CHAPTER TWENTY

Isle of the Singing Trees

While Pat was on duty in the conning tower, Tim recounted in detail to Commander Ford just what had taken place in Key West. When he was through the Commander looked extremely grave.

"Now that Sladek knows we are bound for an island off the coast of Yucatan, our only hope is for speed. It may take him several days to locate us after we are there, but with his seaplane he is certain to do that. We'll continue ahead as fast as possible and once over the wreck of the Southern Queen we'll lose no time in going down and getting what we can."

Only Commander Ford knew the exact location of the island they sought off the coast of Yucatan. As the hours rolled into days, the tension aboard the _S-18_ grew. There had been no further sign of the _Iron Mate_ and they wondered whether Sladek was ahead or behind.

Tim wrote a story each day and Ike Green flashed it over his powerful set to the station of the New York Journal, where it was relayed to Tim's own paper at Atkinson.

The third night after Tim joined the _S-18_ out of Key West he felt the pulse of the diesels slowing down. He tossed on his clothes and made his way to the control room and climbed the ladder to the conning tower. Commander Ford and Pat were intently scanning the horizon.

Pat turned toward Tim.

"We'll reach the island about dawn," he said.

Commander Ford was looking at a chart with a hand torch. One finger stopped at a tiny island off the coast of Yucatan.

"That's our destination," he said. "If Crazy John knew what he was talking about, the Southern Queen went down on a reef just off the Isle of the Singing Trees."

"What island?" asked Tim.

"The Isle of the Singing Trees. It's marked here on the chart and is uninhabited."

The _S-18_ crept through the thinning night at half speed and with the coming of the dawn, they saw the outline of the island. It was small and seemed barely able to keep its head above the restless Caribbean. Breakers, indicating the danger of hidden reefs, fringed the isle. Through the powerful glasses they could see a dense tangle of vegetation and beyond the Isle of the Singing Trees the dim outlines of the mainland, which was still shrouded by the morning mists.

The pulses of the men aboard the _S-18_ quickened. They were within sight of their goal.

Tim scanned the surface of the ocean. There was no sign of the _Iron Mate_, not even a faint smudge of smoke to cause them apprehension.

Commander Ford ordered the Diesels stopped. A piping hot breakfast was served to every member of the crew and then the slow, creeping trip toward the island was resumed.

As they neared the desolate spot, Tim could understand why Crazy John had not cared to return. There was nothing beautiful about the Isle of the Singing Trees. The beach was rough and strewn with rock and as they approached the island they heard the singing of the wind through the tangled growth. Truly the island had been well named.

The island had never been adequately charted, and Commander Ford was feeling his way past the dangerous reefs, one of which had brought a sudden end to the Southern Queen eleven years before.

Jagged splinters of rock reached up from the ocean bottom to impale the hull of the _S-18_, but each time the skilful hands of her commander directed the submarine past the danger spot. There was a brisk wind, and waves broke sharply over the hull, but at last the _S-18_ was past the outer rim of rock which encircled the island and safely into the smoother water. Everyone breathed easier as the order to let go the anchor came from the conning tower and the mud hook was dropped sharply away.

Two sturdy boats, both collapsible, were brought up from the diving compartment and assembled on the deck. Charlie Gill and Russ Graham, the chief divers, checked over their equipment and Pat gave Tim a hand in loosening the fastenings which held the seaplane to the deck.

Joe Gartner even found time to polish his beloved four inch gun and Tim felt that Joe was secretly praying for a chance to get into action against the _Iron Mate_.

When the first boat was lowered into the water, Commander Ford stepped into the stern and Charlie Gill and Russ Graham manned the oars. The commander was going to waste no time in attempting to locate the wreck of the treasure ship.

The crew of the _S-18_, clustered on deck, watched the progress of the small boat as it bobbed about inside the reefs. Both Gill and Commander Ford were busy making soundings while the other diver handled the boat. Back and forth they crept along the reef, their lines dragging the bottom for some sign of the Southern Queen.

The hours slipped away and the other boat, in charge of Pat, joined the first in the quest for the location of the old vessel.

Tim remained on deck, squatting in the shadow of the seaplane. Ike Green joined him.

"Why don't they take the _S-18_ down and creep along the bottom until they find the Southern Queen?" asked Tim.

"Commander Ford's afraid of the currents around the reef. He wants to know something about the bottom before he takes the _S-18_ down."

The remainder of the afternoon was spent with the two small boats dragging their grappling hooks along the bottom. At sundown the weary crews returned to the submarine. There was no use to ask whether they had found any trace of the Southern Queen. The tired, disappointed faces were enough.

"What about the bottom?" Tim asked Pat.

"It's going to be a tough proposition even if we find the old ship. Lots of rock down there and queer currents. There must be all kinds of holes in the outer reef."

Commander Ford was silent, planning the activities for the next day, and everyone aboard the submarine, except the watch, was in their blankets early.

The next morning at dawn the men of the _S-18_ were on deck, preparing for another day of grappling for the wreckage of the Southern Queen.

"I wonder if Crazy John could have been mistaken?" Tim asked Pat.

"It's possible, but I don't believe Commander Ford would have fitted out an expensive expedition like this if he hadn't been pretty sure of his facts. We've got a lot of territory inside the reefs to explore before we give up hope."

"Or before Sladek and the _Iron Mate_ arrive," put in Tim, searching the sky for a possible trace of the seaplane from the tramp steamer.

There was a bright, burning sun and throughout the morning hours the boat crews toiled, dragging hooks on the uneven bottom. After a hasty lunch, they returned to the gruelling task. Tim, confident that the seaplane could be made ready for flight in a minimum time, squatted on the deck and watched the operations.

It was late afternoon when a joyful shout from Pat rang across the water.

"We've snagged something!" he cried.

Commander Ford in the other boat hastened toward the spot and more grapnels were dropped.

Fifteen minutes later the men waiting on the deck of the submarine knew that the Southern Queen had been found. Commander Ford dropped a line with a buoy and the two boats headed back for the _S-18_. Fatigue was miraculously wiped from the faces of the boatmen as they pulled alongside, and Commander Ford gave them the information they all sought.

"Diving operations will start in the morning," he said.

There was a joyous whoop from the crew of the _S-18_. This was what they had been watching for, a chance to get the treasure of the Southern Queen.