Dave Fearless and the Cave of Mystery: or, Adrift on the Pacific

"Yes, he is-ashore there."

"Oh, are you sure?"

"Go look for yourself. Hurrah!"

Captain Broadbeam was beside himself with genuine gladness.

He clamped his big paw of a hand across his old friend's arm and fairly dragged him across the deck.

"Yes, it's Dave," cried the happy father, taking a look through the spyglass. Then he handed it back to Bob Vilett. The old diver turned his face away. It was wet with tears of thankfulness and joy.

Captain Broadbeam moved about the deck too excited to stand still.

"I felt it in my bones! Didn't I say it all along?" he spoke. "Didn't I stick to it that a lad born to the sea would find a way out of it? Below there, Adams," he hailed to the engineer, "how's she working?"

"Bad, sir; mortal bad," reported the engineer.

There was something serious the matter with the Swallow. There had been since the night previous.

Dave Fearless had not been missed from the ship until that morning. Then they had searched everywhere for him. It became patent after an investigation that he had been swept overboard.

There was little chance to look for him. The storm that had given Dave and his refugee friends, Daley and the others, such a terrible experience, had dealt the stanch little steamer a severe blow.

There had been times during the tempest when the Swallow was thrown about like an eggshell in the grasp of a giant. She was cast on her beam-ends more than once.

The steamer outrode the storm just in time. She could not have stood another hour of that terrible tossing about and wrenching.

With a grave face Adams had called Captain Broadbeam down into the engine room to see the damage that had been done.

The engine was fairly out of commission. One driving rod was bent badly, some of the minor mechanism was clear out of gear.

"It's land and a quiet harbor mighty quick, sir," reported the experienced engineer, "or trouble if another storm strikes us on the open sea."

"You are right, Adams," said the captain, after due investigation. "We must make land somehow, somewhere. The Swallow is badly crippled."

"You see, sir," observed Adams, "I have rigged up a temporary makeshift for a driving rod. It may give out at any moment under strain. If we can work our way easy like and crawl to harborage, in a few days with some blacksmithing we might forge or rig up some new parts."

It was just after this that land was discovered, and Stoodles came into a general consultation as an authority that they were surely approaching the Windjammers' Island.

Their former experience in these same waters was of value now. Adams advised that they get close to the shore and line it, looking for a temporary harbor.

Bob Vilett had a valuable suggestion to make. He was in a pretty gloomy mood over the unknown fate of his chum, for whom they had spent two hours with all the small boats out.

Bob, however, had to stick to his duty. It nearly broke his heart to witness the prostration of the old diver, but as he thought of something, he went to the captain.

"When we were here before, captain," he said, "you remember the natural harbor where we found the old derelict vessel?"

"Why," said Broadbeam, "the very thing. Thanks for the suggestion, lad. If we can reach that spot we are safe from any bother from the natives here and from any storm that may come up. Tell Adams."

The Swallow had been discovered by the natives about an hour later. These came to the beach in several places. They made a great ado. Whole processions came into view. At one place they brought down a covered platform borne by four men. Upon this platform was a great earthen pot filled with some smoking material.

"What are they up to, Pat?" the captain asked Stoodles.

"Begorra, it's the ould magic spell of their high-priests to send us bad luck," answered the Irishman.

The various incantations of the natives went on nearly under the eyes of those on board of the Swallow for some time. Then the visitations to the beach ceased. It was now about half an hour later that Bob Vilett had discovered Dave Fearless on the cape cliff where the young diver and his three companions had just arrived.

While Mr. Fearless was gazing anxiously ashore and Bob was tracing every movement of his distant chum through the spyglass, Captain Broadbeam was giving quick orders to his men.

A boat was to go ashore at once and a signal given from the deck of the Swallow that Dave would understand.

"Don't delay, my friends," the excited Stoodles kept urging the sailors. "Let us get into action before my former subjects come into sight again."

All was ready, boat, men, and weapons, to start to the succor of Dave, when Bob Vilett uttered a shout of dismay.

"Oh, captain," he cried, running up to the commander of the Swallow, "it's too late."

"How's this? What do you mean?" demanded the captain.

He snatched the glass from Bob's hand and took a look himself. Then he uttered a hollow groan.

Dave and the others were still visible on the cliff, but over a hundred natives had suddenly swarmed about them.

As he looked, the captain saw these surround Dave and the others. They were seized, bound, and carried off into the forest before his very eyes.

CHAPTER XXI

THE ISLAND HARBOR

The great joy that the friends of Dave Fearless had experienced, at discovering him almost in reach, now gave way to great anxiety as he seemed lost to them again.

Bob Vilett was summoned to the engine room by his superior. Amos Fearless went back to the cabin, looking dejected and sad.

Captain Broadbeam fumed secretly. He paced the deck rapidly, going through considerable mental perturbation.

Pat Stoodles saw the expedition ashore abandoned.

He knew the captain's fiery moods and kept out of the way for a spell. When the Swallow turned her head directly north he approached Broadbeam.

"It's on your way you'd be going, captain dear?" mildly observed Stoodles.

"Don't you see I am?" challenged Broadbeam petulantly.

"It's disturbed ye are, I see," said the plausible Irishman. "Ochone, ye may well be. Wirra-wirra! that fine broth of a boy, Dave Fearless, abandoned to his fate. Deserted by his friends."

"Who's abandoning him, who's deserting him?" flamed out the captain.

"That's it. I was asking your honor," said Stoodles innocently. "Of course ye have plans to assist the lad. I know the island. Wasn't I their king once on a time? Make me your confidant, captain dear. What's your plans?"

"I'll show those bloodthirsty villains soon," declared Broadbeam, shaking his ponderous fist at the island. "I'm going around to anchor in the cove at the northwest end of the island."

"I see," nodded Stoodles thoughtfully. "A foine spot. And then, captain?"

"Every man aboard armed to the teeth, and let those savages look out. My duty is first to my ship. When I have her safe at anchorage it's Dave Fearless, first, last, and all the time."

"Captain," observed Stoodles enthusiastically, "you're a jewel!"

Stoodles went apart by himself, smiling and apparently intensely satisfied. He seemed planning something all the rest of the time it took to go about one-third around the island.

The sheltered cove into which the Swallow finally ran was located at a remote and unfrequented part of the island.

It was here that on a former occasion a derelict had lain shut in, undiscovered for a long time, by great forests and guarded by steep cliffs towards the sea.

The ravages of a great cyclone were visible here and there as the Swallow neared its port. The steamer ran under a network of vines that hung like a curtain across the front of this singular cove.

The first thing done, once a permanent mooring was made, was to carry a portable forge ashore. Adams, the engineer, selected two of the crew who had some knowledge of blacksmithing.

"We'll have the Swallow in taut trim inside of three days, captain," Adams promised.

"Good," nodded the commander. "I leave it to you. Now then, to adopt some plan to reach Dave Fearless."

The boatswain came up and touched his cap respectfully.

"What is it, Drake?" inquired Broadbeam.

"That man, Gerstein."

"Well, what about him?"

"Uneasy, sir. I've been watching him closely. I found a package of food and a knife and a pistol hidden under his bunk this morning."

"You did, eh?" muttered the captain thoughtfully. "Preparing to bolt, you think?"

"I know it."

"Won't do," advised Broadbeam tersely. "Lock him up."

"In irons, captain?"

"No, the hold storeroom is safe and sound. Put him there. We mustn't let the man escape until we know what he knows."

Captain Broadbeam had a long talk with Amos Fearless. He decided that early the next morning they would make up a strong party, well armed, and march on the native town of the Windjammers.

"Come in here, my friends," said the captain to Pat Stoodles and Bob Vilett, at the end of his talk with Mr. Fearless.

He then told them of his decision. Stoodles did not say much. Bob was pleased and eager to start on the foray.

"I hope we shall be in time," sighed Dave's father anxiously. "Those natives may even now have killed their captives."

"You're wrong there, Mr. Fearless," declared Stoodles, with confidence. "Listen, sir. Wasn't I once king of that fine lot of natives? Don't I know their ways? Very well, my friends, if you will look at the moon to-night you will find it on the lasht quarther. The Windjammers never kill a prisoner except from a new moon up to a full moon."

"Is that true, Pat?" asked Captain Broadbeam.

"True to the letther, sir-who knows betther than I, who have had experience? Yes, sir, they won't harm the lad or his comrades for over a week at the least, unless in a fight or an accident. Those natives who came out on the big rock had come there to cast another spell on the ship. Dave couldn't get away seawards without dropping into the sea. He couldn't fight half the tribe. He's given in quietly, as we saw, sir. They'll shut him up; that's all for the present. We'll get him out; that's all for the future. Now, captain dear, I've got something of a favor to ask of you."

"All right, Pat, what is it?"

"Don't march down on the Windjammers. I've said nothing against your plans until the right moment."

"Well?" asked Broadbeam.

"I've a betther plan than your own to offer. Listen, sir-the most you can muster is half a dozen able men."

"A dozen, fully."

"And leave the ship unguarded? All right, captain, call it a dozen. What then? You march on a thousand natives. No, no, sir," said Stoodles, shaking his head solemnly, "they would wipe you off the face of the earth, first move. Don't be foolish, sir. Let me thry."

"Try what?"

"To rescue me young friend, Dave Fearless. Captain, you remember how I hocused them and came it over them when you were here before?"

"Yes, Pat, I have a very vivid memory of some of your whimsical doings," answered the captain, smiling.

"Then one favor, captain: loan me Bob Vilett and a few traps I need. Give me two days to bring back Dave Fearless."

Amos Fearless looked anxious, the captain undecided.

"Do it, captain," urged Bob Vilett eagerly. "I have great faith in Mr. Stoodles."

The captain reflected seriously for a moment or two. He glanced at the old diver. The latter nodded. Anything that might affect his son's welfare appealed to him strongly.

"Do it, then," said Captain Broadbeam, "only, remember, you two take your own risks."

CHAPTER XXII

THE HOUSE OF TEARS

"Hooray!" said Pat Stoodles, as soon as they were out of the presence of Captain Broadbeam and the diver.

"All right now, eh?" insinuated Bob curiously.

"Shure I am. Now, my friend, I've done you the honor of selecting you to go with me. You're willing?"

"Try me," cried Bob stanchly.

"The first thing," said Stoodles, "is to see Doctor Barrell."

"What! You're not thinking of taking him with us?" cried Bob.

"Not at all," responded Stoodles, "but I do want to take with me something he has got."

"And what's that, Pat?" asked Bob.

"His phonnygraph."

"Aha, I see," cried Bob, grinning. "The time you visited your subjects before you worked on their superstitious fears by rubbing phosphorus on your face. This time-"

"I'm reckoning on giving them a spaach, lad. Lave that end to me. What I want you to do is to make another of those paper balloons you sent up into the air the Fourth of July out at sea."

"Sure," said Bob; "a dozen, if you like."

"No, make two, for one might get disabled. Have you any of the fireworks left?"

"No, but I can make almost any kind of a sizzer with powder and fuses the purser will let me have."

"All right," approved Stoodles. "I may want to send up a balloon at the proper moment. If I do, I want it to send out lots of sparks when it gets aloft."

"You leave all that to me, Mr. Stoodles," said Bob. "I'll guarantee a perfect job."

"It's all for Dave's sake, lad, so I know you will," declared Stoodles.

The eccentric but loyal Irishman now went to the stateroom occupied by Doctor Barrell.

"Docther," he said, entering the presence of the old scientist, "I'd be telling you something."

Doctor Barrell was very busy examining some seaweed specimens he had fished up in the cove, but he graciously received the visitor, who was quite a favorite with him.

"Speak right out, Mr. Stoodles," he said.

Pat narrated his plans in behalf of Dave Fearless. Doctor Barrell was interested.

"And how can I help you?" he inquired, when Stoodles had finished talking.

"Docther dear, it's the loan of your phonnygraph I'd be wanting."

Doctor Barrell looked serious. He had a remarkably fine phonograph outfit, receiver and transmitter attachments, and all up to date.

This he greatly valued, for he was accustomed to talk his scientific deductions into a receiver, preserving the records for future reference when he got back to the United States.

"Tell me about what you want to reach, Mr. Stoodles," said the kindly old fellow, "and I'll see if I can fix you out properly."

Stoodles explained his scheme. After that he was shut up with the doctor for several hours. When he rejoined Bob his face was beaming.

"It's all right, lad," he reported. "Ah, but a wise old fellow is Docther Barrell. It'll be amazing what we are going to do to the natives."

It was just before dusk that evening when Stoodles and Bob left the Swallow. They each carried a good-sized parcel. The captain had seen to it that they were furnished with small-arms.

The ship's yawl took them out of the cove and landed them about five miles down shore, the boatswain in charge.

"It's understood, then," said Drake, "that we be here again with the boat at six, twelve, and six to-morrow?"

"If we're alive and well," answered Stoodles, "you'll find us on hand on one of those three occasions."

"That has saved us a long, hard tramp," said Bob, shouldering his load as they started inland.

"Two-thirds of the journey, lad, if the native town is where I think it is," answered Stoodles. "Now, everything depends on getting to the town and into it without being seen."

"Yes," assented Bob, "and it may prove a hard task."

"Not if you do exactly as I say," declared Stoodles. "Just follow me. I know all the short cuts."

The journey was not a pleasant one. There was no beaten path to follow. They had to breast their way at places through whole acres of thorny bushes. At other places they had some steep rocks to climb.

They rested frequently. It was about two hours later when Stoodles pressed through the last canes of a great brake with an expression of intense satisfaction.

"The hardest part of our tramp is over and done with, lad," he announced.

"That's good news," said Bob, who was pretty tired.

"Now you rest here till I get up into a tree and take a peep in a certain direction."

Stoodles selected a high, lonely tree near at hand, and was soon up among its loftiest branches. He came down speedily.

"It's all right, Bob," he stated. "A mile more and we will be at the edge of the town."

"The new town?" asked Bob. "The old one was destroyed by the cyclone, you know."

"Yes, the new town. It's not far away. I can tell by the lights."

It was now, as they reached a moderately level plateau, that they found paths evidently used regularly by the natives.

One of these lay right through a large field of flowers that resembled poppies. These appeared to be under cultivation.

"What's the flower garden for?" asked Bob.

"These are the royal flowers, lad," explained the Irishman. "They use them for royal celebrations and funerals. Bad cess to it! If we should be found here by the natives."

"Why?" inquired Bob.

"Taboo. No one is allowed here except the women who give their life to tending to the flowers, unless by direct permission of the native king."

"Well," observed Bob quizzically, "you had ought to be able to get a free pass, seeing that you was king once."

Stoodles chuckled as if some pleasant idea was suggested to his mind.

"I'll be king again," he observed. "I've got to be. 'Tis only for an hour maybe, but Dave Fearless and I want to make that ten thousand dollars."

"What ten thousand dollars?" asked Bob eagerly, as Stoodles paused in some confusion.

"You'd better ask Dave that," suggested Stoodles.

"Oh, I know what you are hinting at," said Bob. "It's some schemes concerning those two boxes Dave got at Minotaur Island."

"Ah, is it now?" said Stoodles, with an expression of vacancy on his face.

"I am sure it is," persisted Bob, "and I know what is in those boxes."

"Hear him! Well, well!" commented Stoodles.

"It's a little printing outfit. Pat, what are you and Dave going to mix up these natives with a printing outfit for? Won't you tell me?"

"Lad," pronounced Stoodles solemnly, "that is a dark and deadly saycret for the present."

Bob had to be satisfied with this. He followed his guide in silence. Stoodles halted.

"Do you see that old building yonder?" he asked of his companion.

"Yes," nodded Bob, curiously regarding a rude broad hut occupying an elevated space just beyond the flower field.

"Well, take my bundle. That's it. Now don't sthir till I come out. Crouch down among these bushes. I've got to get into that building to make my plans good."

"What is it, anyhow?" inquired Bob.

"They call it the House of Tears," was the rather singular reply of Stoodles.

CHAPTER XXIII

READY FOR ACTION

"I wonder what he has gone in there for?" thought Bob Vilett, as Stoodles disappeared in the direction of the House of Tears.

Bob had not long to wait. Stoodles came back as silently as he had gone.

"Aisy, lad!" he warned. "There's people about."

"I don't see any."

"In the pagoda yonder. There's a dozen or more mourners, all widows."

"Oh, I understand why it is called the House of Tears now," said Bob.

"I was in on them with a stumble. By good luck the lights were low for one thing, and they were all given up to their groaning and mourning. Well, I got these two, anyhow."

"Two what?" interrogated Bob. "Oh, I see," he added, as he made out two curious garments in the hands of his companion.

Spreading one out at a time, Stoodles showed Bob what they were.

"Any royal mourner," he explained, "wears one of these constantly for a full month after the death of a relative. They are taboo all that time. They must not be hindered. They are free to go where they choose."

"Good," commented Bob, "they'll help us out, then, won't they?"

"Yes. Get into this one, lad; it's the shortest," said Stoodles.

The garment was of one piece, covering a person from head to foot. Its top was a cap with holes for the eyes only.

When the two friends were arrayed in the garments they presented queer figures. Each carried his bundle under its ample folds.

The next half-hour was an interesting one for Bob. He simply followed Stoodles. Somehow he could not help but have confidence in the whimsical old fellow. For one thing, Stoodles certainly knew his ground well from experience. Besides that, he had been successful in carrying his point when he had before visited the native town when they were marooned on the island by the Raven crowd.

It was now past midnight. As they progressed Bob could see that they were nearing a lot of habitations.

For the most part the native village made up of squalid-looking huts.

Here and there, however, were some more pretentious structures. So far they had not met a single person.

"The palace, the home of the king, that same," said Stoodles, as they paused near the largest building they had yet seen.

"What's the programme?" asked Bob.

"You see that little pagoda attached behind?"

Bob nodded affirmatively.

"That is the council temple. I must get in there."

"It looks easy," said Bob. "Those sides of matting are not hard to break through."

"No, but the place is guarded day and night by as many as six natives," explained Stoodles. "They sleep all around the curtained daïs that holds the royal throne. Lad, I must get to that throne."

"All right," said Bob. "And what am I to do?"

"Listen very carefully. You see that big rock in the center of the square yonder?"

"With a great bowl-like thing at the top of it?" asked Bob.

"Yes. That is the public tribune, or place where the king's messengers make announcements to the people. That big bowl is filled with a perfumed water once a year, and the people pass under it while the high priest of the tribe throws a few drops over each of them."

"Go ahead," said Bob, "this is kind of interesting."

"Now then," pursued Stoodles, "I have planned out just what I want to have you do. Don't make any miss, lad."

"I'll make no miss-you just instruct me," said Bob.

"You are to climb up into that bowl. It's perfectly dry now. It's deep enough to hold you and all your traps. In just an hour you fire off a revolver, its full round of charges. Get your balloon ready. I'll hand you up the phonnygraph. Start it up-that's all."

"But what's going to come of it all?"

"You will soon see that."

"And what am I to do when the performance is over?" demanded Bob.

"I'll see that you are properly taken care of," declared Stoodles.

"All right," said Bob. "I suppose you know what you are about, but it's a pretty elaborate programme you are laying out."

"Oh, I know how to hocus these superstitious people, that's all," said Stoodles lightly. "I've done it before, you know."

Stoodles took Bob over to the public tribune. Everybody in the village seemed to be asleep. They were apparently unnoticed and undisturbed as they got the bundles up into the great bowl.

Bob climbed in after. Stoodles gave him a few last words of direction. Then he started off to carry out his own part of the programme.

The side of the great earthen bowl in which Bob now found himself was perforated all around the scalloped outer edges. Bob kept Stoodles in sight as long as he could by peering through one of these.

"He has gone in the direction of the royal council room," thought Bob. "This is a queer go. I wonder how it will turn out? In an hour, he said-all right."

Bob looked at his watch, flashing a match for the purpose. Then he arranged the various paraphernalia that were to take part in Pat Stoodles' programme.

He got the phonograph placed to suit him and ready for action at a moment's notice. Bob also prepared one of the small paper balloons so he could light the alcohol sponge on the wire on its bottom without igniting the tissue paper. A perforated asbestos globe he had himself designed, enabled him to do this with facility.

The native village slept. No sound broke the silence of the mystic midnight hour.

Bob again consulted his watch. The hour prescribed by Stoodles had passed.

"Everything must have worked smoothly with Pat," thought the young engineer. "I'm due to start the ball rolling all right. Here goes!"

CHAPTER XXIV