Chapter XVI: Voice of Drums

Johnny, meanwhile, was having a very bad hour all by himself. Still drifting a thousand feet beneath the surface of the sea, he awaited his deliverance--a deliverance he knew might never come.

Knowing little about the rate at which the powerless boat might be drifting, he made a guess; it should be about two miles per hour. "That gives me less than two hours," he told himself, grimly.

After noting the time, he decided to take a few more pictures--just in case.

Never before, he imagined, had such opportunity for taking undersea shots been given any living being. Moving at fairly steady speed, he passed through countless schools of deep-sea creatures, and never before had Johnny looked upon such fantastic sights.

"Like things in a nightmare," he told himself. "All heads--practically no bodies at all--some long and slim as a leadpencil, with noses half the length of their bodies. If ever I get out of this I probably shall be famous. But--"

What was this? His eyes stared at the compass. It appeared to have gone wrong, or else--

"Hey!" he called into the loud speaker, "what's up? Are we going north by east--"

"North by east is right. Oh, Johnny!" Doris apologized, "I didn't let you know, but they have the sails up, and we're traveling in a circle. We think that will keep you off the rocks. The chart is not very clear, but we can cruise around for hours if--if it is necessary."

"Hours!" Johnny groaned.

"Well, anyway--" Doris stopped, abruptly. Then:

"Johnny! You're saved! The mate just told me the hoist will be working again any minute now!"

"Hooray!" Johnny shouted. "Hooray! We live again! Boy-oh-boy!"

"Yes, Johnny,"--the girl's voice went husky, "it will be good to see you!"

Ten minutes later, Johnny was going up. Slowly, surely, the dense darkness passed. The blue black of early dawn was changing places with glorious hues, and then came the light of a rapidly passing day.

As he tumbled from the steel ball Johnny placed a box of plates carefully on the deck.

"There you are!" he exclaimed. "Pictures I'll really live to see!"

The pictures were superb--all the professor could have dreamed of, and more. "These, alone, will add greatly to the world's riches," he said, placing a trembling hand on Johnny's shoulder.

"And when you show them," Johnny grinned, "tell your audience they were taken by a ship's watch, will you?"

"I take it," said the professor with a laugh, "that you think you'd like to keep your feet on the ground, for a while!"

"Absolutely," Johnny agreed. "And in more ways than one!"

Johnny went back to his old task of walking the deck that night. There would be no more tampering with hoists and motors if he knew anything about it--and he surely would know if it happened in the night.

For some unknown reason, this night was not like others that had passed. There seemed to be a spirit of unrest in the air.

Doris, too, felt it. Enveloped in a midnight-blue gown, she wandered out on deck.

"It's ridiculous," she exclaimed. "A grand night to sleep, but my eyes just will not stay closed!"

"There are ghosts in the air," said Johnny. "I have felt them and almost heard their wings--or do ghosts have wings? There goes one now!"

Doris jumped as some swift, darting thing shot past her head.

"Oh, no!" Johnny laughed. "Only a bat. You'd think--"

He stopped suddenly to stare at the distant hills. The next instant, with binoculars held to his eyes with one hand and a pencil in the other, he was recording a message.

"The green arrow speaks again," he murmured softly. "Oh--Oh--now it's gone! Snapped right off as if a fuse had blown.

"Oh, well--perhaps it will flash again, later." He stuffed his notebook into his pocket.

"We'll be leaving here soon," Doris said quietly. "In two or three days, I think. Grandfather received a wireless today. And how I'm going to hate it." She sighed. "This," she spread her arms wide, "this has been grand! Moonlight on gorgeous waters! Strange tropical shores. Adventure!"

"And bats!" said Johnny, as one shot past his ear.

"But even they are different," she insisted, smiling.

"Yes, I know," Johnny agreed. "To go to strange places, to see new things, to find excitement, thrills, mystery and adventure--that's life!"

"Is it for most people?" she whispered.

"Perhaps not," he replied thoughtfully. "Most people like to be safe and comfortable, to go to the same places, to see the same people, do the same things. That's their privilege, of course."

"That's right, Johnny. And now--goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replied, softly.

Halfway between midnight and morning, when even the bats were less active, and the whole tropical world seemed asleep, Johnny was amazed to hear the sudden roll of a native drum, from the island. The very sound of it at that eerie hour, set his blood racing and his skin prickling.

"Drums!" he ejaculated. "What can that mean?"

For a time the weird beats were a steady roll. Then they began breaking up; two beats, a pause--one beat--pause, three beats--pause....

"Like a message," he whispered. Then with a start, he recalled the message of the green arrow--undeciphered in his pocket!

Dragging it out, he began decoding it, growing more and more wildly excited every minute.

"H--E--" he worked it out "L--P! _HELP!_"

"Someone is in trouble," he whispered. "But there are only three letters left. Rapidly he studied these out.

"_Help Mil_--"

A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He recalled Mildred's determination to follow that green arrow trail. Had she followed it too far? Had the spies captured her? Was she a prisoner? And had she attempted to get off a message on the green arrow, only to be interrupted? Or perhaps even--

"I might be wrong," he told himself. But he dared not hope.

Again there were the drums. This time a drum close at hand, on shore, thundered out. Then, from far away in the jungle came an answer, another, and yet another. It was ghostly, romantic, thrilling. Johnny's hair fairly stood on end. But what did it mean?

He caught the sound of soft footfalls. Instantly he was on his feet, all attention.

"Oh!" he exclaimed softly. "It is you, Samatan."

"Yes. The drums! They speak!" murmured Samatan. "Something--it is very bad." His voice was low-pitched, tense.

"What do they say?" Johnny asked in a whisper.

"That something very wrong. This what drums say!" The old man's voice was vibrant with emotion.

"They say Kennedy has had _bad_ done him! Natives must come. All who love Kennedy must come. And all natives love Kennedy! All night they must come. In morning they march--perhaps they fight! Much fight for Kennedy! Maybe much die!" His voice trailed off.

"Yes," Johnny choked. "Something terrible has happened. We must go, Samatan!"

"Just when it little light, in my dugout, we go, Johnny," said Samatan, quietly.

Settling back in a steamer chair the old man closed his eyes and appeared to sleep. While from the shore came again and again the vibrant rumble of the drums--tum--tum--tum--tum--on and on into the night that was marching toward the dawn of another day.

Tense with forebodings of what might be in store, Johnny waited--impatient and grimly expectant.