by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XI THE DRUMS
During the very hour in which Johnny Thompson discovered that he and thetwo girls, Doris and Nieta, were stowaways in a strange schooner sailingstraight out to sea, Curlie Carson sat beside a mahogany table beneaththe stars in a beautiful tropical garden.
The air was heavy with the perfume of flowers. The night was cool anddamp. Now and then a breeze from the distant sea set the palm frondsrustling and brought forth a hoarse croak from a sleeping buzzard.
Back of him was a home. And such a home as it was! All white andglistening in the moonlight, with its little spires and minarets, withits broad, deep, mysterious windows, standing tall against the dark greenof palms it seemed some castle in Spain--a thing of dreams.
But the home, a sort of French Chateau, was real. Haiti has thousands ofbeautiful homes. Some of them hark back to the days when fine Frenchladies rode out with their maids in the cool of the evening, and ahundred thousand slaves toiled in the sugar cane and the cotton.
The girl who sat opposite Curlie sipping limeade was real too. To Curlieat first she had been rather startling as well. She was Dot Montcalm,Dorn's sister. To Curlie she was a great deal more than that. She was themysterious dark-haired girl who had shared his adventure of the nightbefore. She it had been who had beaten the strange native drum and hadcalled together that band of half wild natives to dance and to plotrevolution beneath the stars. She too had raced away with him down thetrail after the weird howling of her dog had put the natives to flight.All this she smilingly admitted on meeting Curlie two hours before. Hehad not asked her why she had concealed her identity. There was no reasonfor asking. A girl with good sense, and Dot Montcalm seemed well endowedwith that by nature, does not reveal her identity to a stranger during achance meeting.
"But she has told me nothing else," Curlie was thinking to himself, asthey sat there in the garden before the girl's home. "Why did she beatout the drum signals that called that wild band together to plotrevolution. Surely she and her father would be the last to desire arevolution. In truth she seemed eager to scatter them before plotting wasbegun. It's all very strange."
Curlie had arrived at camp a little before noon of that day. He had, asyou well know, found Johnny still missing. After visiting his laboratoryand finding all in order, he had heavily bolted the door and then hadannounced his intention of going to Dorn's village in search of some clueof Johnny's whereabouts.
"Some natives may have seen him. He may have arrived at the village overa strange trail," he had said to Dorn.
"Yes," said Dorn. "That is true. You may find him there. But as forPompee and me, we will remain. He may come here tired and hungry.Besides," his eyes had gone dreamy, "I like this old Citadel. It is scaryand most spooky at night, but by day it is so old, so massive, so grand.And then, at any moment I may come upon one end of the 'Rope of Gold'sticking out from the masonry. Then how rich we all shall be." A lowlaugh followed this last remark.
So Curlie had gone away down the trail toward the village of TerrePlaisance. And here he was sitting across from Dot drinking limeade,talking now and then of matters of no great consequence, and dreaminglong dreams in between.
"A revolution," he thought now. "How wildly thrilling that would be. Andyet it would be tragic. These natives can't fight against our airplanes,our gas, our machine guns. And yet--"
He thought of the long and bitter struggle that had been going on inNicaragua and of the war between the invincible Napoleon and the Blacksof Haiti and how the Blacks of Haiti had won. After that he was not sosure.
"We must put an end to it," he said, speaking aloud.
"To what?" said the girl.
"To the revolution."
"Oh, yes. We must. If we can."
"You do not want the revolution?"
"Oh no! No!" She shuddered.
"But you beat the drum. You called those natives together."
"Oh that--why that was--I'll--I--I'll tell you about that sometime."
For a time they sat there in silence. Then, like the first flush ofmorning, her face lighted with a smile. "She will tell me," Curlieassured himself.
But she did not, for at that precise moment there came, faint,indistinct, like the low roll of thunder, yet unmistakable a call fromthe distance and the dark.
"The drums," a shudder ran through the girl's slender form. "Far away,the drums. And now perhaps there will be a revolution. How--how useless,how terrible! Someone must prevent it. It can only end with the death ofmany honest but deluded people; the poor, honest ones."
"It is true," said Mona the black servant who had come to serve cocoa."It should not be."
"The men all are gone; the native police too," Dot said turning toCurlie.
"But we--we might do something," she added after a moment.
"Yes," said Curlie. "We did something last night. Plenty."
"Let's try."
"Yes, let's."
"Will you go with us?" Dot turned to Mona.
"If I might help."
"You might help a great deal. You know all the secret mountain passes andthe people."
"I will go," said the aged native woman. "The Blanc does much for mypeople. He is honest. He will not do wrong. Rebellion is for bad men."
The "Blanc" is the Haitian's name for the white man from America. In thefew short years of the American occupation the greater part of the hillpeople of Haiti have come to trust their American friends. Yet in everyland there is some discontent. There are some too who are willing enoughto stir up discontent that they may advance their own selfish ends.
Even now, as they prepared to lose themselves in the forest trails atnight, Dot felt herself overtaken with fear.
"Father has always said the hills are safe," she said to Curlie. "Yetthere are many wild rumors.
"We'll take Leo," she continued.
"I've a bow and arrows with me," said Curlie.
"Bow and arrows?" exclaimed the girl in great surprise.
"It's really a very strong one," said the boy. "A regular six foot yewbow. It will drive a steel pointed arrow a full inch into a mahoganytree. Johnny Thompson has been teaching me to use it. I--I'm gettingpretty good."
"Oh," said Dot.
"Of course," said Curlie, "we won't use it to--"
"Of course not," said Dot, not allowing him to finish. "But bring it. Ionly wish I could shoot it. Just think of the lost arts there are in theworld! When Columbus was Governor of this island every native knew how toshoot with bows and strong ones, too. That was the way they hunted andhow they fought their battles."
"Of course," said Curlie, "we use them only for sport now. But I'll takeit along."
