.

Then Phil donned the diving suit and, with several sticks of dynamite hugged carefully to his chest was slowly lowered over the side of the raft, down, down, down into the unexplored depths of the ocean.

As on that other time, he was filled with a wild excitement. His heart beat thumpingly within the narrow confines of the diving suit. He felt a sort of awe at exploring the mysteries that were generally hidden from human eyes. This was indeed a different world into which he was being slowly lowered, a world filled with vivid-colored creatures which were strange to him.

Down and ever down—while the color and shape of these dwellers under the sea became more brilliant and bewildering. Distorted, grotesque shapes brushed past him to disappear into the shadows beyond the radius of the lights which flung their rays through the water.

As he sank deeper and the weight of the water increased, Phil noticed as he had done before how the radiance from these lights diminished, the rays seemingly thrown back upon themselves by the density of the water.

When at last his feet sank into the soft sand at the bottom of the sea, he could see only a little distance ahead of him.

“However, that distance would be enough,” he told himself, thrilling with the thought of what he was about to do. He, Phil Strong alone at the bottom of the ocean with the treasure.

But perhaps, after all, there was no treasure. The thought chilled him. Suppose the gold they believed to be stored in the hatches of the sunken ship had only existed in the old pirate’s imagination. Suppose they had come all this distance on a wild goose chase.

By a strong effort he shook off these thoughts. If they did not find gold, he told himself, at least they had had the adventure and he, for one, wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

He found that the floating buoy must have shifted a little for he had not landed in the same spot as he had before. He had noticed particularly the formation of the coral beds as a guide to the hulk of the ship and now he found himself confronted by unfamiliar, though wonderfully beautiful coral rock.

He groped his way forward, moving as quickly as he could in the clumsy suit, retarded by the heavy pressure of the water. He knew by experience that the oxygen in the tank did not last long and so he must make the most of every moment when he could breathe without difficulty.

It was a nightmare sensation, groping there at the bottom of the sea, knowing the need for haste and yet being unable to hurry! The grotesque shapes of monster fish flashed by him and once a shark swam so close to him he could have touched it by reaching out the hooks that served him as hands.

He thought of what Jack Benton had said about the treed cat, but this time he did not grin. He was too anxious to reach the ship before his supply of oxygen gave out.

And then before him, looming out of the shadows as gaunt and gray as a ghost was the hulk of the pirate ship. Phil gave a cry of joy and lumbered heavily forward.

Once the line that connected him with the upper world wound about a projection of rock and he wasted precious time trying to disengage it. It would never do to repeat that other experience of his. Once had been quite enough!

At last he reached the boat, clambered over the rail and tried to find footing on its slanting slippery deck. He half walked, half slid to the first hatch and tried vainly to pry it loose. Swollen by water, its hinges hopelessly rusted, it would take a force greater than Phil’s to lift it.

Phil picked up the dynamite which he had carefully laid on the deck.

“It’s up to you, old son,” he said almost affectionately as he placed the charge close to the hatch and fastened to the fuse the wire which he had brought for the purpose. “You just get the hatches open and trust to Uncle Phil to do the rest!”

The work done, he gave the signal and was quickly drawn up to the surface. The boat put in for the shore and not until they were within a few yards of it did they halt. Then Benton pressed the key of the battery.