“Have every able-bodied Carib at Stann Creek at the dock, every man armed.”
Ten minutes later their motor boat was popping, and the dock and low sheds of Porte Zelaya were fading in the distance.
When Johnny and Madge, riding on the prow of the motor boat with the giant Carib at the wheel, rounded a point of land and came in sight of the dock at Stann Creek, they were given the thrill of their young lives. The dock was one moving mass of men.
“The Caribs!” A lump came to the girl’s throat.
“They came,” said Johnny.
“I knew they would. They would do anything for grandfather.”
It was true. The instant Johnny’s word from the air had arrived, messengers had been sent helter-skelter, here, there, everywhere. The train on the narrow gauge railroad had gone into the bush to return groaning and creaking with such a load of black and brown humanity as had never before been seen on the backwaters of Central America.
Every grown Carib within twenty miles of the dock was there. The instant the North Star came alongside they swarmed upon the deck.
The loading of the grapefruit with the aid of so many strong and willing hands was but the work of a few hours. Then, with a load of humanity greater than her load of fruit, the ship cast off her moorings and headed straight for the dock at Porte Zelaya where, Johnny felt sure, there awaited them a great and terrible battle.
As the boy walked the deck his eyes shone with joy. Whoever commanded a stronger, braver, more loyal army than the black throng that, swarming up the hatches, perched themselves on mast and rigging, forecastle, after deck and anchor, until there was scarcely space left to move?