Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas Motor Stories Thrilling Adventure Motor Fiction No. 12, May 15, 1909

CHAPTER V. CHAPTER V. THROUGH THE TORPEDO TUBE. Motor Matt was conducted along a narrow steel corridor. Two or three ruffianly looking men were passed. They were all in greasy overclothes and paid the prisoners little attention. A door finally admitted Matt and the two with him into a chamber in the very bow of the boat. Here there were a couple of torpedo tubes, although, so far as Matt could see, there were no torpedoes. "We'll put him out of the starboard tube," said Jurgens. "Close the bow port, Whistler, and blow the water out of the tube. I'll take the gun while you're busy." Whistler handed over the revolver and pulled a lever at the side of the chamber. Matt could hear a muffled sound as the port closed. Thereupon Whistler, by means of another lever, turned compressed air into the tube, and there came a stifled swishing sound as the water was ejected. Finally the sound ceased, and Whistler opened the breech door and stepped back. The cavernous tube yawned blackly under Matt's eyes. He was a lad of grit and determination, but such an experience as he was about to pass through would have shaken even stronger nerves than his. "Take me to the surface," said Matt, "and let me out of the submarine by way of the deck!" "And mebby get spotted and captured ourselves, eh?" answered Jurgens. "Not much! Here's the way you're going to get out if you get out at all." "What did you bring Holcomb and me into the submarine for? Why didn't you leave us on the wharf?" "It would have been too easy for you to tip us off to the other officers. We needed a little time to get the Grampus submerged. I don't care how much you tip us off now. We'll not come to the surface again until we're well off Cape May." Jurgens snapped his fingers. "That for Townsend!" he added, defiantly; "let him catch me if he can." "You seem to know as much about submarines as you do about moving pictures," remarked Matt, caustically. "I know a good deal about a lot of things, and I've found the knowledge mighty handy a lot of times. If you're ready, squeeze into the tube. We haven't much time to spare." "But——" "Get in, I tell you!" and Jurgens waved the revolver threateningly. "There's not much danger, but you'd better put your fingers over your ears in order to save your ear drums. The pressure of the air that shoots you out of the tube is rather heavy. But I'd advise you to take off your clothes." Matt saw that it was useless to argue with Jurgens or Whistler. The two men had some desperate scheme at the back of their heads and they were not resorting to any halfway measures in carrying it out. Pulling his cap well down on his head, Matt squeezed into the dark tube. "Ready?" called Jurgens. "Yes," answered Matt, almost stifled, pushing his hands against his ears. "Take a long breath—we're going to close the breech door." The young motorist breathed deeply, and the next moment there was a clang as the breech was closed. Instantly there followed a grinding sound as the outer port was opened. The chilling water rushed in. For the space of a heart beat Matt felt the water submerging his cramped body and filling the full length of the tube. Two or three ticks of a watch would have told the duration of the experience, but to Matt it seemed like an eternity. Then there came a shock that nearly made him unconscious. He thought he was being torn limb from limb by the rushing air. In a twinkling—so swiftly that he scarcely realized it—he was shot from the end of the tube and into the water. He was a fraction of a second in getting control of his limbs; after that, he began kicking and using his hands to propel himself upward. Half stunned he came to the surface, and the lights of the wharf swam in his watery eyes. He gasped for breath and then sent up a thrilling cry for help. The difficulty of keeping himself afloat, with all his water-soaked clothing to hold him down, was a good deal greater than he had thought it would be. To his great relief, above the roaring in his ears he heard sounds of running feet on the wharf, and excited voices shouting something he could not understand. There was a splash beside him. Instinctively he threw out his hands and grasped a rope. "All right?" cried a voice from the wharf. "Yes," he answered. Then those on the wharf began pulling him in and soon had him, dripping and spent, on the planks. "Where's Holcomb?" Matt made out McMillan's face bending over him. The question caused the young motorist suddenly to remember that there was something yet to be done for Holcomb. "Get out a boat," said Matt, "and lay to about a fathom off the end of the pier. Holcomb is coming up—and he can't swim." "Coming up?" repeated McMillan, blankly. "Yes; they're going to shoot him out of the torpedo tube, just as they did me." "Great guns! Can they do that? It ain't possible that——" "Don't stand there talking, McMillan," put in another voice. "Matt has told you what to do, so go ahead and do it. The scoundrels can use the torpedo tube to get rid of Holcomb, and if Holcomb can't swim he'll be in plenty of danger. Find your boat and get her off the end of the pier. Lively, now!" The speaker, as McMillan dashed away, came closer to Matt. It was Archibald Townsend. "You've had a rough experience, my lad," said Townsend. "How do you feel?" "A little dizzy," replied Matt. He peered around him. They were alone under the electric light, all the others on the wharf having gone with McMillan to help in the rescue of Holcomb. "I don't wonder," rejoined Townsend. "Being slammed through a torpedo tube isn't a very pleasant experience." "Do you call yourself Captain Nemo, Jr., when you're afloat in the submarine, Mr. Townsend?" asked Matt. "Jurgens has been talking with you, I see," went on Townsend. "Well, he's given it to you pretty straight, scoundrel though he is and with small regard for the truth. Yes, I'm Captain Nemo, Jr., of the submarine Grampus . And Jurgens has stolen my boat and captured two of my men! Losing the boat and that paper makes this a hard-luck story for me." "Can't you get back the boat in some way?" queried Matt, his excitement growing as his brain cleared and strength returned to him. "If Jurgens would bring the Grampus to the surface I might have some chance, but it's impossible if he keeps her below." "She's lying right off the pier, just below the spot where she was moored." "She might as well be a thousand miles away so far as my ability to recover her is concerned. My only hope just now is that the men working for me, who were captured when Jurgens stole the boat, may be able to turn on their captors and get the Grampus back in their hands." "Jurgens told me to tell you that he was off for the Bahamas, and that you'll have to get up in the morning if you beat him." A frown crossed Townsend's face. "I knew very well that was where he was going," said the owner of the Grampus . "Had the paper he took from you," queried Matt, "anything to do with his trip to the Bahamas?" "Everything. I can hardly understand how the theft of that chart, and of the boat, happened to come in so pat for Jurgens. But I'm going to tell you more about the chart later, Matt. Just now you're as wet as a drowned rat and must want to get back to your hotel and put on some dry clothes." "I want to make sure, before I leave the Inlet," returned Matt, "that McMillan and the others succeed in rescuing Holcomb." "This way, then," said Townsend, starting along the wharf; "I'll go with you. After we see Holcomb landed, I'll go with you to the hotel and broach a subject that just popped into my mind." On reaching the end of the pier it was evident to Matt and Townsend that Holcomb had just come to the surface. A sharp cry of command came from some one in the rowboat and the craft could be seen moving swiftly away toward the right. Matt's keen eyes detected a black spot on the water, but before the boat could reach it the spot had disappeared. "He's gone down!" gasped Matt. "If Jurgens' scheme has caused Holcomb to lose his life, the prospect will look pretty dark for him." "Jurgens is bound to come to some bad end," declared Townsend. "I've known him for two or three years, and he has always been crafty and unscrupulous. But I don't think he'll ever hang for the drowning of Holcomb. If my eyes show the situation clearly, Holcomb has just come to the surface again—and those in the boat have got hold of him." This was the way it appeared to Matt, and that both he and Townsend were correct was presently proved by the rowboat turning back in the direction of the wharf. "Did you get him, McMillan?" called Townsend, as the boat came close. "Yes," was the officer's response. "He's full of water, and unconscious, but there's plenty of life in him. We'll have him all right in a brace of shakes." Holcomb, in nothing but his underclothes, was lifted to the pier. The men in the boat climbed after him, and he was rolled and prodded until he was able to open his eyes and speak. "That's enough for us, Matt," said Townsend. "Let's go to your hotel. The idea that darted into my mind a little while ago is growing on me, and I'd like to put it up to you and hear what you think about it." Matt, wet and uncomfortable, was also anxious to get to his hotel. Not only that, but he was curious to learn what it was that Townsend, otherwise Captain Nemo, Jr., had on his mind. CHAPTER VI. THE CAPE TOWN MYSTERY. On their way to the hotel, Matt and Townsend met Dick Ferral. Carl, after exchanging his bathing suit for every-day clothes, had wandered about looking for Matt, and had only just come to the air ship to relieve Ferral. In a few words Matt told his chum what had happened, and Ferral accompanied Matt and Townsend to the hotel. "You and Matt own the Hawk together, don't you, Ferral?" Townsend had asked. "That's the way of it," Ferral had answered. "Then I want to talk with the two of you." These remarks merely served to whet the curiosity of the two boys. On reaching the hotel, the three repaired at once to the boys' room, and after Matt had got into some dry clothing and all were seated comfortably, Townsend plunged at once into the subject that lay nearest his mind. "It is clear to me," said he, "that Jurgens mixed up in this moving-picture business just for a 'blind.' He must have heard that I was coming to Atlantic City for a look at your air ship, King, and have laid his plans for the capture of the submarine. The Grampus , as near as I can figure out, was captured by confederates of Jurgens' while I was in the air with you. Jurgens had no idea that he would be able to secure that paper from me direct, but probably hoped to find it in the Grampus , or to take it from me when I returned to the submarine after that flight in the Hawk." "If Jurgens' men captured the Grampus while you were in the air with us, Mr. Townsend," said Matt, "the capture must have been effected in broad daylight, while the Inlet was alive with sailing craft. Would that have been possible?" "Easily possible. The Grampus is a steel shell, you know, and what takes place aboard of her cannot be seen by any one on the outside. The skipper of the Crescent happened to be a friend of Jurgens', and the Crescent happened to be handily by to pick Jurgens out of the rowboat. We'll know more about that part of it as soon as McMillan investigates and reports. Just now, the point for us to remember is that luck has been with Jurgens. His men captured the submarine, Jurgens captured the paper, and the Crescent , with her skipper and crew, helped Jurgens and his clique to foil the ends of right and justice." Townsend paused. He was a man of fifty-five or sixty, with gray mustache and gray hair, but with alert and piercing black eyes. His looks and manner were such as to inspire confidence, and both Matt and Dick felt that he was to be trusted implicitly. "But why has Jurgens gone to all this trouble?" inquired Matt. "He has made himself a thief and a fugitive, and what does he hope to gain by it?" "Ah," returned Townsend, "now you are touching upon the mystery of the Man from Cape Town. I shall have to tell you about that before you can get any clear understanding of what Jurgens has done. "Nearly a year ago a ragged specimen of a man stopped me at the corner of Broad and Chestnut Streets, Philadelphia, and asked if I wasn't the man named Townsend who had invented and was then building a new submarine which was to have a cruising radius of several thousand miles. I told him that I was. Thereupon the stranger informed me that he was the Man from Cape Town, and that he wanted to borrow a dollar. "The Man from Cape Town was very different from your ordinary beggar, and I handed him the dollar. Thereupon he took a folded paper from his coat, gave it to me, and asked me to keep it for him. He declared, gravely enough, that the paper was worth a fortune, and that when my submarine was completed, we would go in her to the place where the fortune had been tucked away, find it and divide it between us. "That sort of talk led me to look upon the Man from Cape Town as a harmless lunatic. I discovered that the paper was a chart of the Bahama Islands, and that it gave the latitude and longitude of a particular island, together with other information necessary for the finding of what purported to be an iron chest. "This chart I looked upon as rank moonshine, and tucked it away in a pigeonhole of my desk. Months passed, and I had almost forgotten the Man from Cape Town, his chart and his iron chest, when something occurred to bring the entire matter prominently to my mind. "A night watchman at the yard where I was building the Grampus found a man going through my desk at midnight. When the fellow was captured, he was just getting away with a paper which he had abstracted from one of the pigeonholes. That paper was the chart, and the would-be thief was—Jurgens, Lattimer Jurgens. "Jurgens had been a workman in the shipyard, but had been discharged for incompetency. While at the yard I presume he learned, in some manner known only to himself, that I had possession of the chart, that it was in my desk, and that it purported to locate a fortune. "While Jurgens' attempted theft recalled the chart to my mind, it did not add anything to its importance in my estimation, for Jurgens was just the sort of man to take stock in such wild yarns about hidden treasure; however, in order to keep the chart from being stolen, I put it away in the office safe. As for Jurgens, I let him go with a warning. "About three weeks after that I was called hurriedly to one of the city hospitals. There I found the Man from Cape Town, a total wreck and lying at the point of death. He had strength enough left to insist that the iron chest contained a fortune, and he made me promise to start for the Bahamas as soon as the Grampus was finished, find the chest, and then take it to his daughter, who lived in New Orleans, open it in her presence, and divide the contents equally. "I still considered the Unknown as the subject of delusions; but, as I should want to try out the Grampus on a long cruise as soon as she was completed, I agreed to carry out the man's request. He died blessing me so fervently that I was a little ashamed of myself for not having more faith in his story. "A few days, perhaps a week, later, Jurgens came to see me. He declared that the Man from Cape Town had been his brother, and that the chest, now that his brother was dead, belonged to him. I asked Jurgens where the chest came from, what it contained, and how it had happened to be cached in the Bahamas. These questions he could not answer. I had been fairly sure, all along, that Jurgens was not telling the truth, and his lack of information made me positive of it. I declined to give him the chart, or to treat with him in any way regarding it. Thereupon Jurgens left me, vowing vengeance, and asserting that, by hook or crook, he would obtain what he was pleased to call, his 'rights.' "Some time later, when the Grampus was ready for sea, I shipped my crew and tried the boat out, up and down the Delaware. The trials resulted in a few changes to the machinery, and when the submarine was finally in shape, I made her ready for the trip to the Bahamas. The day we were to start, I read a column or more about the Hawk, and what you lads were doing here in Atlantic City. I have always been interested in air ships quite as much as in submarines, so I decided to come to Atlantic City and have a look at the Hawk before going to the Bahamas. "At that time, I know positively that Jurgens was in this resort, making moving pictures for a firm in Chicago. Some one in his service must have telegraphed him of my change of plan, thus enabling him to lay his schemes to capture the Grampus . I tried to keep my movements as secret as possible, but it is certain that they leaked out. "On leaving the Grampus to visit the beach, this afternoon, three trusty men were in charge of the submarine. The officer on duty at the Inlet wharf says that three men came there and claimed to have a letter from me to the man in charge of the Grampus ; that the letter was opened by Cassidy, the machinist in charge of the boat, and that the men were admitted below decks. That, undoubtedly, is when the capture took place. "As I said before, it is my belief that Jurgens either hoped to find the chart concealed in the Grampus , or else to capture me on my return from the beach and take the chart by force. Events worked the scheme out differently, and the chart was snatched from my hands while I was going over the papers I had taken from my pocket. Now, the chart is gone, and the Grampus is gone." Townsend relapsed into silence, his keen eyes leveled on Motor Matt's face. The faces of Matt and Ferral, at that moment, were a study. It was a strange story they had heard, but that it was a true story they did not for a moment doubt. "How much are you making, here in Atlantic City?" Townsend asked abruptly. Matt told him, wondering what that had to do with the matter. "You understand," Townsend went on, "that my interest is wholly in the Grampus . I must recover the boat. It is a fair surmise that Jurgens, and those with him, will lay a course for that particular island in the Bahamas. I have that chart, and all the other information contained in it, as clearly in my mind as though the paper itself was before my eyes. Furthermore, I questioned you so thoroughly about the Hawk, while we were in the air this afternoon, that I know the air ship's capabilities. In less than two weeks, Motor Matt, we could make a round trip to the Bahamas in your air ship. What I want is to charter the Hawk for two weeks, and to pay you five thousand dollars for the use of the craft. I am rich enough to do this, and my hope is that we will be able to recover the Grampus . If you boys will agree, I will pay over twenty-five hundred dollars before we start from Atlantic City and give you the remainder of the five thousand upon our return." The two chums were thunderstruck. They had not had the least idea of the way Townsend's talk was trending. "Sink me!" mumbled Ferral, "but that sounds like a large order." "Not so large, perhaps," returned Townsend, "as it seems at first sight." "How long a trip is it?" asked Matt, a bit dazed. "Perhaps a thousand miles, as the crow flies, or fifteen hundred as we'll have to go. We could follow down the coast line, and then jump across the Florida Straits to the Bahamas. You tell me you can make thirty miles an hour in the Hawk, and that you can do even better with favoring winds. Say, at a rough estimate, that we make seven hundred miles a day. Why, inside of three days we should be where we want to go in the Bahamas. If we spend three or four days there, and as much time getting back, ten days ought to see the trip completed." "But if we strike rough weather?" asked Matt. "This is the time of year when the weather ought to be at its best. Nevertheless, if a stormy day comes, we could alight and wait for the weather to clear. Even at that, we ought to be back in Atlantic City in two weeks." "It's a good deal of a guess, Mr. Townsend, as to whether, even if we do find the Grampus in the Bahamas, you will be able to get her back." "I am staking five thousand on the guess," said Townsend, quietly. "You're the right sort of a fellow to make such a venture a success, Motor Matt, and the proposition I have made you I wouldn't make to every one. What do you say?" Matt and Dick withdrew for a little talk. They would lose their "advance bookings" for flights in the Hawk, but they stood to make a greater profit by this air cruise to the Bahamas than they could possibly hope for in Atlantic City. "When do you want to start?" Matt asked. "We should start in the morning," replied Townsend, "as early as possible." "We'll go," said Matt. "Good!" cried Townsend, a gleam of satisfaction darting through his eyes. Taking a checkbook and a fountain pen from his pocket, he drew a chair up to the table and wrote for a few moments. "There's your twenty-five hundred," said he, handing the check to Matt. "I've made out the check to King & Ferral. I'll leave you boys to do the outfitting, and will meet you on the beach, ready for the start, at seven in the morning. Good night." With that, Townsend shook hands with Matt and Dick and went away. Dick, highly delighted, started in to do a sailor's hornpipe. "Twenty-five hundred," he gloried, "and twenty-five hundred more to come. Strike me lucky, mate, but we're going to be millionaires if this keeps up." "We've got to earn the money yet, Dick," returned Matt, "and that cruise to the Bahamas will be anything but a picnic." CHAPTER VII. OFF FOR THE BAHAMAS. Next morning Matt and Dick were astir at three o'clock. The gasoline tank was filled and a reserve supply of fuel taken aboard. The oil supply was also looked after, and rations of food and water were stowed in the car. This accomplished, there was a short flight to the gas works where the bag of the airship was filled to its utmost capacity. The twenty-five hundred dollar check was left with a friend to be deposited, and by six-thirty the Hawk and her crew were again on the beach with everything in readiness for a record flight. Carl's delight, as soon as he learned what was in prospect, reached a point that made it almost morbid. He was of little use in the outfitting, and ran circles around the Hawk trying to do something which either Matt or Dick was already doing. Finally, about six o'clock, Matt sent Carl to the hotel to get their small amount of personal luggage and to bring a hot breakfast for all hands. At a quarter to seven, when Townsend came along the beach, the hurried meal had been finished. The owner of the Grampus gave the boys a cheery good morning, and began placing in the car a bundle of maps and charts, and a sextant. "I presume," said he, "that we can figure our course all right by dead reckoning, but in case we find any difficulty about that, the sextant will enable us to determine our exact location. The maps are all of the coast line, and are so complete that I think we shall be able to tell, just from the look of the country over which we are passing, where we are. I have also a barometer, and, as luck will have it, fair weather is indicated. There's a compass, too, wrapped up with the maps, and if you lads have looked after the victualling, I think we are fully equipped for a dash to the Bahamas." For Townsend's benefit, Matt enumerated the stores that had been placed aboard. "You have missed nothing, Matt," observed Townsend, approvingly, "and I am pleased to see it. If there is nothing else to keep us, we had better cast off and make the start." Matt gave Townsend his position aboard. Dick and Carl knew the stations they were to occupy, and after they had released the cables and thrown them into the car, they took up their customary places. Matt turned over the engine, which, after a volley of "pops," settled down into steady running order. "South by west, Matt," called Townsend. "That will start us across Delaware Bay in the vicinity of Cape May." "South by west it is, sir," said Matt, adjusting the ascensional and steering rudder to carry the Hawk upward and in the direction indicated. At a height of five hundred feet the Hawk was brought to an even keel, the racing propeller carrying her through the air at a speed which was slightly better than thirty miles an hour. "Fine!" exclaimed Townsend, taking a look over the rail and watching Absecon Island slip away behind them. "We'll eat up the miles, at this pace, and with no stops to make." "But the Grampus is also eating up the miles," said Matt, "and will probably make no more stops than we do. How fast can she run, Mr. Townsend?" "She can do fifteen miles submerged, and twenty to twenty-five on the surface." "Her course to the Bahamas will be more direct than ours." "True enough, but our speed is so much faster that, in spite of the roundabout course we're taking, we'll be able to reach Turtle Key and be there to receive the Grampus when she arrives." "Durtle Key," put in Carl. "Dot's vere ve vas going, eh?" "That's where the iron chest is supposed to be, and, of course, that's where the Grampus will make for. The Bahamas are all of coral formation and are underlaid with many caverns. For the most part, the islands are hollow; and it is in a hollow under Turtle Key that the Man from Cape Town claimed to have hidden the chest." "Iss dere pread fruit und odder dropical t'ings on der island?" asked Carl, who was looking forward to a brief period of romance in an island paradise. "As described on the chart," replied Townsend, "Turtle Key is no more than a hummock of coral, bare as the palm of your hand, and with a surface measuring less than an acre in extent. There is no water, no trees, and no inhabitants if we except the turtles." Carl was visibly disappointed. "I vas hoping I could climb some trees und shake down a gouple oof loafs oof pread fruit," he mourned, "und I vas t'inking, meppy, dot I could catch a monkey und pring him pack, und a barrot vat couldt say t'ings. Py shiminy, I don'd like dot kind oof a tesert islandt." "Where is it, Mr. Townsend," asked Dick, "on the eastern or western side of the group?" "On the western side, just off Great Bahama Island and well in the Florida Straits." "I sailed all through that group on the old Billy Ruffian ," went on Dick, "wherever the channels were deep enough to float us. There's a good deal of shoal water, and a lot of places where you can go off soundings at a jump. That submarine, if she takes a straight course, will have to keep on the surface a good share of the time." "Jurgens will take to the Florida Straits and then turn in when he gets opposite Turtle Key. That will give him deep water all the way. After I left you boys last night," added Townsend, shifting the subject, "I had a call from McMillan. He told me that the skipper of the Crescent claimed to have had nothing to do with the picking up of Jurgens off the Heinz pier. Whistler, one of the men on the sailboat, got the three men comprising the crew on his side, and they overpowered the skipper, tied him hand and foot and laid him on the floor of the cuddy. Anyhow, McMillan says that when he boarded the Crescent , the skipper was helpless in the cabin and all the others who had been on the boat had disappeared. It looks a little 'fishy' but that must have been the way of it. The skipper of the Crescent couldn't afford to harbor a fugitive like Jurgens." "It was all a brazen piece of work from start to finish," observed Matt. "The capture of the Grampus was second only to the desperate play Jurgens made when he stole the chart. Jurgens, from what I saw and heard while Holcomb and I were aboard the Grampus , knows a good deal about the submarine, but——" "He learned all that while he was working in the shipyard," put in Townsend. "But does he know enough to run the craft?" queried Matt. "I think not. He and his gang are probably forcing Cassidy, my machinist, to run the submarine for him. If Cassidy, Burke and Harris, my men in the Grampus , succeeded in turning on their captors and recapturing the boat, we'll be having all our work for nothing—that is, so far as the Grampus is concerned. In that event, we'll look for the iron chest." "Dot's der talk!" cried Carl. "Ve vill findt der dreasure. It vas some birate dreasure, I bed you! I vouldt like to findt a chest full mit bieces oof eight und dot odder druck vat birates used to take from peobles pefore dey made dem valk der blank." "Bosh, Carl!" exclaimed Dick, disgustedly. "You're a lubber to take stock in any such yarn. Anyhow, I should think you'd had enough to do with pirates." This reference to the way Carl had butted into the moving pictures brought grins to the faces of Townsend and Matt. It was a sore spot with Carl, and he tried at once to get his companions to thinking of something else. He picked up the sextant and turned it over and over in his hands. "How you findt out vere ve vas mit dis?" he queried. "Hand it over, Carl," replied Townsend, "and I'll show you." Carl was standing by the rail. Just as he started to hand the sextant to Townsend, a gust of air struck the Hawk and she made a sidewise lurch that jerked the car uncomfortably. Carl let go the sextant and grabbed with both hands at the rail; and the sextant, flung a little outward by the motion of Carl's hand, slipped clear of the rail and dropped downward into space. A cry of dismay escaped Townsend and Dick. "Himmelblitzen!" growled Carl, very much put out with himself, "I vas aboudt as graceful as a hibbobotamus. Vat a luck! Vell, Misder Downsend, I puy you anodder." "It isn't so easy to buy another, Carl," said Matt, circling the Hawk about and dropping earthward. "We've got to get that sextant, if we can. Watch close all of you, and try and see where it fell." At that moment the Hawk had been approaching Stone Harbor, and was above the beach. The sextant may have been ruined by the fall, but Matt was hoping against hope that it would be found in usable condition, and that they would not have to delay their voyage to land at some seaport and buy another. CHAPTER VIII. AN ACCIDENT. "I think I see it, mate!" called Dick, as the Hawk came closer to the clear stretch of sand. "To the right a little—about two points—and keep her dropping as she is." "I see it, too!" declared Townsend, leaning out over the rail. When ascending or descending, the car of the air ship, as might naturally be supposed, was always tilted. In the present instance it was inclined at a dangerous angle, for Matt was trying to bring the craft to an even keel as nearly over the spot where the sextant was lying as he could. The inclination of the car made it exceedingly difficult for those who were standing to keep their feet, and it was only by clinging to the rail that they could do so. Matt had a chair, and there were supports against which he could brace his feet, thus leaving his hands free at all times to manage the motor. When about twelve feet above the beach, another gust of air struck the air ship, buffeting her roughly sideways, Townsend was leaning so far over the rail that the jerk of the car caused him to lose his balance. His hands were torn from the rail and he pitched headlong out of the car. At this mishap, which threatened tragic consequences, consternation seized the boys. "Donnervetter!" whooped Carl, "he vill be killed." Quickly as he could, Matt brought the Hawk to the beach. There was no way of mooring the craft, and she swung back and forth in the wind, making it necessary for Matt to stay aboard. "Tumble out, Dick, you and Carl," Matt called. "See if Townsend has been hurt." Dick and Carl found Townsend trying to get up. His face was set as with pain, and it was clearly evident that he had not come through the mishap uninjured. "What's the matter?" asked Dick. "It's my foot," answered Townsend, stifling a groan. "I turned in the air and struck almost on my feet. I'm lucky, I suppose, not to have landed on my head and broken my neck. It's a sprain, I guess, but it hurts like Sam Hill. Help me up." Dick and Carl got on each side of Townsend and lifted him erect. The injury to his right foot was so great that he could not step on it, and was almost carried back to the car by the two boys. "We'd better put in at Stone Harbor, Mr. Townsend," said Matt, a troubled look crossing his face, "and let a doctor have a look at you." "I'm sure it's only a sprain," returned Townsend, pluckily, "and we won't delay the voyage by stopping at Stone Harbor. Just make me comfortable on the floor of the car and have Carl take off my shoe and wrap a bandage around the foot. I'll get along. It was my own fault," he added, "for I had no business to be leaning so far over the rail. Pick up the sextant, Ferral." Dick went for the sextant. It had fallen in soft sand and, although damaged to some extent, had not lost its usefulness. While Dick was recovering the sextant, Carl was making Townsend as comfortable as possible on the floor of the car. A folded canvas shelter, which Matt had devised as a covering for the Hawk, was brought into requisition and spread out for Townsend to lie on. Townsend's shoe was then removed. The foot and ankle as yet showed no signs of the injury, but every touch caused so much pain that Townsend had to clinch his teeth to keep from crying out. Matt, for such an emergency as had just presented itself, always carried a bottle of arnica in the toolbox. Carl got out the arnica, soaked a rag with it and bound the rag around Townsend's foot. Over this another bandage was placed, and Townsend lay back on his makeshift couch and rested. "It would only delay us a few hours," said Matt, "to stop at Stone Harbor and have a doctor give your foot proper attention." "I don't think that's necessary, Matt," answered Townsend. "Get under way again. We've lost half an hour already." The accident, although it had resulted in an injury which might have been infinitely more serious, dropped a pall over the spirits of the three boys. If omens counted for anything, the cruise was to end in disaster. Matt started the machinery and got the air ship aloft and once more headed on her course. How he and his chums were ever going to reach Turtle Key, hampered by an injured passenger, was more than he knew. The outlook was dubious, to say the least. Noon found them over the State of Delaware and reaching along toward Chesapeake Bay. The wind grew steady and shifted until it was almost directly behind them, and the Hawk went spinning through the air at the rate of forty miles an hour. As if to offset this favorable trend of wind and weather, Townsend's injury appeared to be growing steadily worse. His ankle was swollen and there was a dark, angry look to the skin. The pain was intense, but Townsend insisted that the Hawk should keep steadily on her way. At all costs, he declared, they must make the most of the favoring breeze. The rations were drawn upon for dinner, Dick eating first and then taking Matt's place among the levers while he bolted his food. Early in the afternoon the Hawk sailed over the broad mouth of Chesapeake Bay and was saluted by an American man-of-war that was passing below them. Carl busied himself taking care of Townsend, and Matt and Dick gave their attention to the maps. Townsend had eaten a good dinner and was feeling somewhat better. "What was that?" he asked, rousing up as the sound of the saluting cannon rattled on his ears. Matt explained, and Townsend watched Dick as he dipped the stars and stripes that always flew from the rear end of the car. "We've got to keep pegging along, night and day," said Townsend, "until we reach the island. After that we can take things a little easier." "If there's no timber on the island," spoke up Dick, "how are we going to moor the Hawk? The island's so small that we'll have our hands full keeping the air ship from being blown out to sea." "In a pinch," suggested Matt, "we can fill that canvas covering for the Hawk with sand and tie the craft to it." "Sandbags would be better, if we had them," remarked Townsend. "Prop me up a little, Carl," he added, to the Dutch boy; "I want to do some writing." Carl bolstered Townsend up with one of the boxes of provisions, and the injured man put in an hour of pencil work on the back of an old letter. By then it was evident that his ankle was paining him again, and he put away the pencil and the results of his labor, had the box removed and laid flat down in the car. Presently he was asleep. Dick came aft along the rail for a few words with Matt. "We'll never be able to take Townsend to the island, matey," said Dick, in a low tone. "It's my opinion that he's worse off than he thinks he is. That don't look to me like a sprain, but like a break." Matt nodded glumly. "It's hard luck, Dick," he answered, "but I'm of your opinion. Still, what can we do? Townsend has chartered the Hawk for two weeks, and we're under his orders. If he insists that we stay aloft with him and take him to Turtle Key, we'll have to try it." "I guess you've nicked it. We're under orders, as you say, and we've got to do just what Townsend tells us, but I'll be keelhauled if the prospect ain't discouraging. We're out to win that five thousand, and I guess we can do it, but I'd like mighty well to help Townsend and not stand by and see him spend his money without getting a fair return for it." "That's the way I feel," agreed Matt. "The weather's good, the wind favoring, and all we can do is to keep fanning along. By to-morrow, something may happen to give things a brighter look. Go forward, Dick, watch the maps and keep a sharp lookout. Let me know where we are from time to time." The motor hummed steadily, and hour after hour the Hawk clove her way through the air. They passed over Newport News and Norfolk, and could see the inhabitants of each town running along the streets and looking up at them. All sounds from the earth reached those in the air ship with weird distinctness. The cries of the people, the galloping hoofs of a horse, the rattle of a wagon floated upward, clear and strong. Questions were shouted to the boys, but before they could have answered the swiftly moving Hawk had carried them out of earshot. They made it a rule to do no talking with the people below, not having the time for any extended conversation and knowing well that what little they could say would only increase the general curiosity instead of lessening it. Well to the south of Norfolk the air ship reached out along the Carolina coast. When the sun went down, and it was falling dark, lights were beginning to gleam in a city which, from the maps, the boys knew to be Wilmington. Matt's watch told him it was seven o'clock. They had been twelve hours on the wing and had covered a distance which, by air line, measured more than five hundred miles. It was decided by the boys that the night should be divided into three watches, and that during each watch one of them should take his "turn below," as Dick expressed it. During the first watch, from seven to eleven, Dick was to be in charge of the motor and Carl was to take the lookout, while Matt slept; from eleven to three, Matt was to look after the motor, Carl was to continue on lookout duty, and Dick was to sleep; and from three to seven, Carl was to sleep and Dick was to relieve him. As soon as the lights of Wilmington had died into a glow behind the car, Matt laid himself down beside Townsend and was soon "taking his stretch off the land, full and by, forty knots," as Dick remarked to Carl. Matt had slept nearly his allotted four hours, although it did not seem to him as though he had much more than closed his eyes, when he was aroused by the report of a firearm and a startled yell from Carl. In a twinkling the young motorist was on his feet, hanging to the rail, peering about him and asking what was the matter. Before either Matt or Carl could answer, another report echoed out, the ringing impact of a bullet against the car's framework was heard, and then the whistle of the ball as it carromed off into space. Springing to the levers, Matt jerked at the one which lifted or lowered the rudder. In another moment, the Hawk was climbing up the moonbeams like a black streak. CHAPTER IX. MATT AND HIS CHUMS GO IT ALONE. "Hunters are taking shots at us," cried Matt, "and we've got to get away from them. Where are we, Dick?" "I had just studied one of the maps with the aid of the electric torch," replied Dick, "and had made up my mind that we were close to the line separating South Carolina from Georgia. Just as I had decided that point, bang came the first shot. Sink me, but that second shot came close to the motor! Lucky it was turned by the framework of the car." "We'd better fly a little higher while we're going over this country," said Matt. "It won't do to have a bullet ripping its way through the bag, or putting the machinery out of commission, or doing any damage to you, or me, or Carl, or Townsend." Matt picked up the torch, snapped on the light and focussed the glow on the face of his watch. "It's nearly eleven, Dick," he went on, "and time for you to take a snooze. Carl and I will take over the ship, while you lie down and get a little rest." During the balance of the night nothing went wrong. The wind had gone down with the sun, and through the cool quiet of the night the Hawk reeled off her customary thirty miles an hour. At three in the morning Carl awoke Dick, and from that on till seven o'clock the Dutch boy's snores were steady and continuous. Morning brought no improvement in Townsend's condition. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright and feverish. He ate some of the breakfast which Carl dug out of the ration bag, but it was plain that he forced himself to do it. "Where are we, Matt?" he asked. "Below Jacksonville," Matt answered, "and traveling down the Florida coast." "How's the wind?" "It's abeam, Mr. Townsend," spoke up Ferral, "and we're slanted against it." "That interferes with our speed, I suppose?" "We're making barely twenty miles an hour, as I figure it," said Matt. "Well, that will drop us into Palm Beach this evening—and that's where I'll have to give up. I must have broken a bone in my ankle, and the thing for me to do is to stay at Palm Beach and have it attended to. I thought, yesterday, that I might get over it, and so make myself of some use, but I see now that that's impossible. I'm only a hindrance and a drag, and it's necessary, if I want to avoid serious consequences, to have that foot attended to. My leg is of more importance than the Grampus , so I'll give up, right here, and you can drop me at Palm Beach and go back to Atlantic City. Will the twenty-five hundred I have paid you be enough for your time and trouble?" "More than enough," answered Matt, "if that is the way you want it, Mr. Townsend." "It isn't the way I want it—not by a long chalk!" declared Townsend, vehemently, "but it seems to be the way I've got to have it. I've not only lost the Grampus , but I have also proven false to the promise I made the Man from Cape Town. If I felt that I could go on, with the least show of success, I'd not hang back; but I'm crippled, and I feel that, owing to the lack of proper medical attention, I'm getting weaker and weaker all the time!" Heartfelt regret mingled in the words with the pain Townsend was suffering. "How far is it from Palm Beach to Turtle Key, Mr. Townsend?" asked Matt. "Less than a hundred miles, straight across the Florida Straits." "If this landward breeze holds," went on Matt, musingly, "we could reach Turtle Key in three hours after we left the mainland." Townsend shifted his position a little and fastened his gleaming black eyes speculatively on the young motorist's face. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded. "If you can't go to Turtle Key," said Matt, quietly, "why can't the rest of us go? We may not stand so good a chance of recovering the Grampus as though you were along and able to help, but we might be able to find whether or not there's an iron chest on the island; and, if we had the opportunity, we might do what we could to recapture the submarine." "I can't order you to do anything like that, Matt, but I had decided, in my own mind, that you would say something like you have just said. That's your style, my boy. If you want to go and look for the island and the iron chest, well and good. It will be worth twenty-five hundred more to me to know that I tried to carry out my promise to the Man from Cape Town, and that I couldn't do it because the iron chest was only a figment of his disordered imagination. Go and look for the chest, but it won't do for you to attempt to cope with Jurgens and the ruffians with him in the Grampus . Yesterday, when it began to grow upon me that I could not see this expedition through to the end, I drew up a copy of that stolen chart as nearly as I can remember it. I believe the copy is fairly accurate." Townsend took the folded letter from his pocket and gave it to Carl, who passed it along to Matt. "You can study that," said Townsend, "and it will tell you all I know. Do what you can, and, no matter what the result is, come back and report to me at Palm Beach." Townsend did no more talking. The pain he was suffering made talking an effort, and he sank back and closed his eyes. "Can we do it, matey?" asked Dick. "Can we cross a hundred miles of ocean and nose out a little turtle-back in all that raft of islands and keys?" "Do you know anything about navigation, Dick? Can you take a chronometer and a sextant and figure out latitude and longitude?" "I'd be a juggings if I couldn't. Why, mate, it's one of the first things they teach you on the training ship." "Get in here and manage the Hawk, Dick, while I look over this chart." Ferral dropped in among the levers and Matt went forward and sat down on the floor of the car. The chart embraced part of the eastern shore line of Florida and took in some of the westernmost islands of the Bahama group. From Palm Beach a straight line was drawn, east by south to a dot below the western point of Great Bahama Island. The dot was marked Turtle Key, and its latitude and longitude were given. Below this diagram, in the left-hand corner of the sheet, Turtle Key was shown in amplified form, an irregular circle of sand with a black cross on its western side. The cross was labeled, "Cavern; can be entered from the shore, or by boat at high tide. Iron chest in the cavern." "I believe we can find it, pards," Matt finally announced. "Anyhow, I'm for trying. If we can do anything to help Townsend, I think it's our duty. When we started from Atlantic City, this had the look of a wild-goose chase. It may still be no more than that—the only way we can tell is by running out the trail." "I vouldn't like to haf anyt'ing habben so dot ve come down in der ocean," observed Carl, "aber you bed you I vould like to haf some looks indo dot cave for der iron chest. I haf readt aboudt birates on der Spanish Main, und I vould be so habby as I can't dell to get my handts on some oof deir plunder." "One for all, and all for one, old ship!" cried Ferral. "Sink or swim, Carl and I are with you." Getting down the Florida coast, battling with a side wind every foot of the way, was slow work. It was five o'clock in the evening before the place was reached, a landing made, and Townsend removed to a hotel and placed in the care of a doctor. The doctor, after a short examination, declared that Townsend had sustained a fracture of one of the smaller bones in the ankle, and that he would have to keep to his bed and remain under constant treatment for at least a week. So far as any serious results were concerned, however, there would be none. The trouble had been aggravated by the delay in receiving proper attention, but that was something which would now be remedied. "I wouldn't start before morning, Matt," were Townsend's last words to the young motorist. "The wind, which just now is favorable, will go down with the sun, so you wouldn't gain much by going on to-night. Besides, it will be better if you are somewhere near the place by noon, to-morrow, so Ferral can 'shoot' the sun and find out where you are. Watch the barometer, and if it promises good weather to-morrow, make the attempt. Don't fail to come back and report to me. Good-by, and good luck." "It looks like a whale of a job, messmate," remarked Dick, as he and Matt walked away from the hotel. "I suppose it looks so big because it's so much of a novelty. I guess this is about the first time any one ever went gunning for treasure in an air ship!" "Well," said Matt, decisively, "it's up to us to go it alone and find out just what there is on Turtle Key. There are so many of those little islets scattered through the Bahamas that we'll have to 'shoot' the sun, as Townsend calls it, in order to find whether or not we're on the right spot." "If we can find the cave that ought to settle it." "All the islands have caves. If we're going at this thing we've got to do it right; we've got to find the right key, and the right cave, and then there can be no possible doubt when we return and report to Townsend that there's no iron chest." "You think that's all a yarn for the marines, eh?" "Nothing else; but Townsend is bound by a promise, and he's the sort of man who doesn't make a promise lightly." The three chums slept out the night in the car of the air ship. When morning dawned, the barometer indicated fair weather. The wind was north by east, quartering offshore, but it was so light as not to cause Matt much concern. Matt was the first of the three to be astir. After he had looked at the barometer and taken note of the wind, he awoke Dick and Carl. "We're off for Turtle Key, pards," cried Matt, "and we're going it alone. Up with you, and let's put to sea."

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