The Boy Aviators on Secret Service; Or, Working with Wireless

CHAPTER XVIII

A NIGHT ALARM

Quatty, quite recovered now from his first terror, and almost aggressive in his newly-found courage, sat by Frank’s side directing him as well as he could for, as he explained, he would not be able to get his bearings till they had passed the cypress belt and were above the Everglades themselves. Every now and again, however, he would give the young captain a steering direction.

“A bit mo’ eas’ by sout’,” or “Hold a bit to de sout’ sout’ eas’, massa.”

“What are we making, Frank, do you estimate?” inquired Harry, as the ship rushed through the air.

“About ten miles,” rejoined the other, “the wind is dead against us.”

“Not as fast as a subway express, but doing pretty well,” was Harry’s comment.

The young engineer was, however, most of the time as engrossed with his engines as was Frank with the steering apparatus. From time to time he ran his hand carefully over them to see if the condenser was doing its cooling work properly. The lubricating gear also received his careful attention. A heated bearing would have meant a serious accident if not disaster and Harry was too old an aeronaut despite his youthful years not to pay the closest attention to one of the most important features of a gasolene engine.

“It seems to me that we had better make camp for the night in the cypress belt if possible and make an early start over the ’glades themselves to-morrow,” said Frank, as the dark line of trees grew gradually nearer and the boys saw that they formed a thick belt in some places several miles across.

“Yes, if we find a landing-place,” rejoined Harry.

“How about that, Quatty?” questioned Frank, “are there any smooth spots clear of trees in the swamp?”

“Oh, berry plenty, massa,” replied the negro. “I fin’ you nice lilly campin’ place we get near dem.”

Like a big hawk about to pounce the Golden Eagle II was hovering about an hour before sundown above the tops of the dark cypresses in search of a suitable spot to swoop down. After Frank had manœuvred her in widening circles through the air for perhaps half an hour they at last were above a large clearing a mile or more in diameter and which was quite clear of trees.

“Injun make um long time ago, maybe three, four thousan’ years,” explained Quatty in answer to the boys’ questions.

“Three or four hundred, more likely,” laughed Frank.

“Or three or four,” added Harry.

“Berry well, massas,” said Quatty, highly offended, “I ’spose ah don’ know nuffin’ but what an ig’nant sabage knows.”

To make a landing Frank swung the aeroplane in a long descending arc till he was a few feet above the tops of the outermost of the trees that fringed the clearing then he raised the planes slightly and the Golden Eagle II glided to the earth in a long, slow sweep. The engines had of course been cut out as the descent began and she settled as easily as a bird alighting.

With mosquito netting brought for the purpose the sides of the pilot-house were at once enclosed, for although it was still daylight, the tiny pests that make life miserable on the edges of the ’glades had begun to appear in armies. Strange to say, in the ’glades themselves there are hardly any mosquitoes, but on its borders they swarm in great numbers.

Quatty built a smudge of green wood and leaves before he set about getting supper and in this way the worst of the visitation was alleviated.

The boys watched with some interest while Quatty built his fire. He had lived so long with the Seminoles that he built it in the way the Indians have adopted from time immemorial. First he made a big ring of dry sticks and twigs, the largest on the outside and the small dry ones in the center. He lighted it in the center with his old flint and steel and then having made a rack out of a stick of green wood, placed across two forked upright ones, he pushed the larger timbers from the outside to the center as occasion required.

After a hearty meal of stewed preserved meat made into a delectable stew with dessicated vegetables and canned corn, followed by stewed evaporated fruit washed down by boiling tea, the boys and Quatty retired to the mosquito-barred pilot-house of the Golden Eagle II, where Quatty lighted his pipe “jes’ ter plague dem mosquitoes outside,” he explained, and the boys talked over future plans. After a short time, however, weariness after the energetic day they had put in completely overcame them and they stretched out on the transoms. In a few minutes sleep closed their eyes and the only sound that disturbed the deep silence in the cypress belt was the loud snoring of Quatty and the rhythmical croaking of the frogs and tree lizards in the swamp.

Toward midnight Frank could not judge how long he had been asleep, it seemed to him five minutes, as a matter of fact it was as many hours, when he was awakened with a start to hear a stealthy tread a few feet away from the aeroplane.

“Who’s there?” he shouted.

The minute his voice rang out the footsteps retreated as stealthily as they had approached.

In this lonely untraveled spot who could it be?

The boy awakened his brother and Quatty and cautioning them to silence whispered them his alarming intelligence. Each boy grabbed his rifle and prepared to defend the Golden Eagle II with all their power. As for that arrant coward Quatty, all his recent bravado quite gone, he could only tremble and whimper in terror.

“What do you suppose it is, Frank?” whispered Harry.

“I wish I knew,” replied the other.

“Do you think it’s Indians?” was Harry’s next question.

“It might be,” replied Frank, “but I’m afraid that it’s worse than that.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Harry in the same low tone of voice.

“That the men we are in pursuit of have got some inkling of our purpose and are even now lurking about here to wreck the aeroplane and perhaps kill us.”

The prospect was certainly an alarming one. If Frank’s idea was correct they were powerless. It was unlikely that their enemies would be less than half a dozen and perhaps more. Brave as they were the two boys realized that they could do little against such overwhelming numbers and Quatty was worse than useless.

“Here he comes again,” cried Frank in a tense whisper as after several minutes of silence the boys sat gripping their rifles.

Sure enough the slow, heavy tread was again advancing. It was too dark in the shadows of the mighty cypress trees to see anything and the boys could only judge of the enemy’s whereabouts by the sound. After advancing quite close to the aeroplane the steps ceased and the boys could distinctly hear a low, steady breathing.

“I can’t stand this any longer,” whispered Frank. “I’m going to fire.”

Aiming directly at the sound Frank pulled the trigger. As the report crashed among the trees a roar of pain filled the air and a crashing sound as if a body had fallen was heard.

“What on earth is it?” gasped Harry, as the roar was followed by whines and yells of pain and a sound as if a big carcass was lashing about on the ground.

It was Quatty who solved the mystery.

“Why, dat’s a panfer,” he cried, “ah knowed all along ’twern’t nuffin’ but dat.”

“Get the lantern,” ordered Frank, curtly, “and we’ll see what it is.”

“Yes, massa,” sputtered the negro awed by the boy’s sharp tone. He lit the lamp in silence and the boys sallied out. It was as Quatty had said. On the ground near their camp-fire lay the animal still writhing. Frank put it out of its agony with a shot through the head and then the boys bent over their prize, examining admiringly its tawny skin and great shapely head.

“See, massa, Quatty was right. Nuffin’ to get scared of. Nuffin’ but an ole panfer.”

“Did you think it was ‘nuffin’ but a panfer’ ten minutes ago?” asked Frank.

“Wall, no, massa,” replied the darky, somewhat abashed; “but ah ’spected it right along. Yes, sah, ah mus’ say ah ’spected ’twan’t nuffin’ but dat.”

By this time the sky to the east across the Everglades was beginning to grow gray and as none of the party felt any more inclination to sleep, Quatty was set to work to skin the panther; after which Frank and Harry sauntered into the woods with the shotguns. So good was their success that they managed to bag three brace of doves which broiled with strips of bacon formed a very agreeable addition to the oatmeal, pilot-bread and coffee on which they had intended making their morning meal.

Even before they had despatched their breakfast the sun had risen and illuminated the vast brown levels of the ’glades, which now lay directly before them. The sky was specked with kites and vultures attracted by the carcass of the panther.

“Dey won’t even leab’ any pickins ob him,” said Quatty, motioning up at the soaring carrion birds, “’specs dey finks we pretty good folks to gib dem brakfus’ as well as ourselves.”

Breakfast despatched and the engine fed with fresh lubricant and the gasolene and condenser tanks filled with additional fuel and water the young adventurers were ready to take up what they felt was to be the most important stage of their journey thus far.

The machine was hauled back from the part of the glade where it had alighted to the extreme far side so as to give it all the room possible to rise in. There being no one to turn the propellers the boys utilized their self-starting apparatus.

This consisted of a handle attached to a cogged wheel which operated a chain which in turn revolved another cogged wheel connected to both shafts. This of course acted in exactly the same way as if some one had twisted the propellers, but it required more elbow grease. After a couple of revolutions the engine started up and with a quick all-seeing glance fore and aft Frank threw in the clutch. The Golden Eagle II started as easily as she had the day before and took the air after about fifty yards’ run.

A serious accident, however, was narrowly averted as she cleared the tree-tops. Quatty, arrogant in the fact that he no longer feared the riding in an aeroplane, was standing carelessly on the inclined floor as the craft rose. A sudden jerk as she bucked an uprising current almost threw him from his feet and he made a grab for the first thing he could catch hold of, which was a starboard rudder wire. Under the tug of the stumbling negro’s hand the rudder was of course pulled over and the ship gave a dizzy swoop.

Harry at the engine was thrown right across the pilot-house and Frank thought for a minute that they had gone. With a swift glance he saw what had happened. Reaching back he caught the luckless Quatty a blow under the jaw that laid him flat and effectually loosened his hold on the tiller-wire. Swift as thought the young captain skilfully righted her but not before her port wing-tip had grazed the topmost foliage of one of the loftier cypresses.

When they were once more safe Frank spoke:

“In future, Quatty,” he said, “you will lie flat on the floor when we are going up.”

CHAPTER XIX

ON THE MOUND-BUILDERS’ ISLAND

His high spirits considerably dashed by his misadventure, Quatty sat soberly enough on the transom till Frank ordered him forward to give the young captain sailing directions. They were now racing through the air above the Everglades themselves. Everywhere below them spread the yellowish brown expanse of saw-grass and water-course with here and there a clump of cabbage-palms marking an occasional dry spot. Far on the horizon, like a blue cloud, rested the nearest of the islets on one of which lay their goal. Beyond it like other cloud fragments, lay dim in the distance other patches of elevated land.

Save for the bird-life they could see about them there was no signs of animate existence beneath the aeroplane. Not even a canoe threaded any of the numerous water-courses that spread like a net over the ’glades. A more doleful scene could hardly be imagined.

“How did these men ever find their way to the interior?” wondered Frank.

“Dey must have had a guide, massa,” replied Quatty promptly, “nobody dat don’ know de ’glades can find him way in dem.”

“Where could they get such a guide?” questioned Frank.

“Plenty ob dem,” replied Quatty, “plenty ob Injuns take ’em whereber dey want.”

“But you said your tribe was opposed to them?” objected Harry.

“Don’ know nuffin’ ’bout ‘suppose to dem,’ Massa Harry; but dere ubber tribes in de ’glades dan ours. Some ob dem don’ lak us neider.”

“Then you think they secured guides from some other tribe?” asked Frank.

“Mus’ ab,” rejoined Quatty, “none of my fren’s would guide dem.”

The nearest island rapidly assumed shape and resolved itself into a charming bower of tropical vegetation rising at its highest point about forty or fifty feet above the monotonous level of the ’glades As it grew nearer the boys were astonished to see that its summit was bare of trees and formed a plateau of some area which was flat as the top of a table. It was as if some giant had lopped off the top of it with a huge knife.

“That’s very extraordinary,” said Frank, as they gazed at it, “one would almost say that it had been formed artificially.”

The air-ship circled about the islet under Frank’s skilled control while the youthful aerial navigators scanned it with eager eyes. They could now plainly perceive that in the center of the flat top a sort of altar, about seven feet long by four feet high, had been erected.

“A sacrificial altar of some ancient tribe,” cried Harry.

“I’m not so sure,” replied Frank as the Golden Eagle II heeling over, circled slowly about the object of their mystification. “What do you know about this, Quatty?” he asked.

“Quatty thinks him used by Injuns to make smoke signals,” said the old negro scanning the altar narrowly. “When an Injun he wants to signal he builds a fire on dere and den makes de smoke rise or fade away by covering it wid a green branch,” he further explained.

“That is undoubtedly the correct explanation,” said Frank, “of course there was an ancient race of mound-builders in Florida and this may be one of their mounds, but I have never read that they had any sacrificial rites. As Quatty says, the Seminoles must have used this old mound-builders’ hill, which the aborigines may have utilized as a fort, or as a convenient place for signaling from.”

He headed the aeroplane on her course again after this explanation and the adventurers had proceeded perhaps a mile through the air when Quatty who, with his hand shading his eyes, had been searching the horizon, suddenly cried:

“Hol’ on der, Massa Frank.”

“What’s the matter?” asked the boy.

“See dar. Ef dat ain’t smoke ’way off dere call me an ignerent sabage!”

He pointed to a small islet a couple of points to the southward of the course on which they were heading. The boys’ gaze followed his pointing finger. Their eyes, not so keen as the wilderness dweller’s, however, could perceive nothing but a small blue eminence of land not in any way different from several other similar ones dotted along the horizon.

“Don’ you see smoke ober dere?” asked Quatty, wonderingly.

“No,” cried both boys.

“Lordy, lordy, you eyes are dim as bats’ fo’ sho’.” cried the negro shaking his head.

Frank reached into the pocket in which the glasses were kept. With their powerful lenses he swept the horizon. He confirmed the correctness of Quatty’s eyesight the next minute.

From the nebulous mass, – which seen through the glasses proved to be an islet very like the one over which they had just passed – a column of smoke was certainly rising.

“It may be Indians,” said Harry, after he too had taken a long look.

“Injuns,” snorted old Quatty, “dems no Injuns. Dat ain’t de color ob Injuns’ smoke. Ah knows whar ah is now ah do – dat’s de place where dose men you come all dis way ter look foh makes de debbil stuff dat blows de holes in de ground.”

A hasty consultation between the boys followed. At the distance they then were from the islet it was unlikely that their presence in the air had been noted. It would be useless to keep on in broad daylight as their usefulness might end as soon as the plotters discovered their presence and knew their plant had been discovered. On all accounts it seemed best to camp on the mound-builders’ island for the night and wireless to Camp Walrus their views.

Accordingly the aeroplane was put about and a short time after was resting on the summit of the mound-builders’ hill. The boys were far from satisfied with the location but there was no other available landing-place and they decided to run the risk of being sighted before dark.

The wireless apparatus was at once put in order for the transmission of messages and Frank started to call Camp Walrus. Again and again the spark leaped crackling across the gap, – transmitting the call of C-W, C-W, C-W, – before an answer came.

Everything, it seemed, was going on well at the camp and they had heard that morning from the Tarantula. The destroyer was cruising about the archipelago awaiting news of the success or failure of the boys’ expedition and Frank, as he was doubtful of being able to “pick up” the vessel at the distance inland they then were, asked Lathrop to transmit to Lieutenant Selby the news that they had discovered the hiding-place of the plotters and would inform him of their next move when they made it. The instrument was then cut out and the usual preparations for making camp gone about, with Quatty’s assistance.

This done the boys, guns in hand, started to explore the mound on which they found themselves. A steep path, apparently well trodden once but now overgrown with creepers and weeds, led to its base. There was nothing else remarkable about it, except, as has been said, its bald summit. It swarmed with game, however, and several doves, quail and rabbits fell to the boys’ guns during the afternoon. Quatty cooked the game deliciously in an oven of his own invention. He first dug a hole which he lined with stones, heated almost red hot in a fire previously prepared. This done he lined it again with green stuff and covered the whole with leaves and branches. Then he covered in the entire oven with more leaves and tapped them off with earth at the top to enable it to retain the heat.

“Now we leab ole Muvver Erf to do our cookin’,” he remarked when he had completed these preparations.

The next task to occupy the boys’ attention was the setting up of the canvas boat. The craft was a large pea-pod shaped pocket of the strongest grade of brown duck, which was stretched into boat form by steel spreaders and held rigidly in shape by locking clamps. It was a boat eminently fitted to navigate the Everglades, where there are no sharp rocks or rapid waters to be encountered, though hardly suited for more strenuous work. It was about twenty feet in length and capable of carrying five hundred pounds. The boys carried the compact bundle in which it was packed to the water’s edge and put it together there. When afloat on the water it looked not unlike a big, brown pumpkin seed.

“Now where’s de poles?” asked Quatty, looking about him.

“Poles? What for? We’ve got paddles for it,” said Harry.

“Paddles not much good in de ’glades, Massa Harry,” replied Quatty, “we need poles to git ober de groun’.”

After some hunting among the dense undergrowth Quatty finally found two straight sticks of tough second growth timber, about fifteen feet long, that satisfied him. He cut these off with his heavy sailor’s knife with the remark:

“Soon we hab two berry good canoe poles.”

He whittled both sticks to a sharp point at one end and then cut two triangular bits of wood from another tree which he affixed with vine lashings to the poles about six inches from the bottom. The contrivance was exactly like the steps that are affixed to stilts but there were two of them.

“What are you putting those on for?” asked the boys.

“Plenty ob mud in de ’glades sometimes,” replied Quatty, “dese lilly steps keeps de poles from diggin’ in too deep.”

“Well, Quatty, you are a genius,” exclaimed Frank.

“Oh dese not my inwention, Massa Frank,” modestly confessed Quatty. “Seminoles use him many, many years befo’ Quatty come here.”

The boys had decided on a daring plan. It was nothing less than, as soon as the night fell, to pole and paddle their way through the water-courses till they reached a spot near the camp of the kidnappers of Lieutenant Chapin and there reconnoiter and, if possible, overhear enough to give them a clue to the lieutenant’s whereabouts. Their first object being of course to rescue him. The recovery of the formula of his invention was – though important in the extreme – a secondary consideration.

After a hasty supper everything about the camp was put in order and with their revolvers freshly oiled and plenty of ammunition in their pockets the adventurers descended by the mound-builders’ path to where they had moored the canvas boat. Quatty accompanied them. He put on a great assumption of bravery but inwardly he was quaking till his teeth chattered. Still he decided in his own mind he would rather a thousand times accompany the boys – however dangerous their errand – than spend the night alone in a spot which he firmly believed was haunted by the ghosts of the ancient tribesmen who had erected it.

The last thing Frank did before leaving was to call up Camp Walrus on the wireless. He bade his young friends and companions there a hearty “good-bye” and received their aerial “good-luck.”

As the night noises of the jungle began to arise, and the evening chill of the ’glades crept over the lower levels like a cold pall, the boys shoved off and under Quatty’s guidance began to pole toward the southeast.

CHAPTER XX

CAPTAIN BELLMAN’S ISLAND

Silently, as some craft propelled by spirits, they glided along between the high walls of saw-grass that grew up on each side of the stream they were navigating. Quatty stood in the stern manipulating the pole with the skill of a very Seminole, and sending the light craft through the water at a surprising rate of speed. His elevated position gave him a chance to peer over the tops of the lower clumps of saw-grass and judge – by their glitter under the starlight – which leads were the best to follow.

It was pitchy dark, with the exception of the dim starlight, and to the boys it seemed that they were passing through an endless tunnel. They threaded in and out of creeks till it seemed that they must be progressing in a circle. But Quatty, whatever his other faults might be, knew the Everglades as a city dweller knows his own streets, and by the darker landmarks of various hammocks and islets he steered the craft as unerringly as a cab-driver who wishes to drive in a certain direction.

Occasionally as they brushed against a sunken log, or shoal of rank-smelling mud, there would be a heavy flop in the water or a rustling sound in the dry grass.

“Whatever is that, Quatty?” asked Harry after the sound had been several times repeated.

“Moccasins. Dey bite you, you die plenty quick,” responded Quatty.

Harry, who had been trailing his hand in the water, quickly drew it in, not without a shudder. He had seen cotton-mouth moccasins before and had a lively recollection of the fat, dirty colored reptiles and their deadly fangs.

Once, as they were crossing quite a broad sheet of water that suddenly opened out about them, something bumped up under the boat with such violence that Quatty was almost upset from his position astern.

“Good gracious, was that an earthquake?” exclaimed Harry much alarmed.

“’Gator,” grunted Quatty, “ah’d jes like to stop an’ git his ugly hide fo’ dat.”

“There’ll be no shooting to-night, let’s hope,” was Frank’s reply.

They poled along in silence after this. The boys were completely bewildered and had no more idea of where they were going than if they had been blindfolded. But Quatty never stopped poling and fell to his work with such an air of certainty that the boys were compelled to conclude that he knew what he was about.

Suddenly the negro uttered a sharp grunt.

“What is it?” asked Frank instantly.

“Look ober dere, massa, an’ tell me wad you see,” said Quatty, pointing dead ahead.

At the risk of upsetting the boat and himself Frank stood up and saw reflected on the sky, not more than a mile ahead, a deep-red glow.

“Fire,” he exclaimed.