“Well, what did Smernoff tell you?” demanded Mr. Henderson as Rawlins concluded.
“I was coming to that,” went on the diver. “There were so many talking at once he didn’t get it all, but he got enough. He says they had word this morning or this afternoon—he isn’t sure which—that their sub had been attacked and was being followed by a destroyer, and a sub, but that the sub—meaning us—had been done for. And they were talking a lot about him—I expect he was so busy listening to that part he couldn’t get all the rest—swearing vengeance on him for betraying them. They knew about his getting away and doing up a few ‘reds’ in New York—though how the dickens they got the news beats me, and one of the men from the sub—he’d come ashore in a diving suit to see if the coast was clear—was telling them how Smernoff and his mate had betrayed the sub in the East River and the narrow escape they’d had. Funny how they got the idea old Smernoff did that when really they deserted him. Anyhow they were mad as hornets when their nest’s been poked by a kid and at the same time they didn’t dare wait for the destroyer to come up, so all hands decided to pack up and go over to Santo Domingo. It seems they’ve a place all ready over there close to the big chief’s and had been planning to move for some time. Now, just where that is I don’t know, but Smernoff says they talked about a cave and I heard one of ’em say something about Caña Honda. Over Caña Honda way there are lots of caves so I’ve got a hunch the whole shooting match are beating it for over that way.”
“You’ve done a good night’s work, Rawlins!” cried Mr. Pauling. “You did quite right in listening rather than notifying us. All we wanted of this crowd was information—it’s the head of the gang we’re after—and we’ve got what we want, or nearly what we want—without capturing or alarming them, which is a big point. Always keep the other fellow guessing in this game is a good thing to remember—let him think he’s safe and he’ll be less careful. I imagine you are right about the locality, your hunches have proved very accurate so far, so let us get under way for Caña Honda.”
“No hurry,” declared Rawlins. “Those chaps won’t be over there until morning and I don’t want to take any chances of bumping into them or a reef at night. We can get started and loaf along a little later, but we want to be dead careful or they’ll hear us. They think we’re at the bottom of the Caribbean so we’ll let ’em keep on thinking so. If they are at Caña Honda we won’t have much trouble finding them. We can either pick them up by radio or spot them by smoke. They can’t cook without fire and where there’s fire there’s smoke. My plan would be to wait until nearly daylight and then start and take it easy and submerge before we get in sight of Caña Honda. Then slip in, find a good hiding place and do our hunting in small boats or afoot after dark. A sub’s a mighty poor sort of thing to go moseying around with. If we locate them we can slip off, notify Disbrow and corral the whole bunch.”
For a few moments Mr. Pauling was silent, thinking deeply.
“Yes,” he assented at last. “That will be the best plan. No use in rushing matters to such an extent that we overdo it. And I quite agree with you in regard to tracing them. As you say, a submarine is too clumsy and large a craft for scouting—it’s too easily seen or heard.”
Everything being thus arranged, the submarine was raised to the surface, anchored securely and the occupants retired. The boys, however, got little sleep, for they were nervous and excited and filled with expectation of thrilling adventures to come.
As soon as the first faint streaks of dawn showed upon the horizon, the anchor was hauled in and, swinging her bow towards the dim, black bulk that marked the mountains of Santo Domingo to the westward, the submarine slipped silently from Trade Wind Cay.
Hour after hour they moved steadily across the calm blue sea and as they drew ever nearer to the big island the boys gazed upon it with wonder. They had never dreamed that an island could be so large. They had imagined, from the tiny dot that represented Santo Domingo in their geographies, that it would be a low, flat spot somewhat like the Bahamas, but a little larger, and now before them, they saw what appeared to be a continent. As far as eye could see on either hand the forest-covered hills stretched away. Inland and up from the shores rose tier after tier of mountains, the farthest nearly two miles in height and half-hidden in clouds, and between them were immense valleys, deep ravines and wide plateaus. And everywhere, from sea to topmost mountain peaks, the vivid green of forest and jungle, broken only by a few isolated patches of light-green sugar cane upon the lower hill slopes or in the valleys.
“Jiminy!” exclaimed Tom. “That is an island!”