The Motion Picture Comrades
Series

By ELMER TRACEY BARNES

The object of these books is to place before the reader the unusual experiences of a party of boys who succeed in filming a number of interesting scenes.

The stories are replete with striking incidents on land and sea, and above all they describe with remarkable accuracy the methods employed to obtain many of the wonderful pictures which may be seen on the screen.

The Motion Picture Comrades’ Great Venture;
or, On the Road with the Big Round Top

The Motion Picture Comrades Through African Jungles;
or, The Camera Boys in Wild Animal Land

The Motion Picture Comrades Along the Orinoco;
or, Facing Perils in the Tropics

The Motion Picture Comrades Aboard a Submarine;
or, Searching for Treasure Under the Sea

12mo. Cloth 50c per volume

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
201-213 EAST 12th STREET NEW YORK

[Before him he discovered the long sought hulk].

The Motion Picture
Comrades Aboard
a Submarine

OR
Searching for Treasure Under the Sea

BY
ELMER TRACEY BARNES

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK

Copyright, 1917, by
AMERICAN AUTHORS PUBLISHING CO.

CONTENTS

THE MOTION PICTURE
COMRADES ABOARD
A SUBMARINE

CHAPTER I
HOW IT HAPPENED

“Jack will be back from the express office soon, and then, I take it, if everything is shipshape, this queer contraption they call a diving-boat and named the Argonaut, expects to get away from Baltimore, eh, Oscar?”

“So the Captain told me, Ballyhoo. He has his clearance papers, all right.”

“Huh! Guess the port officials didn’t examine this craft as closely as they might have done in these troublous times, with more than half the world ablaze.”

“Lower your voice a bit, Ballyhoo, when you are referring to the rifles, and that quick-firing gun they’ve got so snugly hidden below. But it’s all fair and square. Every steam craft is allowed one gun for defensive purposes. Some big Atlantic liners have a three-inch gun at the stern, you remember.”

“A very good reason we have, too, for carrying one, Oscar, since the main object of our trip to tropical seas is the recovery of sunken treasure.”

“And don’t forget either, while about it, Ballyhoo, that there’s opposition in the field, a rival expedition headed by that old blockade-runner and adventurer, Captain Badger.”

“That’s right, and we may need our gun badly before we come back again—if we ever do.”

“Well, most of our interest in this wonderful trip doesn’t lie in the chance of finding the stores of gold and silver lying in the old hulks of vessels that were sunk, some of them a hundred or two years ago. We’ve got our own plans to carry out, and could call the venture a glorious success even if we didn’t run across a single Spanish doubloon.”

“Yes, providing the scheme works, as Jack believes it will, and his judgment is worth a whole lot on anything that is connected with motion picture photography. We hope to secure films that are bound to startle the world of screen lovers, showing as they will the up to now unknown secrets lying deep down under the surface of the sea.”

“It’s a great risk we’re taking, but we’ve put over two big jobs so far and why not a third? Those circus films are still going the rounds, and pronounced gilt-edged wherever they are shown.”[1]

“Yes, and our series of pictures depicting wild animal life in the African jungles have met with great favor too.[2] We’ve been overwhelmed ever since we got back, with all sorts of wildcat offers to undertake new schemes, all of which so far we’ve had to turn down. And yet here we are about to start off on the most hazardous adventure that any one could possibly think of.”

“But this is different, you know, Ballyhoo; and besides it came to us through that old uncle of your mother’s, who has a third interest in the venture, though he was knocked out of accompanying the boat by that bad attack of rheumatism.”

“Well, I wish Jack would hurry up, because I think our Captain acts as if he might be anxious to cast off, and steam down Chesapeake Bay.”

The speakers were a couple of hardy looking well grown boys. They lounged on the little upper deck, if such it could be called, of a very odd-looking craft lying snugly hidden in a certain secluded basin connected with a Baltimore shipyard.

In fact the low, squatty craft was nothing more nor less than a submarine built somewhat after the style of those steel whaleback barges used for carrying huge cargoes of grain on the Northern Lakes.

Money had not been spared in the building and equipping of this craft, which was really owned and controlled by the “Argonaut Submarine Diving-boat Company,” and constructed for a purpose which has been partly disclosed by the brief conversation between the two boys.

Oscar Farrar and his two chums lived in the town of Melancton in an Eastern State. The boy whom he had been calling by that quaint nickname of “Ballyhoo” was really Jonathan Edwards Jones. For some years he had taken such delight in mimicking the animals usually seen in a menagerie, as well as the “barkers” who tried to coax the gaping public to patronize their side shows, where all manner of freaks were on exhibition, that naturally enough he soon found himself given the name of “Ballyhoo,” which term is often used to designate loud-tongued orators.

The third boy, whom they had mentioned as “Jack,” had Anderson for a surname. He was a positive marvel in connection with anything that had to do with photography in all its branches. His father before him had been devoted to the art, and had spent several years, lost in the wilds of Darkest Africa, a prisoner in the big kraal of a savage black king, from which captivity he had only recently escaped, thanks to the bravery of his son and his chums.

The three comrades were now about to start forth on an expedition that really dwarfed their previous successes by virtue of its daring. This fascinating project had come about in a peculiar fashion which may as well be explained here and now while Oscar and Ballyhoo impatiently await the coming of Jack.

To the Jones home in Melancton had come one day a queer old gentleman who turned out to be an uncle of Ballyhoo’s mother. This Abner Crawley had led an adventurous life, though no one would suspect it to look at his mild blue eyes and hear his mellow, jolly laugh.

He had followed the hazardous profession of a deep sea diver, spending years out in Far Eastern seas, diving with the natives for pearl oysters, and in many ways had managed to accumulate quite a nice little fortune.

The stories he spun to Ballyhoo, Oscar and Jack thrilled them with a boyish desire to also see some of the wonders of that same submarine world. Then, as the old man learned how they had already shown a disposition to do and dare, he began to interest them in his latest and greatest scheme.

It seemed he had been induced to take a third interest in a venture that had for its main object the salvage of certain sunken treasure-ships, which were located on a chart. In many cases these ships had gone down scores and scores of years ago, but in comparatively shallow water, so that it seemed feasible to reach them through the agency of an ordinary diving suit; or better still, with the assistance of a modern submarine built for that express purpose.

The boys of course hastened to read Jules Verne’s startling book, “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,” with which they were more or less familiar beforehand. Their enthusiasm grew by leaps and bounds as they started to discuss the possibilities of their being allowed to join this strange expedition.

Jack, aided and abetted by his father, had conceived the idea that as the undersea boat had been constructed particularly with a view to cruising down at the bottom of the sea, and had unusual facilities for allowing those aboard to see all that went on in subterranean depths, it might be possible to secure a remarkable series of motion pictures disclosing undreamed of wonders, the queer creatures that never came to the surface, as well as the amazing forest of giant plants that grew far down in the ever peaceful valleys of the ocean.

In the end it had worked out just as the scheming old master diver had wished. The boys were given an opportunity to accompany the expedition as representatives of Uncle Abner Crawley. They would be given all sorts of chances to use their camera, and at the same time if fortune favored the work of the divers one half of the Crawley third was to be handed over to them.

And such was the final arrangement that had been made. They had proceeded to Baltimore, made the acquaintance of their intended future companions, taken up their limited quarters aboard the well named Argonaut, and Jack was even now paying a parting visit to the post office to get final mails, as well as to the express office for an extra supply of films made especially to resist damage by warm, sticky weather in the tropics.

“There he comes at last!” Ballyhoo presently announced, as a boy was discovered heading their way, and well laden with bundles.

Jack turned out to be a well-built young chap, with a thoughtful face, and the glow of an enthusiastic artist in his eyes. He soon climbed aboard the strange boat, after which the Captain’s voice was heard giving orders. Then they could feel the quiver that told them the engines were beginning to work; cables were cast off, and a cheer broke from the group on the shore, some of them laboring men belonging to the shipyard, others relatives of those aboard, or it might be stockholders in the venture.

Soon afterwards they had left the city of Baltimore behind them, and were moving smoothly and swiftly down the bay. After that would come the open sea, with its mysterious influences, its terrible storms, dreaded calms, and all surrounded by the halo of romance of long-gone centuries.

The three boys sat there on the miniature upper deck long after the voyage had really begun, saying little, since their hearts naturally enough were heavy because of the fact that they had finally severed the ties that bound them to the loved ones at home.

And so they started down the great Chesapeake Bay, bound for the tropics.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See “The Motion Picture Comrades’ Great Venture.”

[2] See “The Motion Picture Comrades Through African Jungles.”

CHAPTER II
THE FIRST DIP UNDER THE SURFACE

By degrees this feeling of depression passed away. They were healthy boys, and as such could not long remain in the grip of the “blues.” It was all their own doings, too, and they were headed for an experience that certainly no other young fellows had ever been given before.

Soon they were taking an interest in all that went on around them. Oyster boats with the men at work dredging or tonging; duck hunters in blinds, or lying, it might be, in sink-boxes on the shallows with their decoys all around them—things like these were constantly cropping up to be observed through the marine glasses which they had been thoughtful enough to provide themselves with before starting on the voyage.

The afternoon sun was sinking toward the western horizon, and it was figured that by morning they would have arrived close to the ocean at Hampton Roads.

“How fast are we going, do you think, boys?” Ballyhoo was asking, while they continued to sit there and enjoy the bracing air of that late Fall afternoon.

“That’s hard to decide,” Oscar told him. “I understand that this boat can make about seventeen miles on the surface of the water, providing the sea is fairly calm. We may be doing nearly that right now.”

“And when she sinks down under the sea, what is she capable of doing then?” continued Ballyhoo, always eager for facts.

“Oh! I think it was about eight or nine knots an hour, which would be pretty good, all things considered,” Oscar replied.

“Our quarters are pretty cramped and we’ll be crowded a whole lot,” Jack said in a reflective way, “but we expected that before we came. Your uncle told us, Ballyhoo, we’d likely have to put up with many discomforts, and lack of space would be one of them.”

“What’s the odds so long as we’re happy,” Ballyhoo Jones laughingly declared. “We can be as snug as three bugs in a rug. There are some things a heap worse than being crowded. Sitting up in a bally old tree the livelong night, with a pair of hungry lions prowling around under you is one of them.”

“Yes, you know all about that sort of thing, Ballyhoo,” chuckled Oscar; “also how being almost devoured by cannibal ants feels. But we’re not going to run across anything like that on this trip, I reckon.”

“Oh! give things a chance, boys,” said Ballyhoo, confidently, “and there’ll be adventures a-plenty cropping up to make our hearts jump like mad. This time it may be storms, pirates, a damaged engine while we’re lying at the bottom of the sea so we can’t rise for air, and all that sort of thing.”

“What are you staring so hard at through the glasses, Jack?” asked Oscar, giving little heed to the pleasant prospect thus outlined so cheerfully by Ballyhoo, for he knew very well the other was only joking when he rattled these possible perils off so glibly.

“Why, I was watching that black steam yacht over there a mile or so away from us,” Jack remarked, lowering the marine glasses as he spoke. “I could see a fellow in some sort of uniform holding glasses on us right along. I guess he must be wondering whether we mightn’t prove to be a German submarine that had strayed across the broad Atlantic, like they threaten to do some of these fine days, to sink British munition steamships close to our shores, rather than wait for them to get over into the waters they’ve marked as the war zone.”

“I tell you what I think,” he observed a minute afterwards, “that same black steam yacht may be our rival, the Dauntless, and the man who is watching us all the while would then be that rollicking old world-wide adventurer, Captain Badger, who has sailed the Seven Seas from boyhood, been everything from blockade-runner to naval officer, and perhaps a little of a pirate on the sly besides.”

“Whew! do you really think so, Oscar?” cried Ballyhoo; “please let me have a peek at him then. I’ve heard so much about the old reprobate I’d love to say I’d actually set eyes on his phiz, even at a mile away.”

“We may see a little more of him than we want, before we’re done with this job,” Oscar told him, with the air of a prophet, but Ballyhoo only laughed, for he was not the one to cross any bridge before he came to it.

Just then Captain Barnaby Shooks, the man who had been placed in full charge of the treasure-hunting expedition by the incorporated company, came up the ladder from the conning-tower of the submarine boat. He was a grizzled old sea dog, who had seen much of life on many waters, and was well qualified to manage just such a strange mission as the one that had been placed in his hands.

He too carried a glass which he quickly focussed on the black steam yacht that was evidently capable of making much faster time than the low Argonaut, often almost awash.

“We’ve about made up our minds, Captain,” remarked Ballyhoo, who had struck up quite an intimate acquaintance with the commander, after his frank, confiding fashion, “that yonder vessel might be the Dauntless, our rival in the salvage trade. Were we right about that, sir?”

“It’s the Dauntless, sure enough,” the captain told them, “and they’re holding in as if they’d like to shadow us all the way down to where we’re going.”

“Oh! could they do that?” demanded Ballyhoo, in dismay.

“Well, if you’ve ever tried to clap your finger on a flea,” laughed the old mariner, “you’d know what it means to keep tabs on a boat that can duck under the surface of the sea, and stay there for ten hours, moving all the while.”

Captain Barnaby Shooks somehow did not seem to talk as most sea captains do in stories. He never once said “shiver my timbers” or used any similar phrase that was calculated to stamp him as a nautical man. Perhaps this arose from the fact that many years had elapsed since last he trod the deck of a genuine sailing vessel. With the gradual disappearance of the full-rigged ships, the brigs, and the barques, all that peculiar language is going out of date. Mechanics have taken the places of the old-time sailors accustomed to clambering up the shrouds, and standing on the yards of a ship reeling in an eighty mile gale.

When later on, after the sun had set, the boys prepared to go down below for supper, that black steam yacht was still on their lee quarter, and apparently bound to keep within sighting distance.

“Goodness gracious!” Ballyhoo was remarking the last thing before he crept down the steep little ladder leading into the conning tower, from which place they could reach the lower parts of the queer vessel, “I only hope they don’t mean to ram us in the night-time, and so get rid of a dangerous rival.”

“Not much danger of that,” Oscar assured him. “Captain Shooks will keep a faithful watch every minute of the time. And besides, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that those fellows don’t know all we do about the location of sunken treasure, also that their plan is to spy on us, and then steal our thunder.”

They did not go on deck again after partaking of the evening meal in the little saloon devoted to cabin purposes, in which, as Ballyhoo said, was not room to “whirl a cat around by the tail.” The night air was cold, and the blackness would prevent them from seeing anything worth while.

None of them secured much sleep during that first night. Everything was against it, for their quarters were terribly cramped, and the air anything but fresh, even though the boat continued to remain upon the surface of the water all through the night.

“Whee! just imagine what it’s going to be when we’re down under the surface of the sea,” said Ballyhoo, at one time, as they prepared to lie down in their bunks, placed above each other in a tier.

“Oh! you can get used to most anything in time,” Jack assured him, “if only you make up your mind that way. Always think of something that’s a whole lot worse, and it’s wonderful how satisfied you soon feel.”

The boat rolled somewhat later on in the night, and Oscar, being awake, made up his mind that no doubt they were coming closer to the wide mouth of the great bay, so that they now encountered the long inward sweep of the ocean’s heaving billows.

Sure enough, when, after awakening to find that it was morning, for light came in through the heavy glass observation bull’s-eyes arranged in numerous places, the boys upon reaching the deck again discovered that they could look far out to sea, as the submarine had already passed Fortress Monroe and was now awaiting the coming of a cutter from a black destroyer carrying the U. S. flag, that had shot out to overtake them.

An officer came aboard, and was shown down into the captain’s diminutive cabin, where no doubt he looked over the ship’s papers, asked many questions concerning the proposed voyage, which must have interested him considerably, and finally said “good-bye and good luck” to the smiling skipper.

Then the engines once more began to throb, and the boat to quiver with the energy they displayed. The boys, looking back toward the beautiful shores they were leaving, again had their thoughts turn toward the folks at home. But the summons to breakfast dissipated all such sad reflections; and when an hour later they again came on deck the shore was dim and hazy in the distance.

Evidently they were now well started on their interesting voyage. What the outcome was going to be could only be guessed at; but hope ran high in all their hearts.

“There’s our friend, the enemy, just as we expected would be the case!” cried Ballyhoo Jones as he pointed to a dim spot several miles off, and which seemed to be some sort of black boat, also bound south.

“I’m looking at something else, though,” remarked Oscar. “That bank of clouds lying low along the horizon in the south seems to have a storm hidden in it. And we are heading straight that way in the bargain.”

“Oh! perhaps it’s only a little squall, such as they often meet in these waters,” Jack was saying. “The West Indian hurricane season is pretty well over by now, you know, or else the expedition wouldn’t have started when it did.”

“But even a little storm would send the waves clean over this low boat,” suggested Ballyhoo. “I’m not a born sailor, and I don’t want to seem bothered when there’s no danger, but you can see how we wallow at times right now, when we run smack up against one of those long swells.”

“You mustn’t forget,” Oscar told him, “that we’ve got one way of snapping our fingers at the wind and the waves when the time comes.”

“Course you mean by submerging, Oscar,” continued the other, grinning amiably. “I had that in mind all the while, but was only fishing to find out what you other fellows thought about it. The wind seems to be increasing a whole lot, and, yes sir, those clouds are rising right now. Whee! looks like we’ll experience our first dip below the waves before another hour goes by.”

As the clouds rose higher the sea began to look black. Although they knew what caused this the boys could not keep from feeling a little anxious, especially when the waves commenced to splash them with scud, as they struck the bow of the dipping submarine and broke.

They were really glad, therefore, when the captain ordered them to go below, as it was necessary to make preparations against foul weather. For some time afterwards the little boat labored heavily, until Ballyhoo began to feel the first signs of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

All of them felt relieved when they discovered that they were commencing to sink. The water tanks were being filled rapidly, and before long they realized that in truth they had vanished from the surface of the sea.

How calm it seemed down there, with the engines once more taking up their regular pulsations. The boys glued their eyes to the thick plate-glass observation bull’s-eyes, but all they could see when the searchlight was turned on was rushing green water all around them.

Doubtless the storm raged above as the squall spread over the sea, but safe in the stanch little submarine, far beneath the troubled surface, they knew nothing of it. By degrees the three chums became more used to their strange surroundings. The experience of novelty began to wear away. When one becomes accustomed to anything it no longer has the power to excite wonder, and give the same kind of thrill.

Later on they could sleep calmly when lying at the bottom of the sea, even though the manufactured air did seem queer, and breathing not as comfortable as under ordinary conditions, with the pure article to inhale.

Hours passed during which they continued to forge ahead. Oscar figured that they were making something like eight knots an hour while pushing through the depths.

Then came the time when they arose to take an observation through the periscope. The boys, of course, had to be allowed a chance to see, of which they hastened to avail themselves eagerly.

Never would they forget that first experience at looking through the periscope of a submarine far out at sea. The still heaving waters, running far away to the horizon, looked startling to their unaccustomed eyes. It seemed as though they might be lying on the edge of the world itself, and looking over a vast undulating plain.

When the captain judged that it would be safe to come up, as the storm had passed, and the sea was no longer rough, he gave the order.

Again the boys sought their old stand up on the small deck where the ventilation shafts protruded, and the periscope reared its lofty head.

Everywhere they looked the same tumbling waters met their gaze. Not a vessel was in sight, even through the glasses.

“We’ve given the Dauntless the slip, all right!” Ballyhoo hastened to boast after he had made sure of this fact.

“But the chances are we’ll see considerably more of that same boat before we’re through with this voyage,” said Jack; and subsequent happenings proved him a true prophet, as will be made manifest later on in this story.

CHAPTER III
A PERIL OF TROPICAL WATERS

Days and nights followed. All the time the boat continued to head into the south, and leagues upon leagues were placed behind them. Sometimes they were able to pick up glimpses of land far away to the west; and one night the boys were told that the flashlight they watched, so like a distant star, was Jupiter Light situated at the lower extremity of the Indian River in Florida. Off somewhere in the opposite quarter lay the Bahamas, and Old Nassau, of which they had read so often.

They were now getting down to a warm climate, and on this account spent as much time on deck as possible. Here the ocean breeze fanned their already ruddy cheeks, and they could watch the white-winged gulls and other sea birds flying in eccentric fashion here, there, and everywhere, now dipping to snap up a fragment of food cast overboard, and anon wheeling high overhead, or following the course of the speeding submarine as though keeping time with its progress.

Occasionally they met some vessel bound north. Now it might be a lumber schooner, and then again a coastal steamer. When one of the latter passed not far away the side seemed to be black with people, all staring at the strange, squatty craft, for doubtless the officers passed the word around that it was one of those species of undersea boats that had been creating such terrible havoc across the Atlantic.

So the time slipped along, and one sunny day they drew near an island in the Caribbean Sea where the palms hung low over the water, and made a picture that set Jack busy with his camera, for it was really his first chance to do anything along that favorite line.

“Seems that we’re meaning to lay by here a short spell,” Ballyhoo announced, as the ardent photographer was busying himself with his camera.

“What’s the scheme?” asked Oscar. “Have we arrived at the first pocket where they believe they can strike a rich bonanza?”

“Not yet, along those lines,” he was informed by the wise Ballyhoo, evidently seeking to let them know that he had been interviewing Captain Shooks. “Our port engine doesn’t work as it should, you see, and our careful skipper believes in taking time by the forelock, so he’s going to spend a few hours in overhauling it. You see, they’re putting out an anchor in the lee of this island. If we only had time we might get the collapsible boat out and go ashore.”

“It would hardly pay us,” ventured Oscar. “We’ll have plenty of other chances to stretch our legs on a tropical cocoanut island, I imagine.”

“Then I wonder if it wouldn’t be a bully good idea to have a swim?” continued the other, evidently bent on making some sort of dent in the monotony of the programme.

“Better ask the captain about that first,” suggested Oscar.

“But why should he care, when I can swim and dive like a duck?” objected Ballyhoo.

Just then the commander coming up from below the Jones boy put the question to him, and in such a wheedling way that the grizzled old skipper chuckled as he went on to say in reply:

“Well, I can feel for you, Ballyhoo, because when I was young swimming was my best hold. I’d go any distance just to get in the water. It’s a fine day for a duck, too, with those clouds sailing over, and dimming the hot sun part of the time. So I guess you can enjoy yourself for half an hour or so. But stick close by, son, and if you hear a shout make for the boat like greased lightning.”

Ballyhoo looked curious on hearing him talk in that way.

“Who’s going to bother with me here, sir?” he asked. “I can see a couple of natives in canoes headed out this way, but the Indians are only bent on trade of some sort; most likely they’ve got cocoanuts or oranges or bananas to sell. What should I be afraid of here, Captain?”

“Oh! I don’t really believe there’s any danger, lad, but in these Southern waters it’s always wise to keep an eye to windward for squalls, and by that I mean sharks.”

“Gee whiz! I forgot that!” exclaimed Ballyhoo; and then thinking that he saw Jack laughing in his sleeve he hastened to add: “but that doesn’t faze me one little bit. I guess I could get out of the way of a lazy old shark any time.”

Accordingly, Ballyhoo commenced to undress. He was a regular water duck when it came to all such aquatic sports as boys delight in, and could both swim and dive in a way that no other fellow in all Melancton ever equalled.

Somehow neither of the others seemed to care to follow his example, though he called out to them to “come in, the water’s fine.” Jack was too much interested in his camera just then, while Oscar didn’t feel like it. The thought of any peril hovering around did not keep him from copying Ballyhoo’s example; but he had suffered terribly from sunburned shoulders not a great while before, and hardly liked the idea of taking the risk again.

While Ballyhoo and two of the crew frisked in the water, seeming to be having a glorious time, Jack and Oscar sat there on the upper deck and talked.

“How little we dreamed when we first read that wonderful book of Jules Verne,” the former was saying, “that the time would come when all of us might experience many of the very sensations he described so well.”

“That’s a fact,” his chum admitted, “yet here we are aboard an undersea boat, and bound on an enterprise almost as romantic as that of the Nautilus. The combination of searching for lost treasure at the bottom of the sea, and also taking motion pictures of the ocean depths, is something worth while.”

“Look at Ballyhoo cutting up in the water, will you, Oscar. That chum of ours can give a big lead to either of those two men, and then make circles around him. Hey! Ballyhoo, better not get too far away, you know!”

“Oh! that’s all right, Jack,” answered the other, who had gone a third of the way toward the palm-fringed shore of the island; “nothing doing along the danger line. You fellows don’t know what you’re missing, I tell you.”

The boys busied themselves in purchasing some tropical fruits from one of the natives who had paddled out in their canoes for barter. They also had shells and some nautical curios, but the boys did not purchase any of these.

“I’m afraid the captain would toss everything overboard if he found us loading up with such stuff,” laughed Oscar. “The boat is crowded as it is; and what little space they have left is for something worth a heap more than just marine shells, and such junk.”

From down below could be heard the clinking sound of hammers as the engineer and his assistant worked at the engine to put it in better condition for business. The day was sultry and both boys felt relieved that these clouds mercifully stood between the pitiless rays of the sun and themselves.

“We must be getting somewhere near our first stop,” remarked Oscar, after another little spell had gone by; “for I saw the skipper overhauling his charts this morning, and that looked like business.”

“None of us will be sorry,” Jack went on to say, “because we’re fairly wild to learn what it really looks like down there among the sea ferns, and the queer forests they say grow on the bottom of the ocean. Then again there are all kinds of queer monsters that you’re likely to come on, most of them never seen near the surface. Oh! I’m clear daffy with wanting to click off some of those sights.”

Just then the captain came up the ladder again. Oscar was about to ask some question that had occurred to him when he held his tongue. The skipper was seen to shade his eyes with his hand, and stare earnestly toward the shore. Ballyhoo was still almost a third of the way across the open water lying between the boat and the palms.

Then they heard Captain Shooks utter an exclamation. It thrilled them both, and brought them to their feet, as though touched by a galvanic battery.

Turning swiftly, the skipper snatched up the megaphone that had been lying close by, and this he raised to his mouth.

Across the water his heavy voice rang like the brazen notes of an alarm bell.

“Sharks! Ahoy, Ballyhoo, swim for the boat, lad, swim for the boat!”

And looking beyond the spot where their chum was idly floating on his back, Oscar and Jack caught sight of an ugly black fin cutting the water in eccentric curves.

CHAPTER IV
THE INDIAN SHARK-KILLER

Other voices blended with that of the skipper. The two sailors in the water were screeching as loud as they could, though in no apparent peril, since they had not followed Ballyhoo far from the side of the boat.

Both Jack and Oscar were thrilled with a sudden fear. Now they could see a second sharp-pointed fin zigzagging through the waters. From the excited manner in which the sharks were swimming, first this way and then that, it seemed as though some instinct must have told them there was a chance to secure a dinner. Oscar was forcibly reminded of the mysterious way in which those carrion birds away over there in Africa would appear high in the heavens almost as soon as game had been brought down, as though their wonderful sense of smell, or some strange instinct, told them of the feast that was preparing.

Ballyhoo was no longer lying there floating on his back. The sturdy shout of the captain through the megaphone had reached him as clear as a bell. It was enough to put activity into the boldest swimmer’s frame; and so Ballyhoo started at full speed in the direction of the submarine.

Oscar vanished down the ladder leading into the conning tower, as though he had conceived some project that might help in case of desperate need. Jack, like the captain, could only stand there and stare. All at once the instinct came to him to turn his camera on the scene. Perhaps it was mechanically that the boy commenced to turn the crank, hardly knowing what he was doing, save that the artist spirit in him was being appealed to by the dramatic nature of the event.

Although Ballyhoo was working his arms like flails, and making prize time in cutting through the water, those monsters of the deep could swim twice as fast as a mere human being at his best.

Now it seemed as though they must have found the right scent at last. They were coming on in a direct line for the struggling boy. The sound of his arms beating the water into foam as he fought his way onward may have attracted them; but no matter from what cause, both sharks were speeding directly to the spot.

“Faster, lad, faster! they’re after you!” roared the captain, himself horror-stricken at the prospect of a sea tragedy.

If anything could cause Ballyhoo to put new vigor into his frantic strokes, it was that urgent appeal. But even though he may have added to his speed it was but a matter of fractions, and could not enter into the result at all.

Just then Oscar came shooting out of the little trap in the deck, looking white and peaked. He clutched something in his hands. Jack, even as he continued to grind mechanically away at his machine, saw what it was, and a fresh spasm of hope gripped his aching heart.

How fortunate it was that Oscar always kept his repeating rifle ready charged for business. He had gone down below like “a streak of greased lightning,” as he afterwards explained it, and, snatching his gun, started up again, flinging aside the engineer, who, having heard the outcries, was bent on reaching the deck so as to learn what was the matter.

So Oscar flung himself forward, and, raising his rifle, waited to see at which of the two monsters he should commence firing. They had gained on Ballyhoo fearfully. The swimming boy, glancing over his shoulder each time he swung back and forth with his alternate strokes, could, doubtless, see those sharp fins cutting the water like so many knife blades.

Ballyhoo was pretty badly frightened by that time. No doubt all that he had ever read about swimmers attacked and bitten by man-eating sharks must have flashed before his mental vision. But he was straining himself to the very utmost now, and nothing could increase his pace.

At that rate he must be overhauled long before he could gain the safety of the boat. Oscar realized this even as he glanced along the barrel of his gun, and then pressed the trigger.

With the sharp report he saw the water splash upward where the bullet struck.

“You hit him, lad, you surely did; give the begger another try!” snapped the intensely interested captain.

Again Oscar fired, and this time there could be no doubt, for they all plainly saw the flirt of a huge tail above the surface of the water; and, unless their eyesight deceived them, the sea in that vicinity was immediately tinged with blood.

Apparently that monster was disposed of, temporarily at least, and with a grim intention of repeating his triumph Oscar sought to get a chance at the other man-eater.

He found that somehow it was harder to hit this fellow, for as he came on he dodged so violently from side to side that the shots seemed to miss him entirely.

“Splash as hard as you can, son!” boomed the skipper through his megaphone; for it is a well-known fact that often sharks may be kept away by a tremendous commotion in the water, and more than a few lives have been saved through that artifice.

Ballyhoo heard and obeyed. He kept up his strenuous efforts right along, but managed to accompany them with such splashing as he found possible, though doubtless himself quite at a loss to know why he had been told to do this.

Then Oscar awoke to a terrible realization. His magazine had been emptied, for no fresh cartridge slipped into the firing chamber when he threw out the old brass shell, and worked the mechanism for a succession!

He could not lift a hand toward helping his chum! How bitterly did he repent being in such great haste, and taking too big chances. Had he only restrained his eagerness until the shark came closer, he might have easily sent a bullet home that would have finished the ugly monster.

He dropped the gun with a crash on the deck. It seemed to Jack, still working at his camera crank, that Oscar was almost tempted to madly fling himself over into the sea, and try to save poor, exhausted Ballyhoo, or else suffer the consequences.

But a hand seized the boy and held him fast.

“No, no, youngster, none of that foolishness,” cried the skipper. “Look again, and you’ll see that it isn’t so hopeless after all. The Injun is a-going to show us something. I’ve seen it done many a time out there at Ceylon, and along the Australian pearl shore too.”

These encouraging words caused Oscar to notice that one of the natives with whom he and Jack had just been bartering for fresh fruit was urging his canoe along like mad. He aimed to pass the swimmer by, and get between Ballyhoo and the oncoming sea monster.

“Keep cranking, Jack, keep it going, old fellow!” cried Oscar. “This picture will be something worth while! There, see that brown-skinned native go in, will you, just like a plummet? It’s good-bye to Mr. Shark, I guess, Jack—but don’t stop a second, do you hear?”

Indeed, Jack was working steadily, and with a much lighter heart, for something within seemed to tell him that Ballyhoo would after all be spared. He had seen that Indian plunge gracefully into the sea, and vanish from sight; and between his strong, white teeth Jack had also noticed that he held a long-bladed knife.

He knew, or could easily guess at any rate, just to what use the dusky young fellow meant to put that weapon. Coming up underneath the clumsy man-eater, he would, with one mighty stroke, rip him open, and cause his death.

It was a simple trick, once learned, and not half so dangerous as it seemed; though a greenhorn might run the chance of making a bad job of it, and inviting an attack from the monster.

Ballyhoo was not staying his efforts, even though fresh hope may have taken possession of his heart, once he saw that canoe flit past him, with the Indian standing erect in it, that knife between his teeth.

Oscar kept his eyes riveted upon that advancing fin. Suddenly he saw that it had disappeared. A dreadful fear assailed him. Had the wily shark taken warning of his peril, and swung around so as to give the diver the slip? Then it might yet be that Ballyhoo would suffer from his awful teeth, that could sever an arm or a leg as a hungry boy could bite a wedge from a slice of bread and butter.

But the simitar-like fin did not flash into view again. Ballyhoo, continuing his frantic efforts, was now close to the boat, and Oscar hurriedly clambered down to where he could give the almost exhausted chum a helping hand, so as to hasten his leaving the water.

He was just in the act of doing this when he heard Jack give a whoop. The Indian had bobbed up again, and was swimming with easy strokes around toward where his abandoned canoe floated.

Into this he climbed with considerable agility that aroused the ardent admiration of the watchers; but then these Caribs are regular water-ducks at all times, and can do the most wonderful “stunts” in diving for coins tossed overboard by curious tourists, which they usually recover before the silver bit has sunk ten feet below the surface.

The other native had also pushed forward, and both were seen to be leaning over the sides of their boats tugging at something.

“They’ve got rope-ends in their hands, Oscar,” advised Jack, still turning that crank of his industriously, for he wished to get it all in the picture. “I guess we’ll see both sharks again, for here the Indians come paddling back.”

It proved just as Jack had said. Each of the Indians had secured one of the marine monsters, and they were terrible looking creatures to be sure, with a length of almost thirteen feet, and sporting rows of teeth that made the boys shiver just to look at them.

Ballyhoo was white, but no more so than Jack himself, who sank back from his camera with a drawn look on his face. He had suffered intensely while trying to do his duty, and at the same time feel an agony of dread grip his heart.

Captain Shooks proceeded to extract several cruel-looking teeth from the jaws.

“Like as not you’ll want to keep the same,” he told Ballyhoo Jones, “so’s to remember the little incident by.”

“Huh!” grunted the winded boy, “small chance of me ever forgetting this raw deal, I guess. I’ll dream I’m being chased by those hungry monsters ever so many times. But ain’t they whales, though? And strikes me I came near playing that Jonah part for once. Please drop them back again, and let ’em float away for the buzzards to feed on.”

This was done, and then Oscar saw to it that the Indian shark killer was abundantly rewarded for his labor, since his prompt dive had undoubtedly saved the life of the boy in the water.

After that Ballyhoo Jones would be mighty careful, so he admitted, when and where he took his bath, for “once bit, twice shy” was going to be his motto.

CHAPTER V
GIVING THE ENEMY THE SLIP

“Please don’t scold, Oscar,” Ballyhoo was saying soon afterwards. “I understand I was a silly fool to take such big chances. The captain knew what he was talking about when he told me to stay near the boat.”

“We all know now,” Jack remarked, “that the thrilling yarns told you by your Uncle Abner Crawley were founded on truth. He’d seen those East Indian pearl-divers stick sharks many a time; yes, and he even said he’d learned to do the same himself while out around Ceylon.”

“I think we’ll be moving along pretty soon,” Oscar remarked, not wishing to add to the repentant Ballyhoo’s confusion, “for I heard the engineer tell Captain Shooks that he had things shipshape once more.”

“Then we can expect to be at our first destination any old time,” Jack went on to say, with an eager gleam in his eye; for he was yearning to see some of the wonderful submarine sights that had been so vividly described to them by the old deep sea master-diver.

Within ten minutes they discovered that the engines had started working again, and a little while later their propeller began to churn the water at the stern.

It was now late in the afternoon. They had really spent several hours behind the island instead of the short space of time at first intended; but then no one felt that it mattered to any great extent, since they were in no particular hurry.

“Let me have that glass, please, Oscar?” Ballyhoo asked. “There’s a vessel off to the southwest, low down, and I’ve got a sneaking notion she looks a whole lot like that same Dauntless we gave the slip to.”

This, of course, aroused considerable interest on the part of the other boys. Oscar obediently handed the marine glasses over, for they had been lying close beside him on the little upper deck, which Ballyhoo persisted in describing as the “hurricane deck” of the undersea boat. Jack, on his part, ceased handling his camera, and also turned his eyes in the direction indicated.

Hardly had Ballyhoo located the object he had been watching than he gave a satisfied grunt.

“That means you were right, I take it?” remarked Oscar.

“Just what it does,” came the ready answer. “She’s beat us down here, and seems to know just about where we ought to turn up, hang the luck!”

“Oh! nothing much to worry about yet,” Oscar told him. “Whenever we feel like giving her the once over, all we have to do is to turn the nose of our craft down, kick our heels in the air, and disappear, to come up fifty miles away in any old direction.”

“Guess you’re right there, Oscar,” admitted the boy who still held the glasses glued to his eyes, as though fairly fascinated by the abrupt reappearance of the mysterious black craft, which, as they knew, must be manned by the rival party under the lead of that reckless buccaneer of fortune, Captain Badger.

“That’s the beauty of these submarine wrecking craft,” laughed Jack; “they can swim on the surface in fair weather, dive below in foul, remain hidden about as long as they please, and all the while be making their little eight or ten knots an hour in any old direction. Yes, they are as hard to locate as a jumping flea—now you’ve got him, but when you go to look he isn’t there.”

Captain Shooks had been summoned on deck, and agreed with the boys the boat was their persistent rival that continued to shadow them. As evening was coming on he laid his plan of campaign accordingly. They started off on a course at right angles with the one they had intended to take. This would, of course, deceive the enemy, doubtless keeping a watch over their movements all the while.

“When it gets good and dark,” explained Oscar to his comrades, “why, we mean to dip under, turn around, and head into the southwest again. Once we get twenty miles away from this point, and it will be safe for us to come to the surface again, because our lights won’t show. By that time they’ll be in a haze, and dodging every-which-way, looking for a speck on the water.”

So the sun set, and, as always happens down toward the tropics, there was a very short intermission between that event and the coming of darkness. Twilight belongs to the Northern zones.

When the call to supper came it was already growing dusk.

“We’ll not be up again to-night, I reckon,” assumed Ballyhoo, with a sigh, for to tell the truth he did not particularly relish being made a prisoner inside that strange boat, and kept hermetically sealed far below the surface of the ocean, “just as much shut-in,” he often said, “as sardines in a can, or one of those old mummies we’ve seen in museums when they were kept tight in their sarcophagi.”

It turned out just as he prophesied. Even while they were eating they knew from various signs that the boat was sinking. The intake of water filling the tanks could be plainly heard; and then besides the engines had ceased working. While it was always possible for the submarine to dive when in motion, still as a rule the skipper preferred to take his dip while stationary.

Once below and they were able to steer any course they pleased, by the aid of their compass, which worked just as well then as when the boat rode on the surface.

By now the boys were beginning to grow a little accustomed to some of the experiences that had seemed so marvelous to them at first.

Taking it all in all it was very comfortable there in that snug little saloon, where the captain and the three boys ate their meals. Considerable ducking had to be indulged in so as to avoid knocking their heads, which Ballyhoo seemed to be particularly addicted to, much to his discomfort.

“Why, I’ll have a whole row of knobs around my coco before we’re through with this trip,” he complained after he had again arisen too suddenly, and, consequently, banged the top of his head against the low ceiling of the saloon.

“I notice that already you’re beginning to have a lot of trouble pulling your cap on,” Jack told him; “and if you take my advice you’ll think twice before you jump up so hastily. It’s going to be a good thing to tone you down, Ballyhoo. Beware of getting a swelled head.”

They spent the evening as best the conditions allowed. Space was at such a high premium down inside the little submarine craft that there could be no moving around except in exceptional cases. On this account they had to sit close together and amuse themselves by exchanging views on various subjects, writing up their logs, and, of course, thinking of those left at home.

Then came the time for sleep. Ballyhoo had quite exhausted himself through his fierce exertions in the water, coupled with the mental anguish he must certainly have endured. Consequently, he was dozing long before either of the others thought to retire.

At the time Oscar crawled into his tight-fitting bunk it was four bells, or ten o’clock. He lay there for some time planning, and also allowing his mind to travel back to former scenes, most of them pleasant in their nature.

The engines were working steadily, and he could hear the singular “swish” of the water just beyond the steel shell of the boat alongside his head. How strange it was to realize that he meant to calmly seek forgetfulness in slumber while they were many fathoms under the sea, and traveling along at an eight-knot speed; just as though that had always been the customary method of procedure, instead of a very recent innovation and novelty.

Then finally he lost himself, and during the balance of the night really awoke only three times.

It was on one of these occasions that Oscar knew from a change in the sounds coming to his ears that they were ascending to the surface again. He could hear the throb of the electric motors pumping the water ballast from the reservoirs, which could be emptied in a marvelously short time should necessity compel such haste.

He lay there listening until assured that once again they were afloat on the bosom of the deep, and continuing their voyage. Somehow the full significance of this gave him a sense of relief; it was certainly more natural that they should be cruising on rather than under the water. And soon fresh air would be circulating through the interior of the boat, when the ventilation shafts were opened.

Then came morning, and the boys upon awakening made all haste possible to get on deck, where they found Captain Shooks, partly dressed, with a glorious red flannel nightcap still covering his bald head, as he took a look around through his glasses.

The boys, too, made use of their opportunity, and scoured the horizon diligently. So far as they could see there was no sign of the suspicious black steam yacht; and it seemed as if they had successfully eluded Badger and his crew.

Over on the port side lay one of those small keys found in many parts of the great Caribbean Sea, with the stately palms hanging over the green water, and the mangroves making another part of the shore look as though it might prove a hard task to break through the thick barrier.

A native was seated in his canoe fishing, and now surveying the singular looking, squatty craft with evident amazement. Even as they looked he started frantically for the shore, as though his fears had finally gotten the best of him. If the mere sight of a submarine gave him such a fright the boys wondered what his sensations would have been had he chanced to see the Argonaut suddenly emerge from beneath the water like a monster fish, her rounded steel sides glistening in the sunlight.

“Looks like we had given them the slip all right, eh, boys?” remarked the skipper, as he lowered his glass, and allowed a broad smile to cross his sunburned face; for already he had come to feel a very friendly relationship toward the trio of fine young fellows, so modest and yet so able.

“We must be in a far corner of the Caribbean by now, I should think, Captain?” Oscar was saying.

“Quite out of the ordinary track of vessels,” admitted the commander, nodding his head in the affirmative. “Seldom does a ship pass here, because the region has a bad reputation. You see it is directly in the customary track of all those West Indian hurricanes that are bred around the Windward Islands, make a great curve, and then sweep toward the Florida coast, generally to pass into the Mexican Gulf, though now and then one slips past and goes booming up toward Hatteras.”

“And we must be getting near our first destination, too, I should think?” continued Oscar, with the idea of drawing the old skipper out.

“Right you are there, my lad,” came the quick reply. “Unless something not down on the bills happens to prevent, I expect that by another sundown we’ll be close on Coco Key,” with which parting shot he ducked below, to finish his toilet, and put on his captain’s uniform.

That was apparently good news to the three Camera Boys, judging from the way they proceeded to exchange hand-shakes, while smiles illuminated their several faces. And, looking around upon the vast expanse of salt water by which they were surrounded, they naturally wondered whether that persistent black steam yacht could once more find them out.

CHAPTER VI
TREASURE ISLAND

All through that hot day they continued to push ahead. The captain knew where the Key lay that was to be his destination, and being a good mariner, he was laying his course directly thither. By taking the usual observation at noon he found his bearings, and could alter his course more or less in consequence. Then there were small islands they passed from time to time, some of which bore characteristics that he could recognize, either from having seen them before, or because they were thus described on his chart as landmarks.

“The skipper tells me he has sailed all through the Caribbean many a time in years that are past,” Oscar informed his two chums that afternoon, as they sat there on the “hurricane deck” and took things easy.

“I guess it would be hard to mention a particular spot on the globe where the old man hasn’t cruised in his time,” Jack observed. “And how strange it is that of late we should run across two such roamers as our skipper here and Ballyhoo’s Uncle Abner Crawley.”

“Call it three while you’re about it, please, fellows,” interrupted Ballyhoo, “for while we’ve really not actually had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman face to face so far, we feel that we know him just the same, because he keeps haunting our track. I refer to that born trouble-maker and adventurer, Captain Josephus Badger.”

“Oh! there are rafts of just such men in the world!” Oscar declared, “if only you happen across them, fellows who are rolling stones of fortune, seeking spots for their operations where men are at war with their fellows, living by their wits at times, and at others making fortunes by running cargoes of contraband goods or arms past a blockade. Right now across in Europe thousands are doing just that same thing, trying to get food and things into Germany through neutral countries, and the open sea.”

“Hello!” exclaimed Ballyhoo just then, “listen, will you, boys?”

“The engines have stopped running!” observed Jack, partly rising to his feet as though to look around and see whether this could be accounted for by anything in sight, and immediately adding: “but there’s only an island some distance beyond, and not a sign of any vessel.”

“Perhaps the engines have broken down?” suggested Ballyhoo.

“A poor guess, I predict,” said Oscar. “They’ve been tested under all sorts of strain, and it isn’t likely they’d go back on us as easy as that. If you asked me now, boys, I’d say that yonder Key is the one we’re aiming to reach, and that our skipper isn’t in any great hurry to draw in there before nightfall.”

“Just what is in the wind, lad,” observed Captain Shooks, who had thrust his head above the combing of the little deck hatch while the boys were exchanging these views. “We’ll drop down until we’re almost awash, and in that way manage to avoid attracting attention in the gathering darkness, as we approach yon island. Yes, it is Coco Key, marked on our chart as the place for trying out our glorious plans.”

Of course this was pleasing news for the three chums. Things were going to take on a substantial change with them. Prowling around there on or near the bottom of the sea, endeavoring to locate the hulk of the treasure ship that was said to have been sunk there many, many years before, they would be also given an opportunity for observing those amazing sights which Jack meant to catch with his magical camera.

So they continued to gaze at the still far distant Key through the glasses. Of course they could not have seen any human being, but Ballyhoo, who really possessed remarkable vision, stoutly declared he could trace a thin column of smoke rising above the tree-crowned isle.

The others being unable to locate this sign of Coco Key being inhabited told Ballyhoo that it must be a vein of clouds he saw; but, nevertheless, he stubbornly persisted in sticking to his assertion.

“You wait and see who’s right, that’s all, fellows,” he told them, for Ballyhoo, as we have seen on other occasions, was a very stubborn chap, and ready to “nail his flag to the mast before giving up the ship.”

So they continued to move on at half speed. So low in the water did the submarine lie that no one without the aid of a good glass could, from the Key, have detected its presence amidst the choppy little waves. And presently, after the sun had sunk amidst the gathering clouds, there was no danger of their coming being known.

After they had eaten their supper the boys once more mounted to the upper deck. It was only natural that they should feel an intense interest in this lonely little Key that lay directly in the path of the hurricanes bred amidst the terrible Windward Islands.

“It seems to be covered with vegetation, all right,” Ballyhoo was saying, as if that fact caused him to wonder. “You’d think that long ago the storms that cross this stretch of the old Caribbean would have just wiped out every trace of such a little spot of land.”

“Well, there must be some reason why they haven’t,” Oscar advanced. “It may be a reef that lies to the northeast, and protects Coco Key whenever one of those hurricanes swoop down here. I’ve got an idea, though, that they gather force as they go, and are a whole lot worse hundreds of miles further on, when they strike Cuba, or Jamaica, and then sail over to Galveston.”

Although this was just a guess with Oscar, the probability is the boy struck what might be the exact truth. Later on Captain Shooks told them his experience was all along those lines; and that it took those West Indian hurricanes some time to get going at their full force; so the probability was they did not strike Coco Key as furiously as when days afterwards they were reported going at a hundred and ten miles an hour.

All lights were “doused” so that not by a glimmer would their coming be made known. And, sitting there, always watching ahead, it was not a great while after coming on deck that the boys discovered what seemed to be a far distant gleam.

“What do you suppose it can be?” queried Ballyhoo Jones.

“I’ve held the glasses steadily on it,” reported Jack, “and there’s no doubt it’s a light of some kind, and not a star near the horizon, as I thought at first.”

“Could it be a fire on some other island back of Coco Key?” continued Ballyhoo.

“I’d say no to that, and for several reasons,” Oscar interrupted. “In the first place you forget that the skipper told us Coco lay all alone here in this desolate section of the Caribbean Sea. Then again a fire always wobbles, now bright and again dim. That light is steady, if too far away to be figured out.”

“You mean that it must be on some vessel, then, don’t you, Oscar?” Jack asked.

“Nothing else,” he was told. “The boat must have been behind the Key when daylight was with us, which would account for our not seeing the same.”

“Whew! I bet you it’s that Artful Dodger, Captain Badger,” ventured Ballyhoo.

“The skipper will be coming up on deck before long,” Oscar continued, “and we’ll call his attention to the suspicious light. From what he says I don’t believe any spongers or loggerhead turtle fishermen could be away over here; though it might be possible. They cruise about everywhere looking for some corner where they can pick up a cargo. These West India ‘conchs,’ as they call them, are pretty daring chaps, I’m told.”

But a short time later Ballyhoo announced that the strange light had vanished, nor did they glimpse it again, though looking many times.

“Chances are the boat has slipped behind the island again,” Jack ventured to say, “or else for some reason those aboard have decided they don’t need any light, just as we’re doing.”

While the night was fairly dark, at the same time it was later on possible for them to tell where the island lay. The mass seemed to make a shadow on the water that resembled a dark spot.

“I could just manage to see through the glass,” Ballyhoo explained, “that it had trees and scrub, and plenty of those queer mangroves growing all along the edge of the shores. The skipper told us the water was quite deep, too, and that we’d be likely to see all sorts of tropical growth, once we went down.”

“Yes, although he hasn’t ever been here before in a submarine,” Oscar went on to say, “he has often looked through a water glass, and hunted for sponges that way, so he knows what these tropical waters can hold.”

“Huh! I was just thinking!” Ballyhoo exclaimed in a stage whisper, “that it looks kind of spooky off yonder toward the Key, as we see it now in this queer light. Oh! did you notice that, boys? Really and truly something flashed up right ashore, then!”

“I saw it, too,” admitted Jack, and Oscar followed with:

“No question about it, the island isn’t as deserted as Captain Shooks thought. It may be that first light came from a sponging vessel anchored on the other side of the Key, and that some of her crew are ashore, meaning to turn turtles when they crawl up on the beach; though it’s generally in the Spring of the year they come out to lay their eggs in the warm sand.”

The skipper, coming on deck just then, was put in possession of such facts as they had accumulated. Apparently he did not much like the news. It would interfere considerably with their intended movements, for they could not very well remain on the surface in the daytime without being seen, and their presence suspected.

To allay any suspicions, in case they met with some cruising pleasure yacht while in the vicinity of the treasure island, the wily captain had laid out a plan of campaign quite original. The boys entered into it with more or less zeal, since they were always ready for a lark.

Captain Shooks, while an American, could speak German like a born native of the Rhine country, and it was his intention to make frequent use of this language, so as to cause the inquisitive pleasure voyagers to believe the craft to be a hostile German submarine, lying in this isolated quarter to wait for stores and torpedoes, so as to commence a raid on the Allies’ oil vessels coming out from Mexican ports with cargoes for the British trade.

The skipper decided that in all probability the explanation given by Oscar to account for the presence of the lights might be the true one. Nevertheless, they must not run any unnecessary chances so early in the game. It might be the Dauntless after all, for Captain Shooks had a very great respect for the sagacity of that tricky mariner who commanded the black steam yacht.

And so a little later on he decided they had gone as close to Coco Key as common prudence would dictate. Accordingly, the boys were ordered below, the hatches closed, and the boat sank below the surface of the sea.

Lower than they had ever gone before the boys realized they were dropping, until finally the electric lights were switched on, and looking eagerly out through the observation search ports they could catch their first glimpse of the vast world that lay at the bottom of the ocean.

CHAPTER VII
WONDERFUL UNDER-THE-SEA SIGHTS

The submarine was moving slowly forward, so that they were being treated to a constant change of scene. It was like a vast panorama being unrolled before their eyes, and for their especial benefit. The three boys clung to their ports of observation, and continued to gaze at the marvelous sights as though fascinated.

They could see as plainly as though looking into one of those aquarium tanks with the glass sides, where all manner of curious fish swim idly back and forth, and rub their noses vainly against the transparent barrier.

“Such gloriously colored fish I never saw before!” Ballyhoo was saying, and the others could easily echo his words, for they discovered some new object of interest with almost each passing minute.

Sometimes these denizens of the depths were of a brilliant scarlet hue; then again they seemed to possess most of the colors of the rainbow, delicately shaded. Others had long waving tails, and often the boys would discover some ugly looking monster that seemed quite out of place in such splendid surroundings, like an ogre at a feast of fairies.

“There, I saw a shark swing past!” exclaimed Ballyhoo, later on, perhaps with an odd shiver passing over him, for sharks always brought up that little adventure of his.

Jack had already commenced to arrange his camera. Before now he had tried it for height, and hence knew just how to proceed so as to get the proper results.

“Some of these things seem too fine to be lost,” he told Oscar, who had his station close beside him. “And as we sink a little lower I begin to notice those waving fields of submarine flowers, or weeds, or plants, whatever you can call them. Any time now we’re apt to run into a field that I’d like to get a picture of.”

Oscar said nothing to discourage him. In fact, he, too, felt that it was high time they were remembering that the main object of their coming to this part of the Caribbean Sea had been to secure wonderful pictures of the ocean depths and its denizens, rather than to share in the treasure that was the magnet drawing Captain Shooks.

Up in the bow no doubt the skipper was at his post. His was the hand that controlled the destiny of the undersea boat now. It required another sort of education than that of the ordinary pilot’s to manipulate the wheel when once down in those depths, where buoyancy could be so easily altered. To rise or fall was possible by the mere touch of a finger, it seemed, so delicately were they poised there.

Now it became necessary to come to a full stop on account of some obstacle ahead in the shape of an undersea cliff that barred progress. This must be surmounted by pumping out some of the water ballast so that they would rise above its summit, or perhaps it might be deemed advisable to turn aside, and pass around the obstruction.

From time to time Jack’s exclamations, and the sound of his cranking, announced that he was busily engaged at his labor of love. If he could only catch some of those wonderful vistas of waving plants, and floating fish with their goggle-eyes, he felt he would be amply repaid for all his work.

“Another shark!” announced Ballyhoo, who seemed to have a good eye for those savage monsters of the deep, “and let me tell you he’s some size in the bargain. Oh! get him in the picture, Jack, because we seem to have stopped right here for some reason or other. Don’t you see, he must be one of those leopard sharks we’ve heard Uncle Abner tell about, for he’s all spotted.”

“I can hardly believe that,” Oscar told him, “because, unless I’m mistaken, he also said that species was only to be found away over in the East Indies. But that chap was a dandy, all right, and I hope you got him, Jack.”

“Whee! there’s another right now!” cried Ballyhoo, “and as sure as you live, boys, he acts like he meant to knock a chip off the shoulder of his first cousin, too. See him make that furious rush for Mr. Spot, will you? Oh! we’re going to be treated to a regular shark duel, that’s what we are! Be sure and don’t miss that, on your life, Jack. It’s all been staged just for our benefit. Those monsters knew it was a chance of a lifetime for them to get in the spot-light!”

While Ballyhoo rattled along at this rate, events outside were taking on a sanguinary hue. Something had happened to anger both of the huge sharks, and they continued to make savage attacks on one another. Their teeth must have been busily engaged in these frequent contacts, for the boys soon saw that they began to show the marks of many terrible wounds.

By now the whole crew of the submarine must have learned of what was taking place close by, for they crowded to the various glass-covered openings in the endeavor to see what they could of the affair. It enlisted their sympathies, even as a group of Cubans might take a lively interest in a cock fight, or ten thousand Mexicans gather to watch a bull match his horns and muscles against the agility of his human baiters in the arena.

Back and forth the pair swam, tearing at each other as though anxious to take advantage of this unusual flood of light visiting their undersea range. One was a little larger than the other, and, of course, the boys immediately allowed their hopes to rest upon the smaller shark.

Indeed, it soon began to prove that this one was the more agile of the two, and could get away with less punishment after some of their terrific rushes. From this fact the spectators expected that in the end the battle would result in the vanquishing of the larger spotted fish, which appeared a trifle sluggish in its movements.