Graham M. Dean

“ Ralph was on the verge of unconsciousness but he made a heroic effort to speak.
“It’s Tommy,” he whispered. “McDowell’s slashed his chute. If he ever steps over the side he’s gone.”
Tim’s face whitened at Ralph’s alarming words. Tommy’s chute slashed! He glanced aloft. The planes were almost up to 2,000 feet. In a few more minutes they would be rushing headlong toward each other and Tommy would step over the side to hurl like a falling star to the ground. Tim’s eyes closed to shut out the image which flashed across his mind.
Prentiss reached his side. ”

“ Tim jumped into the boat and they pulled lustily toward the safety and comfort of the submarine.
Men slept restlessly on the S-18 that night. Tomorrow they were going to the bottom of the bay. If fortune favored them, they would come back to the surface with a wealth of gold.
Tim was as restless as any of them, turning and tumbling around in his narrow bunk. An hour before dawn he slipped out of his blankets, dressed, and went up on deck. Commander Ford was in the conning tower and Tim wondered whether he had slept any during the night. ”

“ Writing was a thing of the past, but in his hands he held the record of their tragedy. Perhaps someday the S-18 would be found and their story known.
Tim fumbled for his blankets. The air was cold. He laid down on the bunk. Up ahead was the steady splashing of the water. Back of him a man was quietly praying.
Tim closed his eyes. His head was splitting. Perhaps sleep would bring peace.
There was no sound in the S-18 except the low breathing of men who were saving every precious breath and the sound of the water coming in through the opened seam. ”

“ Tim’s keen eyes were the first to see them. Russ Graham was ahead, his arms wrapped around a rusty steel chest. Close behind came Charlie Gill, with a similar chest in his arms. They deposited these in the diving compartment and waved to the men watching them through the quartz windows.
Then they were beyond the circle of light, seeking more treasure in the hold of the old tramp steamer.
“How long can they remain down at this depth?” Tim asked the commander.
“Not long. The pressure is too great, but Charlie and Russ are the best divers in the world. They’ll stick as long as they dare.” ”

“ The loudspeakers were blaring with the announcement of the next stunt flight, the crash of the two planes in mid-air. Tim heard the words vaguely.
“The greatest air thriller ever performed,” the announcer was informing the crowd. “Two costly airplanes, speeding at more than 100 miles an hour, will positively crash head-on at an altitude of 2,000 feet. It’s daring, death-defying, breath-taking in its thrills. You’ll be glued to your seats when you see these ships hurl towards each other piloted by Ace McDowell and Tommy Larkin, two of the foremost flyers in the nation. ”

“ With dusk softening the hard outlines of the shipyard, Tim descended into the interior of the S-18, where the bright glow of the electrics dispelled the gloom.
“Ford send you back to keep me company or is he afraid we may have visitors?” asked Pat as they placed Tim’s duffle in the crew’s quarters.
“Both. He isn’t going to take any chances on accidents if it can be avoided. The watchman at the main gate told me that strict orders had been issued to admit no one after six o’clock.” Pat nodded toward the river. “They’ll come from there if they come. Have you got a gun?” ”

“ Pat, thoroughly angered at the attempt to sink the S-18 with a bomb, trained his gun on the other pilot but Tim pulled the nose of the Sea King up and spoiled his aim.
"He’s all through,” he shouted. "They’ll never be able to repair that motor.”
Spread out below them was a strange panorama. Against the green background of the Isle of the Singing Trees the S-18 was throwing shell after shell at the Iron Mate, and the tramp steamer was responding. One good, solid shot would sink the S-18, while the Iron Mate could stand a lot of shelling without going down. ”

“ In the bulkhead Tim saw the breeches of four powerful tubes. The cranes which lifted the torpedoes from the racks and into the tubes were folded back against the wall but the front end of the compartment was a maze of gauges and valve wheels.
“I don’t see how you can remember which valve is which and what all of the gauges mean,” said Tim.
“It does take a couple of months to get the hang of all of them,” admitted Pat, “but in a fully manned navy submarine each man is trained for his own task. The successful operation depends upon each one doing his job at just the right time. ”

“ Pat rolled back into his blankets and a minute later Tim followed his companion’s action but where Pat was soon in a deep sleep, Tim remained awake, thinking over the attack and the dangers of their long voyage into the Caribbean. He was glad Commander Ford had decided to take a seaplane on the trip. It made him feel more comfortable for if anything happened to the S-18 on the treasure hunt, they might be able to get word of their plight to the world by using the seaplane. ”

“ With experienced hands, the old sailor started the outboard and they shot out into the shallow bayou. With a skill born of long acquaintance with the river, Crazy John guided the boat between snags and always found safe water. They nosed into a cove and picked up Ford’s boat, which they took in tow.
From the river itself they could hear the thunder of the motors of the amphibian as the pilot taxied it up and down stream hunting for the opening of the bayou which led to Crazy John’s island.
“Good thing they’re not in the air. They’d spot us in a minute,” said Ford. ”

“ Down they dropped like an eagle after its prey. McDowell dove back into the cockpit just as the monoplane crashed down on him, the wheels of the ship above almost raking his head. Tim steeled himself for the expected crash as the propeller of the biplane bit into the landing gear but it did not come. By some trick of magic which Tim would never know McDowell dropped the biplane down almost ten feet at the last moment. ”

“ Despair lined the face of every man who heard those words. Most of them were submarine men, and they knew what was ahead—bad air, headaches, dimming lights, then darkness for the S-18 and for them.
“We might as well save the electricity,” said Commander Ford. Lights were turned off until only one bulb gleamed in each compartment.
Some of the men got together a meal. Tim didn’t feel like eating. Still true to the code of reporters, he sat down and with pencil and paper wrote the story of the last dive of the S-18. For an hour he wrote. Time meant nothing to the men now. ”

“ Tim concentrated on the task of bringing down the other plane. Ahead of him, Pat crouched in the cockpit, the machine gun ready.
The seaplane was making a desperate attempt to get under the shelter of the Iron Mate but Tim drove on relentlessly on the tail of the other ship. There was no chance for the pilot to land and taxi back to the steamer.
The Sea King was fast and easy to handle. In less than two minutes Tim had overhauled the bombing plane and Pat, sighting with a steady hand, pulled gently on the trigger of the light machine gun. ”

“ Crazy John puffed slowly at his pipe. “They don’t lose much time,” he said as the sound of an airplane came faintly over the bayou.
“Sladek’s a fast worker,” conceded Ford. “I hardly believed he would be able to follow me here. If he finds you, he’ll do anything to get the secret of the Southern Queen.”
“He won’t find me,” said Crazy John. “There’s half a hundred places I can hide in the valley.” ”

“ Somewhere behind them a ferryboat hooted dismally and a tramp steamer, just swinging out of its wharf, answered.
“Any chance that that vessel may be Sladek’s?” Tim asked Pat.
“There’s more than a chance. It probably is,” replied the first officer.
The submarine moved down the bay at a steady eight knots an hour and Tim watched the lights of Manhattan fading into a haze. They stood well down the bay for the Sea King factory was on the south shore of Long Island.
Above him in the conning tower Tim could hear Commander Ford conversing with Pat. ”

“ He might have been the first white man down the stream and he would not have been surprised to have rounded a curve and sighted an Indian village on the next strip of sand.
The day was warm and if his mission had not been so urgent, he would have fully enjoyed the trip. But there was a tension that gripped him and drove him on at full speed. He wanted to be at Crazy John’s well before sundown.
At noon Tim estimated that he was two-thirds of the way to his destination. Slowing down the motor, he dug into his provisions and managed a snack of lunch. ”

“ It was well rigged and Tim, squinting under the hood, was surprised to see a big Barko 16-cylinder motor turning the prop over. The old plane’s lines were good. It was still plenty fast enough to give the average modern ship a good race. Too bad to sacrifice a sturdy old veteran like that just to appease the thrill-seekers.
Tim looked around for Ralph, who had gone over to the pilot’s room in the administration building. His companion was nowhere in sight but McDowell and Tommy, their chute packs banging awkwardly against their legs, were making their way toward the hangar. ”

“ Tim’s attention shifted back to the pilot of the crippled seaplane. It was landing at least a mile away from the Iron Mate and he admired the cool nerve of the other pilot, who brought his craft down to a safe landing. With motor dead, the flyer would have to wait for a boat from the Iron Mate to pick him up.
Tim sent the Sea King into a dive while Pat shouted questions at him, landed and taxied alongside the disabled plane.
Pat covered the other flyer with his machine gun. Tim recognized the pilot as the man who had flown the amphibian for Sladek on the trip to Cedar river valley. ”

“ At sundown the weary crews returned to the submarine. There was no use to ask whether they had found any trace of the Southern Queen. The tired, disappointed faces were enough.
“What about the bottom?” Tim asked Pat.
“It’s going to be a tough proposition even if we find the old ship. Lots of rock down there and queer currents. There must be all kinds of holes in the outer reef.”
Commander Ford was silent, planning the activities for the next day, and everyone aboard the submarine, except the watch, was in their blankets early. ”

“ The Man of Mystery The high pitched drone of a wasp engine sounded over the municipal field at Atkinson and Tim Murphy, famous flying reporter of the Atkinson News, poked a grease-smudged face out from behind the cowling of a trim biplane and squinted skyward. ”

“ It was a tense group in the diving room, clustered around Commander Ford. Tersely he relayed the progress of the divers.
“They’re going back along the hull, hunting for an opening. Charlie Gill says the current is strong here but the footing is hard; probably volcanic rock.”
There was a moment of silence. Electric fans kept a constant flow of air.
Commander Ford spoke again. “They’re still moving back. Wait! Russ Graham’s found a hole, probably the one knocked in the hull when the Southern Queen struck the reef. They’re going inside!”
Every word burned itself into Tim’s memory. ”

“ One of the most persistent was that the leaders of the futile revolution in Guato killed all members of the crew when they neared a safe coast, scuttled the ship, took the treasure and escaped in small boats. Another is that a storm which raged in the Caribbean shortly after the Southern Queen left Martee caught the little tramp steamer in its center and sent it whirling to the bottom with the loss of everyone on board. Several expeditions have been formed to hunt for the treasure but none of them have been successful and so far no actual trace of the Southern Queen has been found. ”