The Hunniwell Boys in the Caribbean

Front matter

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Chapter I A Letter From Cuba

Gorpon Hunniwett stretched lazily and raised his head from the hammock just as his brother, Jim, drove into the yard.

“Any mail?” he shouted as Jim jammed on the brakes and brought the car toa halt. Then, before Jim could answer, he added: “Don’t you know that brake linings cost money? That’s no way to stop a car.”

“T know it,” Jim grinned as he jumped to the ground. “If you’d spend a little time in keeping that old mess of junk of yours that you call a car in order I wouldn’t have to use the brakes so much. That accelerator sticks so that it needs a double compound lever to pull it up every time you step on it. But I suppose you’d rather loll in that hammock.”

“Tt doesn’t stick with me,” Gordon reminded him. “But then I know how to drive a car, and that makes a difference. But you didn’t answer my original question. Did you get any mail?”

“Three or four letters for Father and a letter for us from Slim Togus.”

“Slim Togus? Where’s Fred now?”

“T haven’t read it but it’s postmarked Havana.”

“Havana? Wonder what he’s doing down there.”

“Doesn’t his father own a sugar plantation or something or other?”

“Seems to me he does, but, perhaps, if you read the letter we’ll know more about it.”

“Gee, but I never thought of that. Your tongue goes so that when you’re talking a body doesn’t have a chance to get in a thought edgewise.”

Jim had slit the envelope while talking and started to read the letter as Gordon got out of the hammock.

“What’s the idea of all the solo stuff?” he demanded. “I thought you said that letter was to us.”

“Oh, pardon me, you are here, aren’t you? T’li read it aloud. It begins, ‘Dear Youngsters’.”

“Can you beat it?” Gordon snorted. “Just because Fred’s a year older than you he thinks we’re children. Honestly, he makes me tired. But why don’t you go on?”

“Why don’t you keep that mouth of yours still long enough to let me?”

“T’m dumb. Go on.”

“See that you are. Now I’ll start all over again.

“<Dear Youngsters:

“<T suppose you’ll be surprised to get a letter from me from away down here, but you’re getting it just the same. I’ve been here two weeks. You know my father owns a sugar plantation down here and this is the first time I’ve ever been here, so I’m getting lots of kicks out of it. I’m a regular walking encyclopedia on the sugar industry.

“ ¢But that isn’t why I’m writing to you. I’ve © struck the biggest thing in my life down here and I want you both to hop in that plane you’ve told me so much about and head for Havana just as quick as you can. If what you’ve told me about the plane is true you can make it in about ten minutes’ or perhaps a little less flying time.

“<‘Our plantation is about fifty miles from the city directly east and sets on a high hill, and you can’t miss it, because there isn’t another house within thirty miles of it. I’m not going to tell you what it’s all about till you get here, but if you want the time of your lives and lots of thrills and adventures you don’t want to lose any time getting here, and I don’t mean maybe.

“ «Yours expectantly, “ «Sim.

“¢P.S$.—Don’t fail to come.’ ”

“Ts that all?” Gordon demanded as he finished reading.

“That’s all and I’d say it was enough,” Jim laughed as he refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope.

“But what do you suppose he wants of us?”

“That’s easy, he wants us to come down there, or at least, that’s what I gathered from the letter.”

“Smarty. But what for?”

“Now you’re in the realm of uncertainty. Perhaps he’s discovered a new kind of a clam.

You know he’s always talking about that sort of thing.”

“Not much of an adventure about that, but when Fred gets excited it’s usually over something worth while, so I guess we’d better go.”

“Think so?”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, I suppose we might as well. It isn’t very far, not more than eighteen or nineteen hundred miles.”

“About eighteen hours, eh?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, it’s most dinnertime and we’ll spring it on the folks after we eat and see what they have to say. The Falcon is in good trim, isn’t 1 i

“Prime, I went all over her yesterday.”

The Falcon, an airplane built by Jim and Gordon Hunniwell, at their home in Skowhegan, Maine, was a unique machine. Built much on the regulation lines so far as the structure was concerned, it differed in that it was powered by an electric motor instead of a gas engine. The motor derived its energy from a new type of storage battery which had been invented by two boys of the same town, and intimate friends of theirs, Bob and Jack Golden. These cells were only a few inches long and very light but they were powerful enough to do the work of many cells of the ordinary type.

In addition the Falcon was equipped with a horizontal propeller which, because of the extreme lightness of the plane, was easily capable of lifting it vertically. This propeller was powered by a separate motor so that both propellers could be used at the same time or separately. Thus they could fly the plane at any desired speed from nothing up to a hundred and seventy miles an hour. The elevator, as they called the horizontal propeller, would lft the plane easily with three passengers and had done it with four.

“Cuba, eh?” Mr. Hunniwell mused after Jim had read the letter to the family. “And you have no idea as to what he’s discovered?”

“Not a bit, sir,” Jim replied.

“You want to go?”

“We'd like to if you have no objections,” Jim told him.

“How about it, Mother?” Mr. Hunniwell asked, turning to his wife.

“Well, I suppose they’ll go somewhere,” Mrs. Hunniwell smiled.

“And it might as well be there as anywhere else, eh?” Mr. Hunniwell laughed.

“But they’ve got to promise not to get into any trouble,” she told them.

“As if we ever do,” Gordon laughed.

“But I'll say one thing for them,” Mrs. Hunniwell smiled, “They’re like a cat and always seem to land on their feet.”

“But there may come a time when they won’t,” Mrs. Hunniwell said, a bit sadly.

“Let’s hope that will be a long time off,” Jim said as he got up and kissed her.

“When will you start?” their father asked as they all got up from the table.

“Fred seemed to want us to hurry, so we thought we’d get away to-morrow morning. We figure that it’ll take us somewhere around eighteen hours, so we thought we’d get down in Florida before dark and stay there all night, and then fly over the island the next morning,” Jim explained.

“Can you get ready in so short a time?”

“Yes, sir. You see, the plane’s all ready now and we don’t intend to take much stuff with us. Likely we’ll be back in a few days.”

“More likely to be a few weeks judging from your previous trips,” his father smiled.

The afternoon was a busy one for the boys and the time passed quickly, as it always does when one has a lot to do, and in spite of Jim’s assertion that they could get ready in a short time they found many things to attend to. But by suppertime they were all ready for an early start the following morning.

Morning came bright and clear and by half-past five they had finished breakfast and there was nothing to keep them from starting. Mr. and Mrs. Hunniwell, despite their protests, had insisted in getting up in time to see them off, and their last words were to be very careful and let them hear from them as often as possible.

“Now don’t you worry,” Jim ordered as he turned the current into the elevator motor.

Faster and faster turned the blades until, with a slight lurch, the plane left the ground. Jim waited until they were about a thousand feet in the air and then started the other motor and as the forward propeller gathered speed he shut off the elevator and swung the plane toward the southwest. It was early in July, and although it would be warm later in the day, the morning air was crisp and cool and they were glad that they were dressed warmly.

“Gee, but it’s good to be alive,” Gordon declared as the plane straightened out on its course. ° _ “Tt’s not so bad,” Jim agreed, adding another notch to their speed. “There, she’s hitting about a hundred and fifty and I reckon we’ll let her ride at that.”

One hundred and fifty miles an hour was their regular flying speed and they seldom increased it unless there was a necessity. Three-quarters of an hour after starting they passed over Portland at an altitude of a thousand feet and headed down the coast, as they never flew for any great distance over water if they could avoid it. Not that they considered it unsafe, but they were very careful and knew that they were safer over the land. Undoubtedly the Falcon was the safest plane ever built, as either propeller would keep it in the air, and there was little likelihood that both motors would fail them at the same time. Still they realized that it was possible and they took no chances which could be avoided.

“That must be Boston,” Gordon announced about three-quarters of an hour later, as a large city appeared in the distance.

“Unless they’ve moved it it is,” Jim told him.

It was shortly before noon when Gordon spied a dark cloud rising rapidly in the west. They were flying over Georgia at the time and the motor was working perfectly.

“Thunder storm coming off there,” he announced pointing toward the west.

“Looks very much like it,” Jim agreed. “But we may out-run it. Looks to me as though it would pass behind us.”

But for the past two hours they had been bucking a strong head wind and their speed had been reduced accordingly. And the storm was coming toward them with great rapidity, and even as Jim spoke the rumble of distant thunder reached their ears. Three minutes later they could hear it very plainly as the motor made hardly any sound.

“We’re running right into it,” Gordon declared.

“Right. I guess we’d better try and go over it,” Jim replied as he gave the stick a pull.

Up shot the plane at a sharp incline, but he had not acted quickly enough, for a blinding flash of lightning with an almost simultaneous crack of thunder nearly blinded and deafened them.

“Pretty close that,” Gordon shouted.

“T’ll tell the world,” Jim called back.

But Gordon did not catch the words, for another flash came and another snap of thunder followed it so closely that they knew it was close. Jim was still pointing the plane upward as steeply as he dared hoping to climb above the storm before it should be struck. Another flash came before the echo of the previous clap had died away, but Jim sensed that it came from below them and an instant later the plane shot out from the cloud and into clear sky.

“Whew, but I didn’t like that,” Gordon gasped.

“It was a bit thick and that’s a fact,” Jim agreed, as he straightened the plane out to an even keel. “That second clap wasn’t a mile away, let me tell you.”

“And it’s still raging down napa ” Gordon said looking over the side of the cockpit. “I’d ‘sure hate to be in it.”

“Yep, I guess it’s safer up here. A whack from one of those bolts would knock us galleywest so quick we’d never know what hit us. But we’re leaving it behind now.”

Shortly after six o’clock Gordon suggested that instead of landing near a city and going to a hotel they camp out for the night.

“Tt’s more trouble finding a place to stow the plane and hunting up a hotel than it’s worth in this kind of weather. We’ve got plenty of food and I’ll get you up a supper that’ll make your mouth water,” he said pointing downward and off to their right. “There’s a good looking place right over there by that pine woods. What do you say?”

“Suits me,” Jim told him as he turned the wheel and pushed the stick, heading the plane downward.

They had reached the border of Florida and it was very warm and the idea of sleeping out in the open appealed to both of them, and they knew from much experience that nothing made a better bed than a thick layer of pine needles. It was a secluded spot where they landed and the air was heavy with the fragrance of the pine.

“You know, Jim, I’d like the experience of, flying all day sometime and not having a thing happen,” Gordon declared as he set about building a fire. “Seems like we are always running into thunder storms or hail storms or—”

“Or something else,” Jim laughingly interrupted.

“Exactly. Oh, well, variety, they say, is the spice of life and I suppose it would get monotonous if nothing ever happened.”

Gordon was picking up some bits of wood close to a small but thick clump of bushes when a sound like a lot of dried peas being shaken in a paste-board box made him spring back so quickly that his heel caught on a root and he fell over backward flat on his back.

“Here with your gun, Jim,” he called. “There’s a side-winder in these bushes and it’s a big one.”

“Did you see him?” Jim asked as he came

running, his automatic in his hand.

“No, but I heard him, and, believe me, he’s got a rattle what am a rattle. Listen.”

He picked up a piece of wood and threw it into the clump and instantly the sound told them that the snake was there. Jim stepped forward and an instant later fired.

“Got him,” he cried, and dragged out a rattlesnake fully six feet long and nearly as big around as his thigh.

“He’s a hunny, all right,” Gordon declared. “One nip from him and good night. Hope there aren’t any more like him around.”

For a few minutes they threw bits of wood into the clump of bushes but there was no evidence of another snake and they concluded that it had been alone.

“We’ll skin him after supper,” Jim said as he looked down at the snake. “That skin’ make a dandy belt or a pair of moccasins. You don’t often get them any larger than that fellow.”

Supper was ready after what Jim declared was long enough to get a dozen meals, and then, by the time they had cleaned up and had taken the skin from the snake, it was dark and they both agreed that they were tired enough to go to sleep without, as Gordon said, being rocked to sleep.

“Gee, but I hope nothing happens to-night,” Jim said sleepily as he rolled himself in his blanket.

“Don’t call me if it does,” Gordon answered.

Wee:

“s

IN THE CARIBBEAN 1g

CHAPTER II MAKING PLANS “T THink I see it.”

It was shortly before noon the following day and the Falcon was heading east over the island of Cuba, when Gordon made the announcement.

“Off there to the right a bit?” Jim asked as he gave the wheel a slight turn.

“Yep, on that high hill, mountain I suppose they call it down here. Anyhow we’re about fifty miles from Havana and it’s the first large place we’ve seen since leaving the outskirts of the city.”

“T guess it’s the place all right and anyhow we’ll make a landing and find out.”

“Tt’s the place all right,” Gordon asserted as, a few minutes later, the plane hovered over the low rambling building. “There’s Slim waving at us.”

As the plane reached the ground, on a large level stretch in front of the house, they were greeted by a boy of about their own age but who sadly belied the name of Slim. Fred Togus stood five feet and four inches in his shoes and weighed close to one hundred and fifty pounds, but as long as the boys had known him, he had been called Slim. As is usually the case with fat boys Slim was jolly and the best of company but he was a marked exception in that he was a very brilliant student. At college he stood very near, if not at, the head of his class and he always won the place with very little effort. Also he was of an inventive turn and was always fussing around with machines.

“T thought that letter would bring you,” he smiled as he shook hands with them.

“What’s it all about?” Gordon asked him.

“You'll not find out a thing till after dinner,” Slim told him. “But it won’t be long as we eat at twelve and it’s almost that now.”

“You can’t make me mad with any such statement as that,” Gordon assured him.

“T guess Slim knows you well enough to know that,” Jim declared as he gazed at the wonderful view from the hill. “I say, old man, you’ve got some view here,” he added, turning to Slim.

“It’s not so bad when you get used to it,” Slim told him. “Here comes Father and I want you to meet him.”

z a

Mr. Togus was a man built on much the same plan as his son but a little taller. The boys had never met him but were at once won by his cordial welcome and hearty manner in greeting them.

“T’ve heard so much about you from Fred,” he told them, “that it seems as though I’d always known you. I warn you you’ll have to go some to live up to what he’s said about you,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.”

“T hope that he hasn’t too greatly overrated us, sir,” Jim said.

“You bet I haven’t,” Slim broke in.

Just then the dinner bell rang and they all moved toward the house.

“That gives you just five minutes to get washed up,” Slim told them as they mounted the steps. “Think you can make it?”

“Watch our smoke,” Gordon laughed.

They met Fred’s mother a few minutes later in the dining-room and her greeting was no less cordial than had been that of the others. Mrs. Togus was as slight as her husband was stout, as Gordon put it to Jim a little later, but she was no less jolly and the boys liked her at once.

“Bred has been like a fish out of water these last few days and if you hadn’t come when you did I don’t know what would have happened,” she told them, as they sat down at the table.

“But I’m as still as a dead fish now,” Fred laughed. “Jim and Gordon always have asoothing effect on me.” |

“Then I guess we’d better keep them here all the time,” Mr. Togus laughed. “If they can keep you out of mischief it’s more than your mother or I can do.”

When dinner was finished Fred took the boys out back of the house and led them to a small building about a hundred yards distant.

“This is my work shop,” he told them as they entered.

“And I’d say it was some shop,” Gordon declared as he glanced about the room.

And little wonder, for it was nothing less than a well equipped machine shop. In a few minutes they had examined all the different machines and equipment and expressed their wonder at its completeness.

“Now I suppose you’d like to know why I sent you that letter that got you down here in such a hurry,” Slim said as they sat on the steps outside the door of the shop.

“Well, you’ve taken your time so far in telling us about it, and I don’t know that a week or two more or less will make any difference now,” Gordon told him.

“T reckon I know how you feel about it,” Slim began, “but, you see, it’s a long story and I wanted to wait till I had time.”

“Meaning that you’re going to shoot now?” Gordon asked.

“Right. Now you listen and after I get through you can ask all the questions you wish.”

“We’re listening,” Gordon assured him as he paused.

“Once upon a time, that’s the way all stories should begin, you know, there was a pirate who was known far and wide—”

“How wide?” Gordon interrupted.

“Keep that trap of yours closed and let him tell his story, will you?” Jim said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Who was known far and wide by the name of Black Henri,” Slim continued.

“Did the adjective apply to the color of his skin or to the enormity of his deeds?” Gordon asked.

“T don’t know, but if you don’t keep—”

“He will,” Jim promised placing a hand over Gordon’s mouth. “If he speaks again before you get through I'll gag him.” ;

“All right, on those conditions I’ll go on. Black Henri sailed these seas about—”

“Which seas?” Gordon demanded before Jim could act.

“The Caribbean Sea,” Slim said with a slight smile.” He sailed the sea as aforesaid about a hundred and twenty or twenty-five years ago, and he was a holy terror if report be true. He had a powerful gang of cutthroats and the fastest ship which ever sailed these waters. He was a ruthless pirate all right, but there is more than a touch of the romantic which has come down regarding him. He never, so the legend goes, harmed a woman, and if there were women on any ship captured by him they were treated with the greatest respect and were landed unharmed at the first opportunity.

“Of course many stories have been told regarding his activities and no doubt many of them are pure fiction, but it is certain that there was such a man and that he was very successful at his trade and accumulated a vast amount of booty, money, jewels and—”

“Pieces of eight,” Gordon interrupted.

“You’ll be in more than eight pieces if you don’t keep still,” Jim threatened.

“Just one question and I’ll not say another word,” Gordon pleaded.

“Let him ask it,” Slim agreed.

“What I want to ask is if you’ve got us down here to chase him.”

“Shall I gag him?” Jim demanded.

“No, we’ll have to humor him,” Slim said, his face as sober as a judge. “It’s easy to see that he’s not right in his mind. No, sonny, I didn’t bring you down here to catch him. He’s been dead a number of years, quite a number as a matter of fact.”

“Oh, I see,” Gordon said slowly. “Probably it was for some other reason then.”

“To resume the story,” Slim went on, “Black Henri was hunted for by many ships and enormous rewards were offered for his capture dead or alive, but he was never caught. It was commonly reported that he was in league with the devil and that his satanic majesty protected him. At any rate he prospered and waxed richer and richer as the years went by. And—”

“T like that word waxed,” Gordon interrupted.

“And,” Slim went on without heeding the interruption, “ ’tis said that he kept the most of his booty on board the ship. By the way, his ship was named, The Black Gull, and flew a large white flag with a black gull painted on it.

Many times they had him all but captured but every time he slipped away unharmed and continued his merry way.

“But, as there comes an end to all things, so there finally came an end to Black Henri and The Black Gull. But it was not by the hand of man that he reached his end. One day, so the report goes, The Black Gull was struck by a bolt of lightning and burned and sank with all the crew on board. Why they didn’t take to the small boats and escape has never, so far as I can learn, ‘been explained.”

“Tnteresting if true,’ Gordon declared as Slim paused for a moment.

“Tnteresting whether true or not, I’d say,” Jim added.

“Still, I don’t quite see what it’s all got to do with us,” Gordon persisted.

“You wouldn’t—yet,” Slim told him.

“Oh, your story isn’t done then?” Gordon asked.

“No, it isn’t done by considerable. Indeed I might say it has only begun,” Slim told him.

“Meaning there’s more to follow,” Jim explained turning to Gordon with a smile of pity.

“T gathered that much,” Gordon told him.

“Now comes the most interesting part so far as we’re concerned,” Slim continued. “About a thousand miles to the east of here there’s a small island by the name of Basse Terre and it has always been believed by the natives that it was just off the coast of that island that The Black Gull went down. Now Father has an old negro who used to work for him and he lets him live in a little house about a mile from here back in the woods. He’s no one knows how old but he must be over a hundred. He says he’s most a hundred and fifty, but I suppose that’s not true, but he is very old, there’s no doubt about that. And he has a wonderful memory or a very vivid imagination, I don’t know which. Anyhow he tells some wonderful stories about things which happened a long time ago.

“Well, about a week ago I was talking with him in his little home—by the way, he likes to have me come and see him—and he told me that his father was a member of Black Henri’s crew, and he said that he was on The Black Gull when it burned.”

“But I thought you said that all the crew was lost,” Jim said.

“That’s what the reports said, but Old Joe, that’s the darkie’s name, sticks to it that his father swam ashore and was the only one saved. He says that his father told him all about it and that the ship went down in a place where the water is not more than eight or ten fathoms deep. He claims that he knows the exact spot and he showed me an old map which marks it.”

“T think I begin to see a mouse,” Gordon declared. “I suppose it’s your idea that we’re going to find the wreck.”

“Well, I thought something of the sort,” Slim acknowledged.

“But wouldn’t it all be broken up and washed away long before this?” Jim asked.

“Perhaps and perhaps not,” Slim told them. “T asked Old Joe that very question and he says that the timbers they used to build ships in those days will last hundreds of years under water, but I don’t suppose he knows much about it. But I thought we could have a lot of fun and excitement out of it.”

“How about your father and mother? Do they approve of it?” Jim asked.

“Well, to tell the truth, I haven’t said anything to them about it yet. You see, I kind of thought it would be best to wait till you were here so I could have your moral support. They think I’m inclined to be rash, I guess, but if you back me up I don’t think they’ll mind.”

“We'll back you up all right,” Gordon assured him, but Jim hesitated.

“Seems to me we ought to know a lot more about it before we make up our minds,” he gave as his opinion. “Tell us what your plans are.”

“Well, for one thing, I’ve been working for some time on a new type of diving suit and have had a couple of them made by a firm in Boston. They came the other day.”

“What are they like?” Jim asked.

“They look much like the regular thing but air is supplied from cylinders of compressed air which are carried in the top of the helmet so no pump is necessary. And there’s another innovation which I hope is going to work out all right but I haven’t tried it yet. You see the suit, or a good part of it, fits loosely and a cylinder of compressed air is to be carried in such a way that it can be opened easily and fill the suit with air, blow it up in other words, and make the whole outfit light enough so that it’ll come to the surface.”

“T’ll say that’s some idea,” Gordon declared. “You won’t need any hose or any rope at all.”

“That’s my idea exactly,” Slim assured them.

“Tt sounds all right,” Jim mused, “but you never can tell about those things until they’re tried out.”

“We’re able to try ’em aren’t we?” Gordon demanded.

“Sure we can,” Jim told him, “and I believe it’ll work all right.”

“Of course it will,” Gordon declared.

“Now, one or two more questions,” Jim continued. “How far from the shore is this spot?”

“About a mile according to what Joe says, and the map bears him out,” Slim told him.

“Wouldn’t we need a boat to dive from?”

“Sure we would, and I’ve got that problem all solved. You see I’ve got a fifty foot boat with a four cylinder engine in her capable of making twenty-five miles an hour, and she’s very seaworthy. Got a twenty-five foot cabin and a galley and everything. We could live a month on her.”